On the hard, echoing sands, and distinct from the ceaseless
murmur of the salt sea waves, came footsteps--nearer--nearer.
Very near they were when Ruth, unwilling to show the fear that
rioted in her heart, turned round, and faced Mr. Donne.
He came forward, with both hands extended.
"This is kind! my own Ruth," said he. Ruth's arms hung down
motionless at her sides.
"What! Ruth, have you no word for me?"
"I have nothing to say," said Ruth.
"Why, you little revengeful creature! And so I am to explain all,
before you will even treat me with decent civility."
"I do not want explanations," said Ruth in a trembling tone. "We
must not speak of the past. You asked me to come in Leonard's--in
my child's name, and to hear what you had to say about him."
"But what I have to say about him relates to you even more. And
how can we talk about him without recurring to the past? That
past, which you try to ignore--I know you cannot do it in your
heart--is full of happy recollections to me. Were you not happy
in Wales?" he said in his tenderest tone.
But there was no answer; not even one faint sigh, though he
listened intently.
"You dare not speak; you dare not answer me. Your heart will not
allow you to prevaricate, and you know you were happy."
Suddenly Ruth's beautiful eyes were raised to him, full of lucid
splendour, but grave and serious in their expression; and her
cheeks, heretofore so faintly tinged with the tenderest blush,
flashed into a ruddy glow.
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