In the Byington house Ruth and her brother met at the foot of the stairs.
"Leonard," she whispered, "what is it? Is father ill? Leonard! Oh, what have you seen?"
"Let me pass! quick!" He would have pressed her aside, but she laid hands on him.
"What has Arthur done?" she asked. "What is he doing?"
"Ruth! Ruth! he is putting her out of his own gate!" The brother extended both hands to turn the sister from his path, but she twined her arms on his.
"Leonard! Leonard! for the love of heaven, let him do it! She has only to go to her mother; let her go! It's the last hope. But she'd better be dead, and she'd a hundred times rather be dead, than that Leonard Byington should be her rescuer! Come in here a minute."
Slipping both hands into his she drew him into the lighted room, adding as they went, "In a few minutes I can make some errand to her and find how matters stand"—
They stumbled over a disordered rug. She fell into a chair; he sank to his knees, and with his face in her hands he moaned, "Oh, Ruth! Oh, Ruth! it's my fault after all! I should have gone away at the beginning!"
Ruth and Arthur met face to face in the Winslow garden. "I was just coming for you," he said, excitedly.
"For Isabel?"