iberty, and he
purposed to remain in that state. His conscience never told him to
go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to
the deed itself. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he
required no prison bars to accentuate this misery.

Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt
this persistent agony. It was not necessary to appease the wrath of
human society; it was necessary only to appease that of God for the
broken Commandment. To divide the agony into two spheres so that
one would mitigate the other. In fine, to marry Ruth (if she would
consent) as a punishment for what he had done! To whip his soul so
long as he lived, but to let his body go free! To provide for her,
to work and dream for her, to be tender and thoughtful and loyal,
to shelter and guard her, to become accountable to God for her
future.

It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. In this
hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him.

So, then, when McClintock offered the coveted haven, Spurlock
became afire to dramatize the idea.

"Ruth!"

She had gone to the door, aimlessly, without purpose. All the
sombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of her
thoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her. She did not
want to go to the doctor's people; however kindly that might be,
they would be only curious strangers. She would never return to her
father; that resolution was final. What she actually wanted was the
present state of affairs to continue indefinitely.

That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her
life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships
(like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new
circle. All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her courage
was merely a shell to hide the lack. To have the present lengthen
into years! But in a few hours she would be upon her way, far
lonelier than she had ever been. As Spurlock called her name, she
paused and turned.

"Dawn Pearl!... come here!"

She moved to the side of the bed. "What is it?"

"Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!... As my wife!
Both of us, never to be lonely again!... Will you marry me, Ruth?"

As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness
for love. Love and companionship. A fire enveloped her, a fire
which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth,
blotting out the menace