The deep lines on his face had smoothed out, his irritation subsided, he no longer felt bad tempered.
When Ruth came back he smiled at her. “Thank you, I’m better,” he said. “When I arrived I wasn’t fit to ‘carry guts to a bear.’ You know Marryat’s delightful story, of course? And how is the farm?”
“Can’t you feel?”
She stood in the attitude of one listening. And curiously and strangely there came to North’s consciousness a something that all his senses seemed to cognize and contract at once. It was not a sound, it was not a vision, it was not a sensation, though it combined all three. Radiant and sweet and subtle, and white with glory, it came and went in a flash. Was it only a minute or eternity?
“What was it?” His own voice sounded strange in his ears.
Ruth smiled. “You felt it?”
“I felt something. I believe you mesmerized me, you witch woman.”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t make anyone feel that if I knew all the arts in the world. Only yourself can find that for you.”
“What was it, anyhow?”
“I think”—she paused a moment—“I think it is getting into the Unity of All.”