It seemed an age before he spoke again, but when he did the tremor was
more noticeable, though there was no anger in the tone, but instead, a
note of astonishment. "Why, Ruth, how can that be? Don't you love me?"
Still looking away from him; not daring to look at his face, she shook
her head and murmured, "No, Donald!"
"I don't believe it!" His words came quick and there was no tremor in
his voice. Catching her hand again, he gripped it in his strong
fingers, and repeated. "I don't believe it!" Then with appeal in his
tones, he added, "Look into my eyes, Ruth, and tell me that! I
don't--I can't--believe it ... after that night!"
Her resolution was wavering, but cold reason was saying insistently,
"If you give way now you'll surrender to him. You'll be a fisherman's
wife. You'll live in a cottage and keep a home for a man who'll be
with you but seldom. You'll lie awake nights worrying about him.
You'll not be able to enjoy the things you desire and admire. You may
love ... but love flies out of the window when poverty comes in at the
door. Your culture, your education will be thrown away, and some day,
maybe, you'll be standing in your cottage door with a child in your
arms and there'll be a vessel coming in with a half-masted flag ...
and some man will be saying to you, 'Aye, your husband was lost at
sea!'" She shuddered at the thought and steeled her heart. She would
not look into his eyes. If she did so, she would waver, she knew. She
cared for him more than she thought, and her heart was breaking.
"No, Donald, I--I like you very, very much, but I can't ... will
not ... marry you!"
Still grasping her hand, he asked huskily, "Do you mean that, Ruth?"
She answered with a nod, but wishing to hear it from her own lips he
repeated. "Do you mean that, Ruth?"
"Yes!"
He released her hand quickly and rose to his feet. Straightening
himself up to his full height he squared his shoulders, and with
moisture glistening on his forehead, turned and gazed at her. It was
his Gethsemane, this spot, and the pain in his heart showed in his
eyes. The girl sat on the grass with averted face, nervously tearing a
spring flower to shreds. "Ruth," he said at last in a voice charged
with emotion, "With the exception of my mother, you've shaken my faith
in women forever. Good-bye!" The farewell came from his lips like the
snap of a whip, and when she raised her tear-filled eyes, it was to
see him striding through the woods with his head high and his
shoulders square.
When he vanished in the greenery, she gave a queer little sob and
commenced to cry. For a minute she gave way to her pent-up emotions,
and only when she saw Walter coming out of the sea did she arise and
run back to a little stream in the woods. Bathing her eyes in the cool
water, she coaxed the evidences of tears from her face and tried to
console herself that the ordeal was over. But in her heart of hearts
she knew that it was just beginning.