"What, sweetheart!—crying? It was the signal to come on," cried he.
"Yes; to see you sooner, George. Father is out yonder. But no, he will never, never consent."
"Then you will come with me, love," he said, taking her hands.
"No, no; I dare not," sobbed Ruth. "Father would overtake us. He swears to shoot you on sight! Go, George! Escape while you can! Oh, if he should find you here!"
"But, darling love, we need not fear. We can escape easily. I know the forest path. But—" Then he thought how weak her pace.
"We might cross here before he could come up!" cried Winthrop, looking toward where the Squire's boat was now a distant blotch.
"No, no," wailed Ruth, yet yielding to his embrace. "This is the last time I shall see you forever and forever. Go, dear,—good-bye, my love, my love."
But he clasped her in his strong arms, kissing, imploring, cheering her,—and how should true love choose hopeless renunciation?