"No, never;—as I remember them."
"Well, it was the same sort of message I received last night. It came to me twice, and the meaning of the message was as clear as any spoken word. And to this spot it guided me."
He turned and looked about the grounds, beyond the trees and garden, toward the cloisters and the chapel. "Who but you could call me here?"
Ruth, also, looked toward the convent buildings. "Is it not possible your own brain may have played you a trick? Such things happen, you know."
"My brain has not played such tricks. So far it has never deceived me. To be honest I was not thinking of you at the time. Father's death had been almost my only thought for weeks."
"What more can I say, Drowsy? I am telling you the truth. And after all why should I call you? If you are the faithful soul you pretend to be, why didn't you write me months ago?"
"How could I? I never had your address. And you promised—or almost promised—to let me have it. I waited, and waited, hoping for it—wondering in what way it was to come."
She frowned: then, with a solemn movement of the head:
"You did have it."
"I did have it! How on earth could I get it?"