“Where is he, Jasper?”
“In the library, sir,” replied the servant. “Shall I bring him hither?”
“Yes—no,” he answered. “I will come to him.” He turned his back upon the ladies, paused a moment, still irresolute. Then, as by an effort, he followed the servant across the lawn and vanished through the ivied porch.
As he went Diana flew to her cousin. Her shallow nature was touched with transient pity. “My poor Ruth...” she murmured soothingly, and set her arm about the other's waist. There was a gleam of tears in the eyes Ruth turned upon her. Together they came to the granite seat and sank to it side by side, fronting the placid river. There Ruth, her elbows on her knees, cradled her chin in her hands, and with a sigh of misery stared straight before her.
“It was untrue!” she said at last. “What Richard said of me was untrue.”
“Why, yes,” Diana snapped, contemptuous. “The only truth is that Richard is afraid.”
Ruth shivered. “Ah, no,” she pleaded—she knew how true was the impeachment. “Don't say it, Diana.”
“It matters little that I say it,” snorted Diana impatiently. “It is a truth proclaimed by the first glance at him.”
“He is in poor health, perhaps,” said Ruth, seeking miserably to excuse him.
“Aye,” said Diana. “He's suffering from an ague—the result of a lack of courage. That he should so have spoken to you! Give me patience, Heaven!”