Was he, too, on the way to the beach? What a pity! All alone, and none to warn him of the abject wretchedness at the end of Drink. The less said, therefore, on this point the better; because, as nothing is to be gained by it, it would only be trouble thrown away. 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. The softly glittering summer stars! She saw them shining over mountains of snow, over valleys of haze and warm darkness. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. Anna thrust hers into her pocket unopened, and for the first time left the house without a smile upon her face.
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