Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. Ah!" he exclaimed, as his eye fell upon a small knob in the wall, "there's the spring!" He touched it, and the door flew open. He had let go his name so easily as that! What was the name she had given? Ruth something; he could not remember. He was not used to not getting his way. A short flight of steps brought him to a dark passage, into which he plunged. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. This chap's recovery all depends upon the care he receives.
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