She moved her head, gently, in the negative.
"Is it the palace, or villa, of some King, or Prince or Duke--or
something?"
Again the silent answer in the negative.
A chilling thought came to the traveler. Could this be a deaf and dumb
asylum?
Now Cyrus had been "going on his nerves" for some hours and they might
be more sensitive than usual. The last distressful thought showed
plainly in his face. His heart began to bleed for this afflicted
angel. And so pretty! So superlatively charming and desirable! As she
raised the wondrous eyes and again regarded him his one ambition, at
the moment, was to avoid appearing too imbecile and clownish. And lo,
he was both! Never had he felt so helpless. If he knew at least the
sign language there might be hope for progress. Even in that field of
expression all he could recall were the doings in the pantomimes: to
shut the eyes and incline your head upon your hand for sleep; to wabble
your jaw for terror, and to lick your lips and rub your stomach with a
rotary motion when you wanted food. But this was no moment for comic
things, when his own heart and the very air he breathed were all a
quiver with high adventure, with Beauty and Romance. So he stood before
her in a painful, and--it seemed to him--a foolish silence. He looked
down, then away, then at her, and as his drowsy eyes rested on her face
he thought he detected an effort to suppress a smile. This doubled
his embarrassment. He tried vainly to discover in what manner his
question was mirth provoking. However, he made a brave effort to assert
himself--to appear as if nobody cared. So he smiled, and straightened
up a little.
"If you speak English won't you please say something? Just tell me what
kind of a place this is? Where I am?"
"Non entra no signori in questo giardino."
Cyrus knew those words were Italian, and that was all. He frowned in
his endeavor to guess their meaning.
"I am sorry, but I don't understand. Won't you please say that in
English?"
"I said you were in a place where men are not allowed."
In pronouncing English words it seemed another voice. And he had heard
it before! His drowsy eyes opened wider, his lips parted, and for a
moment he stared, in wonder, as if belief came hard. Was it the voice
he had heard in the darkness--in the motor, that night? As he stood in
dumb surprise, hoping for the best, the girl stepped forward with a
smile and extended a hand.
"Ruth!" he exclaimed. "Oh, Ruth! Really, is it you?"
It was. And great joy was in the meeting. They told each other many
things. He learned that after the death of her parents she had found a
refuge here, in this convent, through the influence of a friend. And
he, in turn, told of his father's sudden death, of his own doings, of
the Great Discovery. But he made no mention of his present affluence.
He could foresee her sorrow and her sympathy for a man, otherwise
normal, who told of gathering diamonds on the moon.
Leaning against the parapet, and facing the golden sky across the
water, they talked, forgetful of surroundings. So engrossing was this
talk of other days that they lived again in Longfields.
From this Fairy Land of childhood Ruth was the first to return to
earth. "You must go, Drowsy." And she turned an anxious look toward
the buildings beyond the garden.
"Oh, don't say that! Why, Ruth, this is the happiest moment of my
life--a thousand times the happiest. Life has really begun again!"
"That is very polite of you, but----"
"Polite! Well, I should say! Why, Ruth, your very presence--just to
look at you and hear your voice--is a--is a--breath of heaven. You are
the loveliest thing I have ever seen. I can't express it!"