He came forward, with both hands extended.
"This is kind! my own Ruth," said he. Ruth's arms hung down motionless at her sides.
"What! Ruth, have you no word for me?"
"I have nothing to say," said Ruth.
"Why, you little revengeful creature! And so I am to explain all before you will even treat me with decent civility."
"I do not want explanations," said Ruth, in a trembling tone. "We must not speak of the past. You asked me to come in Leonard's—in my child's name, and to hear what you had to say about him."
"But what I have to say about him relates to you even more. And how can we talk about him without recurring to the past? That past, which you try to ignore—I know you cannot do it in your heart—is full of happy recollections to me. Were you not happy in Wales?" he said, in his tenderest tone.
But there was no answer; not even one faint sigh, though he listened intently.
"You dare not speak; you dare not answer me. Your heart will not allow you to prevaricate, and you know you were happy."
Suddenly Ruth's beautiful eyes were raised to him, full of lucid splendour, but grave and serious in their expression; and her cheeks, heretofore so faintly tinged with the tenderest blush, flashed into a ruddy glow.