He hung up the receiver and went back to Ruth. She stirred and gave a little moan. He flew upstairs and returned with a pitcher of water. When he got back Ruth was sitting up. The look of terror was gone from her face. She smiled at him, a faint, curiously happy smile. He flung himself on his knees beside her, his arm round her waist, and burst into a babble of self-reproach.
He cursed himself for being such a brute, such a beast as to let her stand there, tiring herself to death. She must never do it again. He was a devil. He ought to have known she could not stand it. He was not fit to be married. He was not fit to live.
Ruth ruffled his hair.
“Stop abusing my husband,” she said. “I’m fond of him. Did you catch me, Kirk?”
“Yes, thank God. I got to you just in time.”
“That’s the last thing I remember, wondering if you would. You seemed such miles and miles away. It was like looking at something in a mist through the wrong end of a telescope. Oh, Kirk!”
“Yes, honey?”
“It came again, that awful feeling as if something dreadful was going to happen. And then I felt myself going.” She paused. “Kirk, I think I know now. I understand; and oh, I’m so happy!”
She buried her face on his shoulder, and they stayed there silent, till there came a ring at the bell. Kirk got up. George Pennicut ushered in the doctor. It was the same little old doctor who had ministered to George in his hour of need.
“Feeling better, Mrs. Winfield?” he said, as he caught sight of Ruth. “Your husband told me over the ’phone that you were unconscious.”