“You will not remember the foolish things I said to-night, dear?” she pleaded. “There, there, I’ll blot them out with kisses—one for every harsh word, and one more for love’s own sake. But you must promise me, Frank, never to leave me like that again.” A sob caught her voice, and her head drooped.
“You may curse me, strike me, do anything but that. Oh, the loneliness, the agony and horror of those hours when I realised you were gone in anger and might not come back to-night—dear, it was too cruel. Such wild thoughts swept my heart! You do forgive me?”
He stooped and kissed her.
“Why ask it, Ruth?”
“I know I am selfish and fretful and wilful,” she said, with a sigh. “I was only a spoiled child of nineteen when you took me by storm, body and soul. You remember, on our wedding day, when I looked up into your handsome face and the sense of responsibility and joy crushed me for a moment, I cried and begged you, who were so brave and strong, to teach me if I should fail in the least thing? And you promised, dear, so sweetly and tenderly. Do you remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” he slowly answered.
“And now, somehow, you seem to have drawn away from me as though the task had wearied you. Come back closer! When I am foolish you must be wise. You can make of me what you will. You know I am afraid of this Socialism. It seems to open gulfs between us. You read and read, while I can only wait and love. You cannot know the silent agony of that waiting for I know not what tragedy in our lives. Frank, teach and lead me—I will follow. I love you with a love that is deathless. If you will be a Socialist, make me one. Show me there is nothing to fear. I’ve thought marriage meant only self-sacrifice for one’s beloved. I’ve tried to give my very life to you and the children. If I’m making a mistake, show me.”
“I will try, Ruth.”
She ran her tapering fingers through his hair, smiled and sighed.
“How beautiful you are, my dear! I know it is a sin to love any man so. One should only love God like this.”