Part 39 (1/2)

Ruth stopped just inside the door and looked about her in astonishment.

The benches had been drawn up in an orderly semi-circle about the fire-place. Beyond them she observed the figure of a man kneeling before the fire, using a bellows with great effect. The big logs were snapping, and cracking, and spitting before the furious blasts.

She closed the door and started across the room in his direction.

Suddenly she recognized the broad back and the familiar but very unseasonable panama hat. Panic seized her. She turned quickly, bent on making her escape. Her heart was beating like a triphammer,--she felt strangely weak in the knees. As abruptly, she checked the impulse to flee. Why should she run away, now that the moment she had wished for so ardently the night before was at hand? Chance had answered her call with amazing swiftness. She was alone with him,--she could go to him and lay her weapons at his feet and say,--as she had said a hundred times in the night,--”I can fight no more. I am beaten.”

But now that the time had come for bravery, she found herself sorely afraid. A chill swept through her,--a weakening chill that took away her strength and left her trembling from head to foot. The crisis was at hand,--the great, surpa.s.sing crisis. She found herself hazily, tremulously wondering what the next minute in her life would be like?

What would be said in it, what would happen to her? Would she be in his arms, would his lips be upon hers,--all in the minute to come? Was the whole of her life to be altered in the brief s.p.a.ce of a minute's time?

A warm glow suddenly drove off the chill. It came with the realization that he was building the fire for her,--that his thoughts were of her,--that he had stolen into the building to make it warm and comfortable long before she was due to arrive,--and that he would steal away again as soon as the ”ch.o.r.es” were done.

He arose to his feet and stood over the fire for a moment or two, watching its lively progress. Apparently satisfied with his efforts, he turned and started toward the door. She was standing in his path, a shy, wavering smile on her lips.

He halted, and after an instant's hesitation, stammered:

”I--I never dreamed you'd be around so early. I thought I'd run in as I was pa.s.sing and build a fire for--for the kiddies. Get the place warmed up a bit before--”

”Will you let me say something, Mr. Percival?” she broke in, hurrying the words.

He fumbled for his hat. ”I am sorry if you are annoyed, Miss Clinton.

Please believe me when I tell you I hoped to get out before you came. I came early so that you would not find me--”

”You are not letting me say what I want to say.”

She came toward him, her hand extended. ”Oh, I don't want to thank you for lighting the fire and putting the room in order. I want to tell you that I surrender.”

”Surrender?” he exclaimed, staring.

”I cannot fight you any longer,” she said breathlessly.

He looked dumbly first at her hand and then into her eyes. She was an arm's length away.

”Fight me?” he mumbled, uncomprehending.

”You--you said we could not be friends. I knew what you meant. If--if you love me,--oh, if you do love me, we need not be friends. But I know you love me. If I did not know it I could not have come to you like this and--”

”Do I love you?” he cried out. ”My G.o.d, I--I wors.h.i.+p you.”

She held out both arms to him. ”Then, we will try no more to be friends,” she murmured very softly. ”Here are my arms. I surrender.”

A long time after he said to her as they sat before the jubilant, applauding fire,--the only witness to their ecstasy:

”Now I understand why we have never really been friends. It wasn't what G.o.d intended. Even in the beginning we were not friends. We thought we were,--but we weren't. We were lovers, Ruth,--from the start.”

”I tried very hard to hate you,” she sighed, drawing a little closer in the crook of his encircled arm. ”How wonderful it all is,--how wonderful!”

”I never believed it could come true. I hoped, G.o.d, how I hoped,--but it didn't seem possible that this could ever happen. I've wanted to hold you in my arms, to kiss your dear lips, to kiss your eyes, to touch your hair, to press you tight against my heart. And here I am awake, not dreaming, not longing,--and I have done all these things. Lord! I wonder if I can possibly be dreaming all this for the thousandth time.”

”I was thinking of you when I came into this room,--not ten minutes ago,--and suddenly I saw you. I was terrified. I knew then that my dreams were coming true,--I knew it, and I don't know why I did not run away. Any self-respecting, modest girl would have done so. But what did I do? I, a supposedly sensible, well-brought-up--”