“Ruth, my child, hush! for heaven’s sake!”
“No, no, no, no!” sobbed Ruth, and she went on incoherently as she clung to his feet: “You are not thinking of the horror of your crime. You do not love her—you cannot care for her, or you would not drive her to this terrible sin.”
“Not love her—Marie? Is she coming?”
“I pray heaven, no,” said Ruth simply. “I would sooner see her dead.”
“Then I will go and fetch her,” cried Glen, furious with disappointment. “I will not bear it; I cannot bear it. I’ll tear her away from him—but no,” he said bitterly, “I promised something else, and I know she will come.”
“Is this Marcus Glen?” said Ruth simply, as she remained there upon her knees; “is this the man who I told Marie was the soul of truth and honour?”
“No; it is the poor deluded, wretched man who has been twice tricked and cozened of his love. It is useless; I cannot, I will not listen to you!”
“You shall!” she cried, springing to her feet. “You shall go away from here, for she shall not leave her home for you. I would die sooner than see this shame brought upon her. Coward, to force me, a mere girl, to speak to you as I do! Oh, it is cruel, it is shameful, and yet you talk of love!”
“Hush!” he cried, as she stood before him flushed with her indignation; “what do you know of love?”
“That there is no such thing, if it is to bring shame and disgrace on a weak woman, and death and dishonour upon a good, confiding man. Oh, where is God, that He does not strike you dead for even thinking such a cruel wrong!—Marie, Marie, you shall not go!”