"Well, Ruth, shall we promise each other that we won't say a word about to-night?"
"I don't know. I don't mind telling auntie what I have done, though I know it was wrong and foolish, but, of course, I don't want to get you into trouble. Yet—I can't tell lies——"
"Of course not; I wouldn't wish it. But you can be silent—yes, I believe you can—and I want you to promise me on your word as a good little cousin, that you will not mention what has happened to any one."
"Very well," she said, turning away slowly.
"Gerald, will you promise me something?"
"Anything you like."
They were almost upstairs now, and he was anxious for her to be silent.
"Promise that you won't go out at night again without letting your father know."
"I'll promise," was his whispered reply; and they separated.
Another moment, and Ruth was in her own room, but without the books for which she had gone downstairs. She had forgotten them and the translation in her astonishment about Gerald, and when she lay in bed once more her mind was full of her strange adventure, and she began to wonder if she had done right in giving her promise so quickly, without any reflection.