A deep tenderness for Ruth pervaded Adam’s soul. Who, of all men, could love her, save her, content her as he? It was not thought of her kisses, of her embraces, that plucked at the roots of his will. Like a passing wave the thrill of such bliss went out to the might of a nobler tide. To save Ruth from the fate of her mother, from the peril of her own heart! And in the saving, a home—happiness—the tender smile of a mother—and the kiss of a child!
“But I am a criminal! I am a murderer! Any day I might be hanged before her very eyes!” he whispered, with his face in the grass, his fingers digging the turf. “Still—no one would ever recognize me now.... Ah! but he—that human wolf Collishaw—would not he know me?... Oh, if there be God—help me in my extremity!”
* * * * *
Once again he met her. As he rode up the valley at sunset she came out of the oak grove.
“I’ve been with Genie. Desert man, her happiness frightens me. Oh, I love her! You tell me of your hard, lonely, terrible desert life. Why, your ears should ring with bells of joy forever. It is you who have built her castle. What other deeds, like that, have you done—in those bitter years you tell of?”
“Not many, Ruth—perhaps not one.”
“I don’t believe you. I am learning you, desert man. And, oh, I wish you knew how it swells my heart to hear Genie tell of what you did for her. Every day she tells me something new.... Ah! and more—for to-day she said you would be leaving soon.”
“Yes, Ruth—soon,” he said.
“Back to the lonely land?”
“Yes, back to the sage and sand and the big dark hills. Yes, it will be a lonely land,” he replied, sadly.