The next minute, while he fell back, hat in
hand, behind a pile of boxes in the yard, he heard his name called in
a familiar voice, and lifting his eyes found himself face to face with
Molly.
"Abel, aren't you going to speak to me?" she asked, and moving a step
toward him, held out both hands with an impulsive gesture.
As his hand met hers, he withdrew it quickly as though he were stung by
the touch of her soft fingers. Every nerve in his body leaped suddenly
to life, and the moment was so vivid while he faced her, that he
felt half convinced that all the long months since their parting had
dissolved in shadows. The border line between the dream and actuality
was obliterated. It seemed to him not only impossible, but absurd that
he should ever have believed himself engaged to Judy Hatch--that he
should be going to marry her to-morrow! All that side of his life had
no closer relation to his real self than it had to the self of old Adam
Doolittle. While he had planned it he had been a corpse not a living
man, but at the sound of Molly's voice, at the clasp of her fingers,
at the touching, expectant brightness in her eyes, the resurrection had
happened.
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