The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. ” He stated. Drummond patted him on the shoulder. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. CHAPTER IV.
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