Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. “You are so sweet, Lucy. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. “So it seems that I was wrong. Running his hand hastily over it, he was startled to find it one complicated mass of bolts and bars.
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