Finally, Dick had persuaded John to leave his situation, and join him and his lawless companions in their wild bush life; yet, even there, his thoughts often reverted to Ruth, and he made up his mind that if she would only break the silence and tell him she cared as much as ever for him, he would leave his present surroundings and begin a new life. Often, when engaged in pursuits new and exciting, or carousing with companions as degraded as his own brother, the sweet, happy restraints of the old home life, and the pure face of the woman he loved would rise before him in vivid contrast, and with an unutterable loathing he would turn from his present life, and long to be free. Yet he lacked moral courage to break from his brother's influence; and, as John, in many ways, proved serviceable to Dick, the latter, by flattery or by threats, was continually strengthening his hold upon John's weaker nature. So Dick was rejoiced that Ruth's letter had fallen into his hands, well knowing that John could never have withstood the temptation it would have presented to him.
"Any letters from home, Dick?" inquired John of his brother, who sat before a rough, uncovered table, making heavy inroads upon the provisions with which it was loaded.
"There's one in my coat," answered Dick, nodding in the direction of his top-coat, which he had flung aside on entering. John got up and felt in the pocket, and drew out his mother's letter.
"No other, Dick?"
"No; ain't that enough for you?" was the answer.
John took the letter and went out of the room.
"She is too hard on a fellow, she is; but, oh, Ruthie, if I had you here, I'd be out of this soon enough!" he said to himself.
Yet, all through the hours of the following night, John laughed as loudly and drank as deeply as any of the rough men who had been invited to meet Dick, and listen to the news after his short absence from the settlement. In the early dawn, the company broke up, and left the log building, making, as they went to their several homes, the still, fragrant air resonant with snatches of ribald song and coarse jest.
Dick threw himself upon a settle and was soon sleeping heavily; but John staggered out of the noisome atmosphere, and leaned against the framework of the door. The cool morning breeze fanned his heated brow, and the twitter of the birds fell on his dulled ears. The stars had paled, but the moon shone clear in the blue sky, now fast taking on the gorgeous hues of the dawn. He stood, unconscious of the beauty of scene and sound around him, till the echoes of his late companions' unhallowed mirth had died away. Then there came to him, as there always did at such times, the thought of Ruth. What would she say to see him now? Yet, deeply though he had fallen, John would have given worlds, if he had possessed them, to have stood in her presence at that moment with drooping head, and confessed all his weakness and misery, and begged her to forgive him, and help him to retrieve the bitter past.
"Oh, Ruth, you took the pledge for my sake, and now, if you were only here, I'd take it for my own sake and yours too," groaned John.