WHEN Ruth realized that it was David whom she had seen, that the little written message which she treasured so carefully and always carried tucked away in a safe place near her heart, was truly written by him, her joy and fear knew no bounds.
Yes, it was true: David knew where she was. And he would do all in his power to rescue her, to save her from the horrible fate that hung over her. For had not the Bronze King already set the date for their marriage? Had she not seen the wedding invitations and been forced to fold and address many of the great heavy envelopes that contained the announcement of the dreaded event?
It was to take place soon—all too soon, alas! There was little time to be lost. Could David succeed in rescuing her? Could he, in so short a time, devise any method of saving her from the terrible life that seemed so surely about to become hers? What if anything happened to David? What if he met any of the King’s men in or about the woods that adjoined the Palace? She recalled what the King had said to her on that first day, the day when she was captured; and she shuddered as she repeated the words to herself—“As for that young David of whom you speak, he had best keep off my land! All who are found trespassing upon my kingdom are put to death at once.” “David, oh, David! be careful!” she cried.
Then the thought of the terrible Lions filled her with dread. She was sure that he could know nothing of them. She had feared for him on that memorable morning and had listened all that long, dreary day, dreading to hear the sound of their deafening roar, which would surely be the signal that some poor wanderer had fallen their victim. But the Lions had been quiet all day, so she knew he had escaped and had doubtless left the Castle in another direction, knowing nothing of their whereabouts or the dangers that they embodied. But might he not, if he knew nothing of the danger, come upon them in returning? He would return in the darkness, for she herself had counselled him to come on a dark, starless night. “Oh, David, David, if I should be the cause of your death—!”
Nearer and nearer drew the date set for the wedding. The Palace was to be decked in gala fashion, and already preparations were under way; the decorators and landscape gardeners were in full possession, and there was everywhere an atmosphere of eagerness and proud competition.
It had pleased the fancy of the King to make the night preceding the wedding one of little merriment, “For,” he said, “I wish my bride to be fair and beautiful on my wedding day.”
Poor Ruth had grown pale and thin during her days of captivity. She could neither eat nor sleep, and the women in attendance had been obliged to use all their arts to keep her looking even presentable, for the King would permit no pale faces or dull, tear-stained eyes.
So the evening preceding the wedding was to be spent quietly. The household was to assemble after the evening meal, and Ruth was to sing while the others drank and smoked.
The evening was clear and calm, and the lingering twilight revealed a tiny crescent moon that sank below the horizon as the last glow of sunset faded from the sky. Later the wind rose, and dark, threatening storm-clouds obscured the light of the watching stars.
Ruth tuned her harp, but there was little music in her heart. The dark, cloud-swept night seemed a fitting emblem of her future life.