"John! John!" So he had sunk so low.
"Do you know where she is?" Dale looked at his companion without noting her pallid astonishment.
"No; I do not."
"Then—and you will let me see you back to Drew's? I must go and find her. She shall have the truth, the whole truth, by God! to cool the fires of that hell she has been thrust into."
Ruth covered her face with her trembling hands. Never before had she been so near the bare, throbbing heart of things.
Oh! from what had she been saved? And yet—he was standing above her and he was superb in his strength and power. He was holding her cloak for her; helping to rid himself of her. The old half-dead, but vital call of the aboriginal woman rose in her, then ebbed away at birth in a feeble flickering jealousy.
"I do not wish you to go with me." Ruth felt timidly out for her sweet dignity; the perquisite and recompense of exquisite refinement. "I prefer going alone."
"It is quite dark."
"I shall not be afraid," Dale walked with her to the door. Just before the blackness engulfed her, she turned her little, flower-like face to him:
"John—I shall always be ready to be—your—friend if you need me."