I’m anxious, joyfully anxious, like a man when he has found a treasure. Rather would I have gone with Leonardo—and he wished me to do so. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. Ruth could tell the doctor; she could bare many of her innermost thoughts to that kindly man; but there was an inexplicable reserve before this young man whom she still endued with the melancholy charm of Sydney Carton. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. “Rubbish!” he answered.
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