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Shocked, Melusine shot out of that blanketing warmth of sensation. "This suspense is worse than torture. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. Earles protested, seating himself before the desk, and dipping his pen in the ink. 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.
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