"Done! Nothing, father—nothing!" gasped the girl.
"But you are ill!"
"Yes, a little; but nothing to—to trouble you so."
Ruth stood a moment after this, with one hand on her temple, then she turned, with a show of strength, to her father.
"What were you saying just now about farmer Storms, and—and his son? I don't think I quite understood, did I?"
Jessup was now almost as white as his daughter. Her emotion kindled up a gleam of suspicion, which had hung about him in spite of himself, though he had left Richard Storms prostrate across the forest path for having inspired it.
"Ruth, has not Dick Storms told you to-night that both he and his father are getting impatient to have you at the farm?" he questioned, in a low voice.
"Dick—Dick Storms, father!"
"I ask you, Ruth. Has he been here, and did he tell you?"
"He was here, father," faltered the girl.