ce at the action; when he had caught her
swiftly to him, a sobbing sigh escaped her.

"What is it?" he asked, drawing her down to a seat beside him. "Are you
tired of me already, love?"

"Not of you; of waiting," she answered, half shyly meeting his look.

"I hardly expected this," he said after a pause; "has your father flown
bodily from the enemy and left you to face him alone?"

"Not exactly. But really it was kind of him to keep away for a while,
was it not?" she asked simply.

"It was unusually kind. I suppose, however, you will have to make your
exit on his entrance."

"No," she laughed quietly; "I am going to play the role of the audience
to-night. He expressly desires my presence; but if you differ--"

He looked at her curiously. The earnestness with which she had greeted
him settled like a mask upon his face. The hand that held hers drew it
quickly to his breast.

"I think it is well that you remain," he said, "because we agree at any
rate on the main point,--that we love each other. Always that, darling?"

"Always that--love."

The low, sweet voice that for the first time so caressed him thrilled
him oddly; but a measured step was heard in the hall, and Ruth moved
like a bird to a chair. He could not know that the sound of the step had
given her the momentary courage thus to address him.

He arose deferentially as Mr. Levice entered. The two men formed a
striking contrast. Kemp stood tall, stalwart, straight as an arrow;
Levice, with his short stature, his stooping shoulders, and his silvery
hair falling about and softening somewhat his plain Jewish face, served
as a foil to the other's bright, handsome figure.

Kemp came forward to meet him and grasped his hand. Nothing is more
thoroughly expressive than this shaking of hands between men. It is a
freemasonry that women lack and are the losers thereby. The kiss is a
sign of emotion; the hand-clasp bespeaks strong esteem or otherwise.
Levice's hand closed tightly about the doctor's large one; there was a
great feeling of mutual respect between these two.

"How are you and your wife?" asked the doctor, seating himself in a low,
silken easy-chair as Levice took one opposite him.

"She is well, but tired this evening, and has gone to bed. She wished
to be remembered to you." As he spoke, he half turned his head to where
Ruth sat in a corner, a little removed.

"Why do you sit back there, Ruth?"

She arose, and seeing no other convenient seat at