ow. Seems to be that way with
me. Don't let it do it to you!

"Somehow I don't believe it will. I think that you, Ruth, would be a
fine little prison-breaker. Might stand some show of being one myself if
I were anywhere but in this town. There's something about it that has
_got_ me, Ruth. If it hadn't--I'd be getting out of it now.

"But of course I'm a pretty poor sort, not worth making a fight for, or
it wouldn't be like this. And--for that matter--what's the difference?
Lives aren't counting for much these days--men who _are_ the right sort
going down by the thousands, by the hundred of thousands, so what--for
heaven's sake--does it matter about me?

"I wish I could see you!

"I'm glad for you about the divorce. I believe the case comes up this
April term, so it may be all over by the time you get this letter.
Pretty late in coming, and I suppose it must seem a good deal of a
mockery--getting it now--but maybe it will help some for the future,
make you feel more comfortable, and I'm awfully glad.

"Funny about it, isn't it? I wonder what made her do it! I was called
there this winter, maid sick--miscarriage--and Mrs. Williams puzzled me.
Didn't turn the girl out, awfully decent to her. I would have supposed
she would have been quite the other way. And now this. Queer, don't you
think?

"Write to me sometimes, Ruth. Sometimes write to me what you're thinking
about. Maybe it will stir me up. Write to me to take a brace and get out
of this town! If you went for me hard enough, called me all the
insulting names you could think of, and told me a living dead man was
the most cowardly and most disgusting object cluttering up the earth,
you might get a rise out of me. You're the one could do it, if it can be
done.

"One thing I _do_ know--writing this has made me want like blazes to see
you!

"DEANE."

* * * * *

Ruth sat there in the arm of a low willow, her hands resting upon
Deane's letter, her eyes closed, the faint breath of coming spring upon
her face. She was tired and very sad. She was thinking of Deane's life,
of her own life, of the way one seemed mocked. She wished that Deane
were there; she could talk to him and she would like to talk. His letter
moved something in her, something that had long seemed locked in stirred
a little. Her feeling about life had seemed a thing frozen within her.
Now the feeling that there was still this open channel between her and
Deane was a