"Does that mean anything? Is that a confession?"
Ruth did not answer, but dropped into a chair, faint and white, still gazing on the paper.
"Do you want more proof? Well, I can give it you, for I saw the thing done. Do you want the particulars?"
"No! no! Spare me!" cried the poor girl, lifting both hands.
"Of course, I mean to spare you. One doesn't torment his wife till he gets her!"
"Spare him!" pleaded the poor girl. "Never mind me, but spare him. He has never harmed you."
"Never harmed me! Who was it that he hurled, like a dog, from that very door? Whose sweetheart was it that he stole? Never harmed me! Spare him! That is for you to do. No one else on this earth can spare him!"
"But how?"
The words trembled, coldly, from her white lips.
"How? By marrying the man you were promised to."