"Because you are incapable of a great sacrifice. Well, I do pity you. As for me, I would die rather than he should even know of the peril that threatens him."
"Die? Die?"
A sudden illumination swept the white face of Ruth Jessup. Her eyes took fire, her breath rose in quick gasps, out of which came those two words. Then another question—would a death save him?
"If my death could do it, I need not have come to you," answered Lady Rose, proudly.
"True, true, I can see that. Do not think so hardly of me. I am not born to bravery, as you are. My father was only a poor gardener. When great sacrifices are asked of me, I may want a little time. You should not be angry with me for that."
Lady Rose turned eagerly.
"You relent. You have a heart, then?"
"Yes, yes, I will save him. In another week his path and yours shall be clear and bright.
"Mine? Mine? No, no! Can you think I do not understand all that you meditate, all that you may suffer in a marriage with this man? I spoke of dying. The self-abnegation you promise is a thousand times worse than death. Ruth Jessup, I envy you the power of so grand a sacrifice: I could make it as you will; and you could give up everything, taking no share in the future as I will. When this cloud is swept from 'Norston's Rest,' I leave it forever."
Excitement had kept Lady Rose proud and strong till now; but in place of this a great swell of pity, and self-pity, filled her heart. Reaching out her arms, she drew Ruth into them, and wept passionately on her shoulder, murmuring thanks, endearments, and tender compassion in wild and broken snatches.