On the day when she had first come into the
gallery Giovanni had repeated, in French, the words of Ruth; and now, as
she gazed absently at the picture, she found that she was saying to
herself, not in French but in English, "Thy people shall be my
people----" Gradually an indescribable, comforted, soothed feeling crept
over her, as she looked into the true, steadfast eyes of the pictured
Ruth--hers were indeed the eyes of one who could follow faithfully to
the ends of the earth.
"'Whither thou goest, I will go,'" repeated Nina--yes, that was the
test. Giovanni away from his surroundings, and apart from his name--she
could not picture him. And should she put her hand in his, whither would
he lead her? Where did his path of life end? She could not with any
certainty guess. "Thy people shall be my people"--how could they ever
be? They were so widely different--so utterly different--she had never
realized it before--and then without warning, as a final move in a
puzzle snaps into place and makes the whole complete, with a little cry
she started up. For she now knew that the more she tried to focus her
thoughts upon Giovanni, the more they turned to another quite different
personality. Until at last, as in a burst of light, she awoke to the
consciousness that the words of Ruth were bringing a great longing for
the sight of a certain pair of eyes whose expression was like those in
the canvas! "'Whither thou goest, I will go----' Ah!"--exultantly and
with no fear of doubt; it was true! To the uttermost parts of the
earth! .
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