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Authors: Rafael Sabatini
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idle," said Ruth at last — not that she quite believed it, but that it was all-important to her that Richard should not be imperilled. "Mr. Wilding will prefer the bargain he has
made."
"No doubt," growled Blake, "but he shall be forced to unmake it." He advanced and bowed low before her. "Madam," said he, "will you grant me leave to champion your cause and remove this
troublesome Mr. Wilding from your path?"
Diana's eyes narrowed; her cheeks paled, partly from fear for Blake, partly from vexation at the promptness of an offer that afforded a fresh and so eloquent proof of the trend of his
affections.
Ruth smiled at him in a very friendly manner, but gently shook her head.
"I thank you, sir," said she. "But it were more than I could permit. This has become a family affair."
There was in her tone something which, despite its friendliness, gave Sir Rowland his dismissal. He was not at best a man of keen sensibilities; yet even so, he could not mistake the request to
withdraw that was implicit in her tone and manner. He took his leave, registering, however, in his heart a vow that he would have his way with Wilding. Thus must he — through her gratitude
— assuredly come to have his way with Ruth.
Diana rose and turned to her mother. "Come," she said, "we'll speed Sir Rowland. Ruth and Richard would perhaps prefer to remain alone."
Ruth thanked her with her eyes. Richard, standing beside his sister with bent head and moody gaze, did not appear to have heard. Thus he remained until he and his half-sister were alone
together, then he flung himself wearily into the seat beside her, and took her hand.
"Ruth," he faltered, "Ruth!"
She stroked his hand, her honest, intelligent eyes bent upon him in a look of pity — and to indulge this pity for him, she forgot how much herself she needed pity.
"Take it not so to heart," she urged him, her voice low and crooning — as that of a mother to her babe. "Take it not so to heart, Richard. I should have married some day, and, after all,
it may well be that Mr. Wilding will make me as good a husband as another. I do believe," she added, her only intent to comfort Richard, "that he loves me; and if he loves me, surely he will prove
kind."
He flung himself back with an exclamation of angry pain. He was white to the lips, his eyes bloodshot. "It must not be — it shall not be — I'll not endure it!" he cried hoarsely.
"Richard, dear . . ." she began, recapturing the hand he had snatched from hers in his gust of emotion.
He rose abruptly, interrupting her. "I'll go to Wilding now," he cried, his voice resolute. "He shall cancel this bargain he had no right to make. He shall take up his quarrel with me where it
stood before you went to him."
"No, no, Richard, you must not!" she urged him, frightened, rising too, and clinging to his arm.
"I will," he answered. "At the worst he can but kill me. But at least you shall not be sacrificed."
"Sit here, Richard," she bade him. "There is something you have not considered. If you die, if Mr. Wilding kills you . . ." she paused.
He looked at her, and at the repetition of the fate that would probably await him if he persevered in the course he threatened, his purely emotional courage again began to fail him. A look of
fear crept gradually into his face to take the room of the resolution that had been stamped upon it but a moment since.
He swallowed hard. "What then?" he asked, his voice harsh, and, obeying her command and the pressure on his hand, he resumed his seat beside her.
She spoke now at length and very gravely, dwelling upon the circumstance that he was the head of the family, the last Westmacott of his line, pointing out to him the importance of his existence,
the insignificance of her own. She was but a girl, a thing of small account where the perpetuation of a family was at issue. After all, she must marry somebody some day, she repeated, and perhaps
she had been foolish in attaching too much importance to the
made."
"No doubt," growled Blake, "but he shall be forced to unmake it." He advanced and bowed low before her. "Madam," said he, "will you grant me leave to champion your cause and remove this
troublesome Mr. Wilding from your path?"
Diana's eyes narrowed; her cheeks paled, partly from fear for Blake, partly from vexation at the promptness of an offer that afforded a fresh and so eloquent proof of the trend of his
affections.
Ruth smiled at him in a very friendly manner, but gently shook her head.
"I thank you, sir," said she. "But it were more than I could permit. This has become a family affair."
There was in her tone something which, despite its friendliness, gave Sir Rowland his dismissal. He was not at best a man of keen sensibilities; yet even so, he could not mistake the request to
withdraw that was implicit in her tone and manner. He took his leave, registering, however, in his heart a vow that he would have his way with Wilding. Thus must he — through her gratitude
— assuredly come to have his way with Ruth.
Diana rose and turned to her mother. "Come," she said, "we'll speed Sir Rowland. Ruth and Richard would perhaps prefer to remain alone."
Ruth thanked her with her eyes. Richard, standing beside his sister with bent head and moody gaze, did not appear to have heard. Thus he remained until he and his half-sister were alone
together, then he flung himself wearily into the seat beside her, and took her hand.
"Ruth," he faltered, "Ruth!"
She stroked his hand, her honest, intelligent eyes bent upon him in a look of pity — and to indulge this pity for him, she forgot how much herself she needed pity.
"Take it not so to heart," she urged him, her voice low and crooning — as that of a mother to her babe. "Take it not so to heart, Richard. I should have married some day, and, after all,
it may well be that Mr. Wilding will make me as good a husband as another. I do believe," she added, her only intent to comfort Richard, "that he loves me; and if he loves me, surely he will prove
kind."
He flung himself back with an exclamation of angry pain. He was white to the lips, his eyes bloodshot. "It must not be — it shall not be — I'll not endure it!" he cried hoarsely.
"Richard, dear . . ." she began, recapturing the hand he had snatched from hers in his gust of emotion.
He rose abruptly, interrupting her. "I'll go to Wilding now," he cried, his voice resolute. "He shall cancel this bargain he had no right to make. He shall take up his quarrel with me where it
stood before you went to him."
"No, no, Richard, you must not!" she urged him, frightened, rising too, and clinging to his arm.
"I will," he answered. "At the worst he can but kill me. But at least you shall not be sacrificed."
"Sit here, Richard," she bade him. "There is something you have not considered. If you die, if Mr. Wilding kills you . . ." she paused.
He looked at her, and at the repetition of the fate that would probably await him if he persevered in the course he threatened, his purely emotional courage again began to fail him. A look of
fear crept gradually into his face to take the room of the resolution that had been stamped upon it but a moment since.
He swallowed hard. "What then?" he asked, his voice harsh, and, obeying her command and the pressure on his hand, he resumed his seat beside her.
She spoke now at length and very gravely, dwelling upon the circumstance that he was the head of the family, the last Westmacott of his line, pointing out to him the importance of his existence,
the insignificance of her own. She was but a girl, a thing of small account where the perpetuation of a family was at issue. After all, she must marry somebody some day, she repeated, and perhaps
she had been foolish in attaching too much importance to the
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