‘Think I’m fool enough to do my business in a convent?’ he said scornfully. 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. " "At your peril, sirrah!" cried Wood. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change.
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