Her father stood silently in the doorway,
regarding her, a great dread tugging at his heart. Jules Levice was a keen
student of the human face, and he had caught a faint glimpse of something
in the doctor's eyes while Ruth sang. He knew it had been harmless, for
her back had been turned, but he wished to reassure himself.
"Not in bed yet, my child?"
She started up in confusion as he came in.
"Of what were you thinking, darling?" he continued, putting his hand under
her soft white chin and looking deeply into her eyes.
"Well," she answered slowly, "I was not thinking of anything important; I
was thinking of you. We are going to Beacham's next week--and have you any
fine silk shirts?"
He laughed a hearty, relieved laugh.
"Well, no," he answered; "I leave all such fancies to your care. So we go
next week. I am glad; and you?"
"I? Oh, I love the country in its summer dress, you know."
"Yes. Well, good-night, love." He took her face between his hands, and
drawing it down to his, kissed it. Still holding her, he said with sweet
solemnity, --
"'The Lord bless thee and keep thee.
"'The Lord make his face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee.
"'The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.
Pages:
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141