n impenetrable armour. Sorrow I did feel for
him, but fear entered not into my heart.

For some minutes I sat alone, wondering what I should do. I had indeed
found Ruth, and yet I knew nothing of her feeling towards me. I knew
not whether I might hope, or whether the events of the long weary years
had destroyed all her love for me. I longed to go to her, and yet I
dared not. I longed to tell her of the great love that burned in my
heart, but something hindered me from doing so. What should I do? I
was in the same house with her, I had again rescued her from terrible
surroundings, she had spoken kindly to me, and yet I remembered the
look she gave me more than a year ago, and I could not nerve myself to
seek her.

By and by a knock came to the door, and a servant entered.

"Please, sir, your room is ready," he said, and led the way to a
bedroom.

I followed him bewilderedly, wondering what the end was to be.
Everything was so strange that I scarcely realised what I was doing.

"Miss Morton told me to tell you that she would be in the library," he
said as he showed me into the bedroom, and left me.

It will be remembered that I was more than thirty years of age, and yet
no lover of eighteen could have felt more nervous than I. For the
first time during eleven long years I dared to hope that I might be
happy, and yet as I stood outside the door, longing yet not daring to
enter, my limbs trembled like those of a woman in great fear.

At length I knocked timidly, and heard Ruth's voice telling me to
enter, and in a second more we stood face to face.

She stood by the library table with an eager look upon her face. For a
minute we did not speak, but looked steadily at each other.

How beautiful she was in spite of the long years of trouble and
disappointment! True, the first blush of maidenhood was gone, for she
was only four years younger than I, but she was beautiful beyond
description. Little of stature, yet perfectly moulded, her great, grey
eyes still possessed their old charm, while her brown hair made a
fitting crown for so beauteous a face. To me, the rough sailor, who
for more than eleven years had scarcely spoken to another woman, save
Salambo's wife and my mother, she seemed like an angel.

All this flashed through my mind as her great eyes met mine.

"Ruth," I said.

"Roger," she sobbed, "thank God you've come."

I could not speak another word just then. I could only open my arms;
but