oneliness in which he lived, in his contempt for all his former
pursuits, which had left him at first devoid of any pursuits at all.

He had had, as was natural, very little happiness in his life, but all
the bitterness of all his bitter past seemed as nothing to the agony of
this moment. He had loved Evelyn with his imagination, but he loved Ruth
with his whole heart and soul, and--he had lost her.

The night was far advanced. The dawn was already making faint bars over
the tops of the shutters, was looking in at him as he sat motionless by
his dim lamp and his dead fire. And, in spite of the growing dawn, it
was a dark hour.

CHAPTER XX.

Dare returned to Vandon in the highest spirits, with an enormous emerald
engagement-ring in an inner waistcoat-pocket. He put it on Ruth's third
finger a few days later, under the ancient cedar on the terrace at
Vandon, a spot which, he informed her (for he was not without poetic
flights at times), his inner consciousness associated with all the love
scenes of his ancestors that were no more.

He was stricken to the heart when, after duly admiring it, Ruth gently
explained to him that she could not wear his ring at present, until her
engagement was given out.

"Let it then be given out," he said, impetuously. "Ah! why already is it
not given out?"

She explained again, but it was difficult to make him understand, and
she felt conscious that if he would have allowed her the temporary use
of one hand to release a fly, which was losing all self-control inside
her veil, she might have been more lucid. As it was, she at last made
him realize the fact that, until Lord Polesworth's return from America
in November, no further step was to be taken.

"But all is right," he urged with pride. "I have seen my lawyer; I make
a settlement. I raise money on the property to make a settlement. There
is nothing I will not do. I care for nothing only to marry you."

Ruth led him to talk of other things. She was very gentle with him,
always attentive, always ready to be interested; but any one less
self-centred than Dare would have had a misgiving about her feeling for
him. He had none. Half his life he had spent in Paris, and, imbued with
French ideas of betrothal and marriage, he thought her manner at once
exceedingly becoming and natural. She was reserved, but reserve was
charming. She did not care for him very much perhaps, as yet, but as
much as she could care for any one. Most men