He caught at last a velvet honey-bee,
Weighed down with its gold treasure in its belt,
And killed it; then, when morning came again,
Bore it to Ruth beneath the fragrant trees.
"I bring you, Ruth, a dead bee for a sign.
For if to-day you wear it in your hair,
When once again you come to walk the lane,
I then shall know that you are truly mine,
Willing to be my wife, and share my lot,
And let me toil with you like any bee;
But if you do not wear it, then I shall care
No more for anything; but waste my life,
A bee without a queen." Then not one word
Spoke Ruth; but when the sunset came, and she
Went from the house again to walk alone,
The dead bee glittered gem-like in her hair.
And him she met for whom the sign was meant,
And in his hand she laid her own, and smiled.

XI.

The next day, Richard Wain, when riding past,
Heard Ruth's bird-voice trilling in the lane,
And caught a glimpse of her between the trees,
A picture, for an instant, in a frame.
He thought, "The prize I coveted is near;
She will be mine before the set of sun."
Returning soon, toward the house he went,
Strode to the door, calling for Dalton Earl,
And told him for what merchandise he came.
The girl was not for sale, the other said.
"You talk at random now," said Richard Wain,
"You know I hold the deed of all your lands,
And so, unless you let the woman go,
Your whole estate shall have a sheriff's sale."
The planter turned a coward at the threat,
And knowing well what blood ran in the veins
Of her he sold, reluctant gave consent.

Above his wine he told Ruth of her fate,
And to the floor she fell, and swooned away.
Recovering, she rose upon her knees,
And begged, and prayed, that she might still remain.
At this he told her how the lands were held,
And if she went not he must starve or beg.
"Then let the lands be sold, and sold again;
If his, they are not yours. What good will come
If I do go to him? then all is his.
Last night I gave my hand to Karagwe.
O, it will break my heart to go away."
Lightly his mustache twirled Dalton Earl.

At dusk, in tears to Karagwe's low roof,
Ruth passed, and uttered, with wild, angry words,
The hard conditions that had been imposed.
She wept; he comforted: "There yet was hope:
There was a Hero, in a Book he read,
Who said that those who suffered would be blessed."
Then for the last, toward the planter's house
They walked, and o'er them saw the spi