He confessed his long love for Ruth. He told how he had determined after his first repulse to win her yet, for her sake to undo the past and return to fling himself at her feet, worthy of her at last.
He pleaded so eloquently—he painted his hopes and fears with such genuine pathos—that the tears came into John Adrian’s eyes more than once; but he held his peace and let Marston continue his appeal.
Gradually Marston came from the past to the present. With delicacy and tact he alluded to the present position of Ruth’s father. He would do his best to extricate him from it. He a friend in need, would not Mr. Adrian give him the right to act on his behalf as one of the family?
He, Marston, was wealthy; he had a home to offer not only to Ruth, but, if the worst came, to Ruth’s father and mother. He might not have spoken so soon had not this calamity occurred. Now it was the duty of those who loved them to rally round them. Let the first friend to stretch out a helping hand to Ruth’s father and mother be the man who loved their daughter as his own life.
Mr. Adrian held out his hand to Marston as he uttered the last words of his impassioned appeal.
‘Ned,’ he said—‘let me call you by the old name—if the answer to your prayer rested with me you should have it at once. But there is Ruth to be consulted. Whatever suitor comes for her—be he rich or be he poor—he must ask her for her heart ere he comes to me for her hand.’
Marston, his generally emotionless face bright with a new expression of hope, took John Adrian’s hand and clasped it.
‘Let me go now,’ he said, ‘and leave you to think of what I have said. Ask Ruth if I have her heart. If her answer be “No,” let me be still your friend. If her answer be “Yes,” then let me be your son-in-law.’
He smiled a pleasant smile, shook bands with his host, and went out hurriedly.
He wanted air.