A chilling thought came to the traveler. Could this be a deaf and dumb asylum?
Now Cyrus had been "going on his nerves" for some hours and they might be more sensitive than usual. The last distressful thought showed plainly in his face. His heart began to bleed for this afflicted angel. And so pretty! So superlatively charming and desirable! As she raised the wondrous eyes and again regarded him his one ambition, at the moment, was to avoid appearing too imbecile and clownish. And lo, he was both! Never had he felt so helpless. If he knew at least the sign language there might be hope for progress. Even in that field of expression all he could recall were the doings in the pantomimes: to shut the eyes and incline your head upon your hand for sleep; to wabble your jaw for terror, and to lick your lips and rub your stomach with a rotary motion when you wanted food. But this was no moment for comic things, when his own heart and the very air he breathed were all a quiver with high adventure, with Beauty and Romance. So he stood before her in a painful, and—it seemed to him—a foolish silence. He looked down, then away, then at her, and as his drowsy eyes rested on her face he thought he detected an effort to suppress a smile. This doubled his embarrassment. He tried vainly to discover in what manner his question was mirth provoking. However, he made a brave effort to assert himself—to appear as if nobody cared. So he smiled, and straightened up a little.
"If you speak English won't you please say something? Just tell me what kind of a place this is? Where I am?"
"Non entra no signori in questo giardino."
Cyrus knew those words were Italian, and that was all. He frowned in his endeavor to guess their meaning.
"I am sorry, but I don't understand. Won't you please say that in English?"
"I said you were in a place where men are not allowed."
In pronouncing English words it seemed another voice. And he had heard it before! His drowsy eyes opened wider, his lips parted, and for a moment he stared, in wonder, as if belief came hard. Was it the voice he had heard in the darkness—in the motor, that night? As he stood in dumb surprise, hoping for the best, the girl stepped forward with a smile and extended a hand.
"Ruth!" he exclaimed. "Oh, Ruth! Really, is it you?"