The night passed, and the troublous morning broke,
And Ruth was sold away from him she loved.
The dark day died, and when the moon arose,
The foremost torch in day's long funeral train,
Karagwe went down toward the river's brink,
Thinking of what had been. He turned and saw
His enemy walk calmly up the road.
Quickly behind him came another form;
And in a jeweled hand, half raised to strike,
A poniard glistened. Then the negro rose,
And caught the weapon from the assassin's grasp,
And stood before the planter, Dalton Earl!
"Forgive," he said, "Forgiveness is a slave;
She has no pride, she never does an ill;
For she is meekly great, and nobly good,
And patient, though the lash of anger smites."
Rebuked, the master stood before the slave,
And Richard Wain passed on, nor knew his life
Was saved by one that he had that day wronged.
Thus Dalton Earl: "I thank you for this act,
Thwarting a bad intent. Yet I had cause
To take the sullied life of Richard Wain.
He drugged the wine he gave me at his house,
And knowing that I had with me the deed
And title of my lands, begged me to play,
And while I played, stake all upon a card.
He won, and I have hated from that hour."
XIV.
Like some great thought that finds release at last,
The happy Spring in buds expression found.
Coralline Earl grew rich in every grace.
Her eyes' blue heavens were serene with soul,
And goodness sunned her face from light within.
Her hands were soft with kindness. On her brow
Shone hope, more lovely than a ruby star.
As in the ancient days sat Mordecai
At the king's gate, and waited for the hour,
When, clothed with pomp, he too should take his seat
Among the mighty nobles of the land,
So at the gateway of her palace heart,
Love tarried, that he too might enter in,
And rule the kingdom of another life.
Not long the waiting; for when Stanley Thane
Came from his northern home with Dalton Earl,
And on the terrace steps met Coralline,
Love took the sceptre that his waiting won.
Well worthy to be loved was Stanley Thane.
He could not claim a titled ancestor,
Nor boast of any blood but Puritan.
His father was successful on exchange,
Reaped fortune by a rise in merchandise,
Now sent his partner son with Dalton Earl
Toward the claspless girdle of the South.
And Stanley Thane was all that makes true men;
High thought, high purpose, loving right the best,
His mind was clear and fresh as air at morn.
He kissed the rosy tips of Coralline's hand,
And that day galloped with her through the town,
And wandered with her down magnolia lanes,
And watched, below the spray-woofed fall, the brook,
That seemed a maid, who, sitting at a loom,
Wove misty lace to decorate the rocks.