RUTH'S CONFESSION
Late that afternoon Mark sat alone in the great library at Killimaga,
his head thrown back, his hands grasping the top of his chair. His
thoughts were of the future, and he did not hear the light footsteps
behind him. Then--two soft arms stole lightly around his neck, and
Ruth's beautiful head was bowed until her lips touched his forehead.
It was a kiss of benediction, speaking of things too holy for words.
He covered her hands with his own. "Ruth." The tones breathed a world
of love.
"I am so happy," she murmured.
He started to rise, but one small hand, escaping from his grasp, rested
on his head and held him firmly.
"I have a great deal to tell you, Mark. But first I want you to know
how happy I am that you have come back to Mother Church. I have been
praying so hard, Mark, and I should have been miserable had you refused
to return. Our union would never have been perfect without full
harmony of thought, and we might have drifted apart. But I am happy
now." Lightly her fingers stroked his brow and twined among his curls.
He arose and, clasping her hands in both his own, he gazed down into
her eyes.
"And I too am happy, dear one. You have brought me two blessings: I
have found not only love, but peace at last after many years."
Tenderly he raised her hands to his lips. "But come, dear; it is too
glorious a day to remain in the house. Shall we go outside?"
It was but a moment till she returned ready for a walk, and together
they sauntered toward the bluff, where she seated herself on a great
rock. Sitting at her feet, his head resting against the rock, his hand
raised to clasp hers, he was content. For a while they sat in silence,
gazing far out over the sea into the glory of the sunset. At last she
loosed her hand from his grasp and rested it lightly on his head.
"Mark, dear, you know that there are to be no secrets between us two
now, don't you?"
He looked up and answered promptly. "Not one--not a single one, for
all the days of the future, my darling. But," he added, "I have none
that are unrevealed."
"I am not so fortunate, dear. I have a great one, and now I am going
to tell it all to you."
"But--"
"No, let me do all the talking until you hear it to the end, and let me
tell it in my own way."
"All right," and he pressed her hand lovingly.
"I never knew my father, Mark," she went on, "and yet I heard of his
death only a short time ago--in Washington. His name was not
'Atheson.' He was a very great personage, no less than the Grand Duke
of Ecknor, Prince Etkar."
Mark started, but Ruth put up her hand. "You promised. Let me go on."
"My mother married my father, who then called himself Edgar Atheson, in
London. He was the younger son of the then reigning Grand Duke and had
left home for political reasons, expecting never to return. But his
father and his elder brother were both killed by a bomb a few days
after his marriage to my mother. He returned to Ecknor, and she went
with him. In six months he had married, legally but not legitimately,
a princess of the protecting kingdom. Under the laws of the kingdom
the princess was his legal mate, the Grand Duchess of Ecknor, but my
mother was his wife before God and the Church. The Grand Duke gave her
a large fortune, and she had a beautiful home near the palace.
Everyone knew and pitied her, but they respected her. The Grand Duke
soon ceased to care for his morganatic wife, but he never deserted her.
Then, a year after the court marriage, I was born. It was given out
that the Grand Duchess had also given birth to a daughter, Carlotta."
Mark patted her hand, but kept his promise of silence. Ruth went on.
"After that, the Grand Duke seemed to lose all interest in his English
wife. My mother was very unhappy and wanted to return to England. She
finally escaped, with me, in a closed carriage. My uncle met us as we
crossed the frontier, and it was only then that mother understood why
her escape had been so easy--the Grand Duke had wanted her away. She
saw England only to die heart-broken, for she had loved her husband
devotedly. My uncle kept me with him until he became a Catholic and
went to Rome to study. Then I was sent to school in Europe. Later I
came to America. But I had many friends in Europe and visited them
frequently. It was on one of these visits that I met Carlotta. She
knew, and we became fast friends, as well as sisters."
"But not full sisters," Mark said, thinking that the story was over.
"Wait," cautioned Ruth. "There is more. Mother died thinking I was
her only child. But two girls were born to mother, and a dead child to
the Grand Duchess. Mother never saw one of her babies. She never
knew. And it was years before the Grand Duchess learned that her child
had died. Carlotta was my full sister. She was stolen to replace the
dead child. Now do you see?"
"But how did you come to know all this?" asked Mark.
"Carlotta told me. The Grand Duchess never seemed to care for
Carlotta; Carlotta's old nurse resented this and one day, after a worse
storm than usual, told Carlotta that the Duchess was not her mother.
There was a terrible scene in the palace. The old nurse was all but
banished, but Carlotta saved her. She was sworn to secrecy by the
Grand Duke. The Duchess died later as a result of the affair--of
apoplexy. Then the nurse disappeared, no one knew how or where, but
not before she had told Carlotta all about the twins that were born to
the Grand Duke's English wife. Carlotta had the secret and ruled her
father with it. She was allowed her own way, and it was not always a
good way. Her last escapade was the one you already know. Poor girl,
she was as good as a court would let her be; and here in Sihasset she
repented. But she believed in her lover, which I never did. I knew
his reputation, but she would not listen to a word against him. Now
you have the whole story."
"And you," Mark managed to say, "you are the real Grand Duchess now.
What a misfortune!"
"No," she replied, "I could never make such a claim; for my mother's
marriage was never admitted by the court as a royal marriage. It was
considered morganatic. Her children were legitimate, but could never
succeed to the throne."
"But, even so," insisted Mark, "you are the Grand Duchess."
Ruth put her hand gently over his mouth. "I am to be more than a grand
duchess, dear. I am to be your wife--to-morrow."
The sun was below the horizon now. For a while longer they watched its
banners of flaming red and yellow flung across the sky. Then, hand in
hand, they retraced their steps to Killimaga, where Mark left her with
a whispered, "Sweet dreams, dear," and went his way toward the rectory.
As he sauntered aimlessly along, his thoughts were all of her. Never
once had she lectured him on religious matters, yet she was splendidly
sincere, and her faith of the greatest. And she had been praying for
him all the time! Yet what need of speech? Her very self, her every
action, her nice sense of right, were greater than any sermon he had
ever heard from mortal lips. She was a woman whom any man might well
love--and honor.
Reluctantly Mark at last sought the rectory, where the Bishop and
Monsignore awaited him. And almost desperately he sought to evade Ann,
whose dinner had been kept waiting. Seeing the attempt was vain, he
threw up his hands.
"Both hands up, Ann. I claim the protection of the Bishop."
And Ann, not displeased, went on her way.