her trust in him had not been shaken; the resting of
her head on his knee told him so much. But how long would it or could it
stand against the doubts of the man she loved? That was the question
which went through Philip Alston's breast like the thrust of a sword.
Her husband's influence would be supreme. A tender, gentle creature, she
would be easily influenced through her affections. The young doctor
might keep silence, seeing her love for himself and respecting her
regard for her foster-father; but he was not the man to hide what he
really thought and felt, and she must divine the truth before long.
Philip Alston had no hope of changing Paul Colbert's opinion of himself;
he knew the world and mankind too well to think for a moment that any
man might hope to live down such charges as those which had been brought
against himself. Ruth must know sooner or later, and, knowing, would she
still love him? There came now a sort of piteous appeal in the touch of
his unsteady hand on her hair. The slightest suspicion must blast the
exquisite flower of her tender love. With his quick, full appreciation
of everything truly noble he had often noted the firm principles, which
lay under her sweet gentleness like fine white marble under soft green
moss. He did not know that this very trait for which he had loved her,
and which now made him afraid, had already been tested again and again;
and that her love for him and trust in him, had stood against every
attack as firmly as great rocks stand against shallow waves. No, he knew
nothing of all this, and he was now in such desperate fear that he
dared not speak or move or do anything but stroke her hair with a
shaking hand, and stare over her head at the fire trying to clear his
mind. She had been silent also, but presently she spoke, putting up her
hand to pat the one that was stroking her hair.

"I am waiting, dear heart," she said softly, "waiting to hear what you
think of my Paul. I have been wanting so long to tell you; it was on
account of William that I waited. But you know now, and I am so glad--so
glad! Tell me what you think of him. There is no one but you who can see
all that he is. And there is no one but him who can see all that you
are. But you two, my dearest, are capable of appreciating each other.
And I am a happy, happy girl."

He was feeling faint and sick under the hopelessness of any struggle
between old love and young love. With every look of her radiant eyes,
wi