“O God!” breathed the girl, her storm-beaten eyes held by the power of her captor’s calmness.
“Now we are friends,” said Ruth, softly, “shall we sit down and talk?”
Still holding the slender hands, she drew up a chair, and seating the frail girl in the armchair, sat down beside her.
“Oh, wait!” whispered Rose; “let me tell you everything before you make me live again.”
“I know everything; and truly, Rose, nothing you can say could make me wish to befriend you less.”
“How nobly, how kindly he must have told you!”
“Hush! He told me nothing but the truth. To me you are a victim, not a culprit. And now, tell me, do you feel perfectly strong?”
“Oh, yes.” The little hand swept in agony over her sad, childish face.
“Then you ought to go out for a nice walk. You have no idea how pleasant it is this morning.”
“I can’t, indeed I can’t! and, oh, why should I?”