or dreaming.

Among the volumes she brought was the old note-book in which the judge
had made him jot down suggestions during those long evening readings
in the past. It was full of homely advice, the result of forty years'
experience, and Sandy found comfort in following it to the letter.

For the first time in his life he learned the power of concentration.
Seven hours' study a day, without diversion or interruption, brought
splendid results. He knew the outline of the course at the university,
and he forged ahead with feverish energy.

Meanwhile the judge's condition was slowly improving.

One afternoon Sandy sat at his table, deep in his work. He heard the
key turn in its lock and the door open, but he did not look up.
Suddenly he was aware of the soft rustle of skirts, and, lifting his
eyes, he saw Ruth. For a moment he did not move, thinking she must be
but the substance of his dream. Then her black dress caught his
attention, and he started to his feet.

"Carter?" he cried--"is he--"

Ruth nodded; her face was white and drawn, and purple shadows lay
about her eyes.

"He's dead," she whispered, with a catch in her voice; then she went
on in breathless explanation: "but he told me first. He said, 'Hurry
back, Ruth, and make it right. They can come for me as soon as I can
travel. Tell Kilday I wasn't worth it.' Oh, Sandy! I don't know
whether it was right or wrong,--what you did,--but it was merciful: if
you could have seen him that last week, crying all the time like a
little child, afraid of the shadows on the wall, afraid to be alone,
afraid to live, afraid to die--"

Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands.

Sandy started forward, then he paused and gripped the chair-back
until his fingers were white.

"Ruth," he said impatiently, "you'd best be going quick. It'll break
the heart of me to see you standing there suffering, unless I can take
you in me arms and comfort you. I've sworn never to speak the word;
but, by the saints--"

"You may!" sobbed Ruth, and with a quick, timid little gesture she
laid her hands in his.

For a moment he held her away from him. "It's not pity," he cried,
searching her face, "nor gratitude!"

She lifted her eyes, as honest and clear as her soul.

"It's been love, Sandy," she whispered, "ever since the first."

[Illustration: "'It's been love, Sandy, ... ever since the first'"]

Two hours later, when the permit came, Sandy walked out of the jail