ter
wanted to know why I did not beg you to stay, and I--"

Ruth turned her face toward him.

"Well, I am going to stay," she answered simply. She did not dare to
trust herself further.

"Yes!--and now I don't care what happens!" he exclaimed with a thrill
in his voice. "If you will only trust me, Miss Ruth, and let me come in
with you and your father. Let me help! Don't let there be only two--let
us be three! Don't you see what a difference it would make? I will work
and save every penny I can for him and take every bit of the care from
his shoulders; but can't you understand how much easier it would be if
you would only let me help you too? I could hardly keep the tears back
a moment ago when I saw you sink down here. I can't see you unhappy like
this and not try to comfort you."

"You do help me," she murmured softly. Her eyes had now dropped to the
cushion at her side.

"Yes, but not--Oh, Ruth, don't you see how I love you! What difference
does this accident make--what difference does anything make if we have
each other?" He had his hand on hers now, and was bending over, his eyes
eager for some answer in her own. "I have suffered so," he went on, "and
I am so tired and so lonely without you. When you wouldn't understand me
that time when I came to you after the tunnel blew up, I went about like
one in a dream--and then I determined to forget it all, and you, and
everything--but I couldn't, and I can't now. Maybe you won't listen--but
please--"

Ruth withdrew her hand quickly and straightened her shoulders. The
mention of the tunnel and what followed had brought with it a rush of
memories that had caused her the bitterest tears of her life. And then
again what did he mean by "helping"?

"Jack," she said slowly, as if every word gave her pain, "listen to
me. When you saved my father's life and I wanted to tell you how much I
thanked you for it, you would not let me tell you. Is not that true?"

"I did not want your gratitude, Ruth," he pleaded in excuse, his lips
quivering, "I wanted your love."

"And why, then, should I not say to you now that I do not want your
pity? Is it because you are--" her voice sank to a whisper, every note
told of her suffering--"you are--sorry for me, Jack, that you tell me
you love me?"

Jack sprang to his feet and stood looking down upon her. The cruelty of
her injustice smote his heart. Had a man's glove been dashed in his face
he could not have been more incensed. For a br