"Of course, of course. He has a hard bout. Not this, though, and I'm thankful for it."
Jessup put one hand to his wounded breast as he spoke, and Ruth observed, with anxiety, that he breathed with difficulty.
"You must not try to walk again, father," she said, arranging his pillows and wiping the drops from his forehead. "It exhausts you."
"Nothing of the kind, lass. I shall be all the stronger in an hour. Why, at the end of three days, I mean to walk over to 'The Rest,' and have a talk with the young master."
"Oh, how I wish you could!"
"Could? I will. I thought he would have answered my letter by a word, if no more. But I have no doubt he is o'er weak for writing. Anyhow, we shall soon know."
Again Ruth breathed freely. The father was right. In a few days she would hear directly from her husband—perhaps see him. If he wished it, as she did, nothing could keep him away, now that he had once gone into the open air. Surely she was brave enough to bear her burden a little longer.
It was growing dark, now. Jessup had been at rest most of the time; for, in his feeble state, crossing that room had wearied him as no journey could have done in health.
Ruth had been restless as a caged bird all day. Her load of apprehension regarding her father had been relieved only that the keener trouble, deep down in her woman's heart, should come uppermost with new force. Those two persons among the roses on the terrace haunted her like one of those pictures which the brain admires and the heart loathes. Was not this man her husband? Had he not sworn to love her, and her alone? What right had Lady Rose by his side? How dared she look into those eyes whose love-light was all her own only a few weeks ago? Alas! those weary, weary weeks! How they had dragged and torn at her life! How old she had grown since that circlet of gold had been hidden in her bosom!
Ruth was very sad that evening,—sad, and strangely haunted. It seemed to her that, more than ever, she was waiting for some great catastrophe. Black clouds seemed gathering all around her; difficulties that she had no strength to fathom or combat seemed to people the clouds with ruin. Yet all was vague and dreary. The poor child was worn out with loneliness and watching.