ay, nay, little child," he whispered in her ear. "Never weep for
me that have not a tear for myself. What better resolution of the
difficulties my folly has created?" For only answer she clung closer,
her hands locked about his neck, her slender body shaken by her silent
weeping. "Don't pity me," he besought her. "I am content it should be
so. It is the amend I promised you. Waste no pity on me, Ruth."

She raised her face, her eyes wild and blurred with tears, looked up to
his.

"It is not pity!" she cried. "I want you, Anthony! I love you, Anthony,
Anthony!"

His face grew ashen. "It is true, then!" he asked her. "And what you
said to-night was true! I thought you said it only to detain me."

"Oh, it is true, it is true!" she wailed.

He sighed; he disengaged a hand to stroke her face. "I am happy," he
said, and strove to smile. "Had I lived, who knows...?"

"No, no, no," she interrupted him passionately, her arms tightening
about his neck. He bent his head. Their lips met and clung. A knock
fell upon the door. They started, and Wilding raised his hands gently to
disengage her pinioning arms.

"I must go, sweet," he said.

"God help me!" she moaned, and clung to him still. "It is I who am
killing you--I and your love for me. For it was to save me you rode
hither to-night, never pausing to weigh your own deadly danger. Oh, I
am punished for having listened to every voice but the voice of my own
heart where you were concerned. Had I loved you earlier--had I owned it
earlier..."

"It had still been too late," he said, more to comfort her than because
he knew it to be so. "Be brave for my sake, Ruth. You can be brave, I
know--so well. Listen, sweet. Your words have made me happy. Mar not
this happiness of mine by sending me out in grief at your grief."

Her response to his prayer was brave, indeed. Through her tears came a
faint smile to overspread her face so white and pitiful.

"We shall meet soon again," she said.

"Aye--think on that," he bade her, and pressed her to him. "Good-bye,
sweet! God keep you till we meet!" he added, his voice infinitely
tender.

"Mr. Wilding!" Wentworth's voice called him, and the captain thrust the
door open a foot or so. "Mr. Wilding!"

"I am coming," he answered steadily. He kissed her again, and on that
kiss of his she sank against him, and he felt her turn all limp. He
raised his voice. "Richard!" he shouted wildly. "Richard!"

At the note of alarm in his voice, Went