When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. I know why. The bridesmaids and pages got rather jumbled in the aisle, and she had an effect of Alice’s white back and sloping shoulders and veiled head receding toward the altar. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. You have been to see your sister, of course. Very few survived her trials. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. After all, they’re history in the making.
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