Before either of the women could speak, Robert Boyce was led off into the darkness.
CHAPTER LXI.
WAITING FOR NEWS.
There is not, upon the face of the earth, more harassing trouble than that which springs out of ignorance and suspense. Eva and Ruth Laurence had but a wild and vague idea of the evil that had fallen on the two most beloved members of their little household. They knew nothing of the law, and imprisonment to them was an awful blending of suffering and disgrace, to which the unchecked imagination lent unknown horrors.
They sat together for a time in dead silence, each afraid to speak, lest she should add something to the distress of the other. But, as time wore on, this stillness became intolerable. Eva sprang to her feet and began to walk the room, with the wild restless tread of a panther in its cage; while Ruth clasped both slender hands over her bosom, and let the tears run unchecked, from under her closed eyelids.
“Oh, Ruth, Ruth! what must we do!” cried out Eva, wringing her hands and wrenching them apart with impetuous force. “I cannot stay here waiting in this way; he ought not to ask it.”
“But what can we do? Ah, me! how helpless we poor girls are!” said Ruth, opening her eyes, and wiping away the tears with her trembling hand. “Even your strength would be wasted, and I am so weak.”
“Oh, if I had something to lift—some great load to carry—sister, sister, I can believe now how ready persecuted women were to walk, unshod, among hot ploughshares. I could do it to save them and bring them back to us safe. I could! I could!”
“My sister, my own, own Eva, be patient. It would be only wasted strength if you could do all this; be patient and wait!”
“Wait, wait! that is a woman’s destiny in this world,” said Eva, with passionate vehemence; “but how can we—how can we? The pain of it is driving me wild!”
“Remember,” answered Ruth, speaking softly in her sweet patience, “we have a strong, good man at work for us. Is there no strength and hope in that?”