“Little one,” he faltered, “I have been very cruel in my ignorance.”
“Do not think of this, Father,” she whispered.
“I must,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Kemp, your hand, please.”
He grasped the strong white hand and drew the two together; and as Kemp’s large hand closed firmly over her little one, Levice stooped his head, kissed them thus clasped, and laid his hand upon them.
“There is one thing more,” he said. “At the utmost I have but a few days to live. I shall not see your happiness: I shall not see you, my Ruth, as I have often pictured you. Ah, well, darling, a father may be permitted sweet dreams of his only child. You have always been a good girl, and now I am going to ask you to do one thing more—you also, Doctor. Will you be married now, this day, here, so that I may yet bless your new life? Will you let me see this? And listen,—will you let the world know that you were married with my sanction, and did not have to wait till the old man was dead? Will you do this for me, my dear ones?”
“Will you, Ruth?” asked Kemp, softly, his fingers pressing hers gently.
Ruth stifled a sob as she met her father’s eager eyes.
“I will,” she answered so low that only the intense silence in the room made it audible.
Levice separated their hands and held one on each of his cheeks.
“Always doing things for her ugly old father,” he murmured; “this time giving up a pretty wedding-day that all girls so love.”