Sometimes these dreams are simple and tender; sometimes they are magnificent. He did not spend more time with her. "You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall.
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