Sheppard made an effort to speak, but her voice was choked by emotion. He seemed to be trying to understand something very perplexing and elusive. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city at night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!' … It kind of terrifies me," said Ruth, looking up, first at the face of her husband, then at McClintock's. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. I HAD to.
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