” “I am your friend,” he said slowly, “whatever you may have to tell me. He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere. "'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. “Do you remember the mountains? Do you remember how we loved one another? How intensely we loved one another! Do you remember the light on things and the glory of things? I’m greedy, I’m greedy! I want children like the mountains and life like the sky. Here was the same Ruth who had left him a few minutes since: the same outwardly; and yet…! On the ninth day Spurlock was up and about; that is, he was strong enough to walk alone, from the companion to his chair, to lean upon the rail when the chair grew irksome, to join Ruth and his employer at lunch and dinner: strong enough to argue about books, music, paintings. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. She saw herself building up a life upon that —a life restrained, kindly, beautiful, a little pathetic and altogether dignified; a life of great disciplines and suppressions and extensive reserves. On the envelope was written— Sydney Courtlaw, Esq.
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