After a time he whispered, “My dear, I have wronged you. I should not have made you care for me.”
She did not seem to notice that he spoke of wrong. She said: “I was yours, Galt, even from the beginning, I think, though I did not quite know it. I remember what you read in church the first Sunday you came, and it has always helped me; for I wanted to be good.”
She paused and raised her eyes to his, and then with sweet solemnity she said: “The words were:
“‘The Lord God is my strength, and He will make my feet like hinds’ feet, and He will make me to walk upon mine high places.’”
“Ruth,” he answered, “you have always walked on the high places. You have never failed. And you are as safe as the nest of the eagle, a noble work of God.”
“No, I am not noble; but I should like to be so. Most women like goodness. It is instinct with us, I suppose. We had rather be good than evil, and when we love we can do good things; but we quiver like the compass-needle between two poles. Oh, believe me! we are weak; but we are loving.”
“Your worst, Ruth, is as much higher than my best as the heaven is--”
“Galt, you hurt my fingers!” she interrupted.
He had not noticed the almost fierce strength of his clasp. But his life was desperately hungry for her. “Forgive me, dearest.--As I said, better than my best; for, Ruth, my life was--wicked, long ago. You cannot understand how wicked!”
“You are a clergyman and a good man,” she said, with pathetic negation.
“You give me a heart unsoiled, unspotted of the world. I have been in some ways worse than the worst men in the valley there below.”
“Why did I speak? Why did I kiss your hand as I did? Because at the moment it was the only honest thing to do; because it was due you that I should say: ‘Ruth, I love you, love you so much’”--here she nestled close to him--“‘so well, that everything else in life is as nothing beside it--nothing! so well that I could not let you share my wretchedness.’”
She ran her hand along his breast and looked up at him with swimming eyes.
“And you think that this is fair to me? that a woman gives the heart for pleasant weather only? I do not know what your sorrow may be, but it is my right to share it. I am only a woman; but a woman can be strong for those she loves. Remember that I have always had to care for others--always; and I can bear much. I will not ask what your trouble is, I only ask you”--here she spoke slowly and earnestly, and rested her hand on his shoulder--“to say to me that you love no other woman; and that--that no other woman has a claim upon you. Then I shall be content to pity you, to help you, to love you. God gives women many pains, but none so great as the love that will not trust utterly; for trust is our bread of life. Yes, indeed, indeed!”