There was something in this remark that roused again the turmoil which had begun to subside within me. There was so much that was unjust and tyrannical, and—what perhaps touched me still deeper—there was such a want of consideration and respect in this behavior of Mr. Enderton's, that it brought to the front some very incongruous emotions. I had been superciliously pushed aside, and I found I was angry. Something was about to be torn from me, and I found I loved it.
"Ruth," said I, stepping up close to her, "do you like to be with me as you have been?"
If Miss Ruth had not spent such a large portion of her life in the out-of-the-world village of Nanfouchong, if she had not lived among those simple-hearted missionaries, where it was never necessary to conceal her emotions or her sentiments, if it had not been that she never had had emotions or sentiments that it was necessary to conceal, I do not believe that when she answered me she would have raised her eyes to me with a look in them of a deep-blue sky seen through a sort of Indian-summer mist, and that, gazing thus, she would have said:
"Of course I like it."
"Then let us make it suitable," I said, taking both her hands in mine.
There was another look, in which the skies shone clear and bright, and then, in a moment, it was all done.
About five minutes after this I said to her, "Ruth, shall we go to your father?"
"Certainly," she answered. And together we walked along the thickly shaded path.
The missionary still sat with his back toward us, and, being so intent upon his book, I found that by keeping my eyes upon him it was perfectly safe to walk with my arm around Ruth until we had nearly reached him. Then I took her hand in mine, and we stepped in front of him.
"Father," said Ruth, "Mr. Craig and I are going to be married."