Diana rose and turned to her mother. “Come,” she said, “we'll speed Sir Rowland. Ruth and Richard would perhaps prefer to remain alone.”
Ruth thanked her with her eyes. Richard, standing beside his sister with bent head and moody gaze, did not appear to have heard. Thus he remained until he and his half-sister were alone together, then he flung himself wearily into the seat beside her, and took her hand.
“Ruth,” he faltered, “Ruth!”
She stroked his hand, her honest, intelligent eyes bent upon him in a look of pity—and to indulge this pity for him, she forgot how much herself she needed pity.
“Take it not so to heart,” she urged him, her voice low and crooning —as that of a mother to her babe. “Take it not so to heart, Richard. I should have married some day, and, after all, it may well be that Mr. Wilding will make me as good a husband as another. I do believe,” she added, her only intent to comfort Richard; “that he loves me; and if he loves me, surely he will prove kind.”
He flung himself back with an exclamation of angry pain. He was white to the lips, his eyes bloodshot. “It must not be—it shall not be—I'll not endure it!” he cried hoarsely.
“Richard, dear...” she began, recapturing the hand he had snatched from hers in his gust of emotion.
He rose abruptly, interrupting her. “I'll go to Wilding now,” he cried, his voice resolute. “He shall cancel this bargain he had no right to make. He shall take up his quarrel with me where it stood before you went to him.”
“No, no, Richard, you must not!” she urged him, frightened, rising too, and clinging to his arm.
“I will,” he answered. “At the worst he can but kill me. But at least you shall not be sacrificed.”