weirdly romantic--and it could
be overlooked!

It would have been absolutely impossible for Ruth Dale to conceive that
John Dale had so far outgrown her in the great human essentials of life,
that he had no further need of her. The life of which she was a part,
the life of which she was, she and her detached kind, the shining
centre, had not enough vitality to hold this man of nature to it. But
the pause was growing painful.

"John--I have come to tell you all."

He overleaped the poor past, and in his hunger to know of her part in
the present, said eagerly:

"Ruth, I am waiting to hear. I might have known you would come."

Then, to his surprise, the pretty sleek head was bent upon the arm of
the chair, and Ruth Dale wept, as the man opposite had forgotten women
_could_ weep. The sobs shook the slender form until pity for her moved
him to touch and soothe her; while the savage in him held him back.
Somehow, in a rough way, it seemed retribution. He was glad she could
suffer. But presently the flood ceased, Ruth looked up, tear-dimmed and
quivering. The torrent had borne away much sentiment; she was able to
face reality.

She told of Philip's dying confession. She delicately and graphically
told of the broken life--after he, John, had passed out of it--and they,
who remained, bravely wound the tangled ends into a noble whole.

Dale followed her words as if the story were of another--and of a life
he had never shared.

"Philip wanted you to have all--everything--of which his weakness had
deprived you!"

Dale started.

"Oh! Yes," he said vaguely; "I see. Well, I can understand that. But
Ruth--not even God could accomplish that miracle. In all such cases it
has to be what a man himself can get out of the wreck. It has to be
_other_ things. New things--or he is--damned."

It was the word more than the thought that caused the shudder in the
crouching woman.

"You have never forgiven us," she whispered.

"Yes, I have, Ruth. When I got to a place, cleansed by suffering, where
I could forgive myself--everything else was easy."

"Oh! John, why could you not have trusted me with your--your brave
secret?"

Why, indeed? John Dale could not have told; he only knew he had never
paused to consider when it came to telling Joyce Lauzoon. The thought
gripped him hard.

"It had to be, Ruth, I imagine. All the ugly factors had to be taken
into consideration when the plan for re-making Phil and me was
designed."

A g