"Truly, Ruth, and dearly as ever man loved woman," was the earnest, almost solemn, answer.
The girl turned pale, even her lips grew white.
"I dare not let you," she said, in a voice that was almost a whisper. "I dare not."
"But how can you help it?" said Hurst, smiling at her terror.
"How can I help it?"
The girl lifted her hands as if to ward him away. This announcement of his love frightened her. A sweet unconscious dream that had neither end nor beginning in her young experience had been rudely broken up by it.
"You tremble—you turn pale. Is it because you cannot love me, Ruth?"
"Love you—love you?" repeated the girl, in wild bewilderment. "Oh, God! forgive me—forgive me! I do, I do!"
Her face was one flame of scarlet now, and she covered it with her hands—shame, terror, and a great ecstasy of joy seized upon her.
"Let me go, let me go, I cannot bear it," she pleaded, at length. "I dare not meet my father after this."