“He was the dearest friend I ever had. When I left him, he promised to watch over my interests, to——”
“May I ask your name,” said Mrs. Laurence now keenly aroused.
“Ross—Herman Ross.”
Mrs. Laurence turned her eyes from the face she had been studying with a sort of terror, and her voice grew low and hoarse as she questioned him further.
“And the name of your friend—his full name?”
“Leonard—Leonard Laurence.”
“That was father’s name,” said Ruth, in a half whisper, looking at her mother, who groaned heavily, without saying a word. Low as the words were spoken, Ross heard them, and his face kindled.
“Then, young lady, your father was my close friend, and loved me like a brother. Will you not trust and like me a little for his sake?”
“I love everything that he loved,” said Ruth, with tears in her eyes; and she held out her frail little hand, which Ross took, reverently; then he turned to the other woman with a look of touching appeal.
“And you are Leonard Laurence’s wife. I remember seeing you once, a fair, young bride.”