He drew himself up with grim force.
"I am going to win you, Ruth," he said, slowly lingering with his lips over her name as though he could taste its sweetness.
He looked at her beautiful face and figure tenderly and with an intensity that gave to his eyes a strange glitter.
She turned from him with a sigh and gazed on Gordon's portrait hanging over the mantel.
"No, Morris. I have made up my mind to play my part in harmony with Love's eternal law. If the world is full of discord, I will still make the sweetest music my soul can sing. I will not try to drown the din, but in my own way sing in perfect time with the beat of God's heart. Perhaps some soul beside me on life's way will catch the note, and it will not be in vain. This may be a blind instinct, but it is not degrading. He who counts the beat of a sparrow's wing, teaches the stork her appointed time, and whispers his call to the swallow in the autumn wind, will not lead me astray."
The man shaded his eyes with his hand as though to hide their misery.
"You are throwing your sweet life away," he said, reproachfully.
"But I shall find it again. When I see the fury of murder in your eyes, and gaze into the gulf of fierce passions into which Frank has descended, I cannot seek my own happiness. The sense of motherhood, the feeling of kinship to all women, brings to me
