"I was happy. I do not deny it. Whatever comes, I will not blench
from the truth. I have answered you."
"And yet," replied he, secretly exulting in her admission, and
not perceiving the inner strength of which she must have been
conscious before she would have dared to make it--"and yet, Ruth,
we are not to recur to the past! Why not? If it was happy at the
time, is the recollection of it so miserable to you?"
He tried once more to take her hand, but she quietly stepped
back.
"I came to hear what you had to say about my child," said she,
beginning to feel very weary.
"Our child, Ruth."
She drew herself up, and her face went very pale.
"What have you to say about him?" asked she coldly.
"Much," exclaimed he--"much that may affect his whole life. But
it all depends upon whether you will hear me or not."
"I listen."
"Good heavens! Ruth, you will drive me mad. Oh! what a changed
person you are from the sweet, loving creature you were! I wish
you were not so beautiful." She did not reply, but he caught a
deep, involuntary sigh.
"Will you hear me if I speak, though I may not begin all at once
to talk of this boy--a boy of whom any mother--any parent, might
be proud? I could see that, Ruth. I have seen him; he looked like
a prince in that cramped, miserable house, and with no earthly
advantages. It is a shame he should not have every kind of
opportunity laid open before him.
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