It was. And great joy was in the meeting. They told each other many things. He learned that after the death of her parents she had found a refuge here, in this convent, through the influence of a friend. And he, in turn, told of his father's sudden death, of his own doings, of the Great Discovery. But he made no mention of his present affluence. He could foresee her sorrow and her sympathy for a man, otherwise normal, who told of gathering diamonds on the moon.
Leaning against the parapet, and facing the golden sky across the water, they talked, forgetful of surroundings. So engrossing was this talk of other days that they lived again in Longfields.
From this Fairy Land of childhood Ruth was the first to return to earth. "You must go, Drowsy." And she turned an anxious look toward the buildings beyond the garden.
"Oh, don't say that! Why, Ruth, this is the happiest moment of my life—a thousand times the happiest. Life has really begun again!"
"That is very polite of you, but——"
"Polite! Well, I should say! Why, Ruth, your very presence—just to look at you and hear your voice—is a—is a—breath of heaven. You are the loveliest thing I have ever seen. I can't express it!"
She laughed. "You are doing fairly well."
"Of course, you know it already, but truly, with no exaggeration, as you stand there now with that western sun for a side light you are the daintiest thing in Creation. And the same spell-binding eyes! Well, I knew that night in the dark that you were not a giantess—and that was about all."
She raised a hand for silence. "That will do, Drowsy. You have covered the ground."
But Cyrus went on. "And so angelic and pleasantly superior! Why, you are a temptation to any able-bodied lover to pick you up and run—or fly—away with you."