"Good-by," said Ruth, faintly.
CHAPTER LXVIII.
FORSAKING HER HOME.
RUTH stood perfectly motionless, until the light tread of Lady Rose died out on the turf. Then she sat down and fell into thought, so deep and dreary, that it seemed like waking from a trance, when she looked up, and saw that the west was all aflame with scarlet, and drenched in great seas of gold. Then she arose, and went into her little chamber. Up to this time her eyes had been dry; but some tender recollection seemed to strike her, as she looked around, and instantly they were flooded with tears. She busied herself about the old-fashioned bureau a while, apparently selecting such little objects as her husband had, from time to time, given her. Then she took the prayer-book from her toilet, in order to secure the marriage certificate, which had been placed between its leaves.
"They must not find this here," she thought. "Nothing shall be left to show that he ever loved me."
Then she took the ring from her bosom, and, folding it up in a bit of silk paper with pathetic care, laid that, too, within the leaves of the book, and made a package of the whole.
It was dark now, and, for a little time, she lay down upon her white bed, and there, with folded hands, strove to reason with herself. "When the man who hates him so hears all, and knows that the poor girl he is hunting to death is far, far beyond the reach of love or hate, he will content himself with the lady's land and gold," she thought. "She, too, will go away, and find happiness; for he will seek her out, not too soon, I know that, but after a while, and never knowing how it came to be so, will give his heart to her.
"Then I shall be forgotten—forgotten! Ah, me, why was I born to bring such trouble on every one that loved me? He will mourn. Oh, yes, he will mourn! He never can help that, for he loved me—he loved me!"
She thought this all over and over, with mournful persistency. The spirit of self-sacrifice was strong upon her; but not the less did all the sweet tenderness of her woman's nature dwell upon the objects of love she was giving up.