"Miss Ruby, sir," the nurse would say, breaking in upon him without ceremony, "and she's much better to-day, sir. I declare she's getting quite strong now her father's come home," and down would go Schopenhauer or Lombroso, and Hector, springing up, would rush at the little figure groping its way towards him, and, placing her on his knee, invent lame and improbable fairy stories, or carry her off to the stables for inspection—if such it could be called when one could not see—of the white pony and a certain grey rabbit, bought for her by him in the village.
At other times, when the black mood was on him, she would lie quite still in his arms, her hand now and again stroking his face, while she murmured words of sympathy and encouragement. For Ruby always knew and understood, and in those baby fingers lay a strength and power, which were rapidly growing, till in time they might have torn away Stara's grip on his heart, had the battle been left to her and Fate not interfered. As it was, she made a good fight for it, and very nearly won; for Hector, even thus early, had begun to ask himself the question, "Ruby or Stara?" And though the balance was still down on the one side, yet daily the other was drawing up.
At last, one bitter January morning, as the two sat in his room by the fire, she on his knee, the knowledge awoke within him, that, quivering, the scales hung level, and, knowing, for a moment he pondered, and then spoke.
"Ruby," he said. At his voice the child looked up quickly, for there was something tremendous coming, and she knew it at once.
"'Oo's frightened, daddy, 'oo's frightened at something. Tell Ruby." Her hands groped their way to his face and rested there. The balance went clashing down.
"Would you like me to stay with you always, Ruby, just you and I, and mother, and Peter?" Peter was the rabbit.
"James"—the yellow plush monkey—"too, daddy, and 'Iteing."
"James too, of course, and Whiting. Would you like it, Ruby, or ... shall I go away?"
"You're my daddy; I'se not let you go. Oh, daddy, daddy," and the thin arms were wound tightly round his neck, and the sightless eyes filled with tears, "you can't go, you shan't go. It's my burfday soon, and you promised to have tea wiv me, you and muvver."
"But, Ruby, dear."