The flying figure reached me, threw soft arms around
my neck, was weeping in relieved gladness on my shoulder.

"Ruth!" I cried. "What on earth are YOU doing here?"

"Walter!" she sobbed. "Walter Goodwin--Oh, thank
God! Thank God!"

She drew herself from my arms, catching her breath;
laughed shakily.

I took swift stock of her. Save for fear upon her, she
was the same Ruth I had known three years before; wide,
deep blue eyes that were now all seriousness, now sparkling
wells of mischief; petite, rounded and tender; the fairest
skin; an impudent little nose; shining clusters of intractable
curls; all human, sparkling and sweet.

Drake coughed, insinuatingly. I introduced him.

"I--I watched you struggling through that dreadful pit."
She shuddered. "I could not see who you were, did not
know whether friend or enemy--but oh, my heart almost
died in pity for you, Walter," she breathed. "What can it
be--THERE?"

I shook my head.

"Martin could not see you," she went on. "He was