“I said not that; though, were he to tell, no doubt they would seem sufficient.”
“He has not told them? What passed then so slyly, when you stood together?”
Isaiah had boasted that in a city where the clever liar was deemed the sage, he had been wont to speak truly; but he found himself close to equivocation.
“We spoke of the increasing power of Avil. Your father grows anxious.”
“And was not my name mentioned once, twice?”
Ruth had turned from the loom, and was looking Isaiah in the face.
“You did wrong to eavesdrop,” he faltered, nigh desperately, for falsehood tripped hardest off his tongue when those soft eyes were on him.
“No answer,” she challenged, lowering her head till her curls almost brushed his cheek. “Speak! Why did you use my name?”
“You must have confidence in us,” began Isaiah, putting on manly austerity, “to believe that whatever we said was only for your good.”