She let go of him and stood up, straightening herself. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. ] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. It was an impulse. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. We were expecting rather to find a male antagonist. This started a thought moving. Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. Set the boy free. The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors.
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