I MUST see him. I will see him. No one will tell me the truth but himself. I must know it or die!"
Ruth stood alone under the shadow of the trees, white as a ghost, and rendered desperate by words that had smitten her into insensibility. How long she had lain in that forest path the girl scarcely knew. When she came to herself, it was with a shudder of dread, lest that evil face should be looking down upon her; but all was silent. The birds were singing close by her, and there was a soft rustle of leaves, nothing more. She lifted her head, and with her hands searched for marks of the blow that seemed to have levelled her to the earth. A blow! She remembered now it was a word that she had sunk under—a coarse, cruel word, that brought a horrid picture with it, from which every nerve in her body recoiled.
She was very feeble, now, and could scarcely walk. It seemed as if she never would get to the house; the distance appeared interminable. She could not keep in the narrow paths that coiled along the flower-beds, but wavered in her steps from weakness, as her enemy had done from wrath, until her feet were tangled in the creeping flowers and strawberry-vines.
Her father was lying with his eyes closed when she went in, and a smile was upon his mouth. Even in his feeble state, he had found strength to free his child from a hateful alliance, and the thought made him happy. Ruth stooped down, and kissed him with her cold lips. The touch startled him. He opened his eyes, and saw how wan and tremulous she was.
"Do not fret!" he said, tenderly. "Why should you, darling? I have sent him away. I have told him that the child God gave to me shall never be his!"
At another time this news would have thrilled the girl with unutterable joy; but she scarcely felt it now. The fear that a marriage with Storms might be urged upon her seemed a small trouble, while the awful possibility he had fastened on her fears was so vivid and so strong.
"I thought it would please you," said the sick man, disappointed. "I did."
"And so it does, father; but we will not talk of it now. His coming has tired you, and I—I, too, am wanting a little rest. If you do not care, I will go away, while you sleep, and stay in my own room."
"There is wine on the table. Drink a little. I suppose it may be shadows from the ivy, but you look pale, Ruth."
"Yes, it is the shadows, but I will drink some wine."