and gripped the chair-back until his fingers were white.
"Ruth," he said impatiently, "you'd best be going quick. It'll break the heart of me to see you standing there suffering, unless I can take you in me arms and comfort you. I've sworn never to speak the word; but, by the saints—"
"You may!" sobbed Ruth, and with a quick, timid little gesture she laid her hands in his.
For a moment he held her away from him. "It's not pity," he cried, searching her face, "nor gratitude!"
She lifted her eyes, as honest and clear as her soul.
"It's been love, Sandy," she whispered, "ever since the first."
Two hours later, when the permit came, Sandy walked out of the jail into the court-house square. A crowd had collected, for Ruth had told her story and the news had spread; public favor was rapidly turning in his direction.
He looked about vaguely, as a man who has gazed too long at the sun and is blinded to everything else.