"And you accuse me of not being truthful!"
"Drowsy, listen. This may be our last meeting. Let us not part in this spirit—through any misunderstanding. Our friendship is too precious for that, isn't it? I beg you, tell me what you mean by my calling you. When? How? Do you mean a letter?"
"I mean the message I received last night, and again early this morning. Through the air—by wireless as it were—in the old way, years ago, that I often got your messages."
"But I have sent you no message."
"Didn't you even think of me yesterday or this morning?"
"No, I did not. I have thought of you often, and of our old childhood attachment, but not yesterday nor this morning, nor for several days."
"Perhaps you remember," said Cyrus, speaking slowly, the slumbrous eyes looking earnestly down into Ruth's, "I used to get messages from you when we were far apart, even from your house to mine."
"Indeed I do! And it was most mysterious—almost uncanny."
"And they never deceived us?"