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” He put his head on one side, pulled down the corners of his mouth, and looked at her over his glasses. He couldn't be in better hands than those in which he has placed himself. But the love of life prevailed over his fears. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. Kneebone,—pray go!" implored Winifred. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. 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. . I wish that it worked. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can.
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