“Yes,” her father answered the half-spoken thought; “I know too. But ponder this well, as I shall insist on his doing; then, on Monday night, when you have both satisfactorily answered to each other every phase of this terrible difference, I shall have nothing more to say.”
Love is so selfish. Ruth, hugging her happiness, failed, as she had never failed before, to mark the wearied voice, the pale face, and the sad eyes of her father.
“Your mother will soon be awake,” he said; “had you not better go back?”
Something that she had expected was wanting in this meeting; she looked at him reproachfully, her mouth visibly trembling.
“What is it?” he asked gently.
“Why, Father, you are so cold and hard, and you have not even—”
“Wait till Monday night, Ruth. Then I will do anything you ask me. Now go back to your mother, but understand, not a word of this to her yet. I shall not recur to this again; meanwhile we shall both have something to think of.”
That afternoon Dr. Kemp received the following brief note:—
BEACHAM’S, August 25, 188—
DR. KEMP: