“Here,” he said—he laid a large bony hand tightly, as though afraid of its escape, over the little hand he held in his,—“here is a novel, international situation, a situation, free, thank goodness, of any blessed complications. Shall you and I,”—he lifted the hand to his lips again, he touched his lips tenderly to each finger-tip, and Ruth looked on—“shall you and I get married? Shall we run this dear place together? Shall we love it, live in it? I had dreamed, for you, infant, of a royal end. What will you? Heaven mercifully disposes.... But I had dreamed for you a Royal End!”
“I do not like being proposed to in this manner,” said Ruth, rounding upon him with a smiling face.
“Oh, my dear, blessed angel little Ruth!” cried Pontycroft, letting himself go. “Ruth... Hopelessly, hopelessly, denied me—found at last. Little Lady Precious Ruth! Ruth whom I love, Ruth whom I dote on—Ruth whom I've worshipped ever since she was a toddling child in her father's house... Ruth!” Miss Adgate could feel the beating of Pontycroft's heart as she stayed against his side.
“Shall we live here together?” he asked presently. “You—you—of course you love this old place! I love it because you do. And Thou, singing beside me in the Wilderness! It needs us, doesn't it? This peaceful Wilderness, this New England Garden of Eden!”
“Eden, from which William Rutherford has killed the snake,” laughed Ruth blinking a crystal tear that rolled down her cheek.
“Rutherford?” Pontycroft frowned, “who is William Rutherford?”
“Oh, nobody. No one in particular,” Ruth hastened to reply. “A mere mighty hunter before the Lord.” And Pontycroft did not pursue the subject of William Rutherford.
“But,” said Ruth a trifle anxiously, in a moment, “we must go abroad from time to time? We could never forsake Pontycroft.
“Oh, hang Pontycroft. Lucilla shall have it for her kids.”
“I want it for mine,” said Ruth. Then she looked away and blushed crimson—and then she laughed.