"From my heart I thank you," answered Mr. Wilding, and from the gratitude of his tone you might have inferred that it was his life Wentworth had accorded him.
The captain had already turned aside to address his men. "Two of you outside, guard that window," he ordered. "The rest of you, in the passage. Bestir there!"
"Take your precautions, by all means, sir," said Wilding; "but I give you my word of honour I shall attempt no escape."
Wentworth nodded without replying. His eye lighted on Blake--who had been seemingly forgotten in the confusion--and on Richard. A kindliness for the man who met his end so unflinchingly, a respect for so worthy an emeny, actuated the red-faced captain.
"You had better take yourself off, Sir Rowland," said he. "And you, Mr. Westmacott--you can wait in the passage with my men."
They obeyed him promptly enough, but when outside Sir Rowland made bold to remind the captain that he was failing in his duty, and that he should make a point of informing the General of this anon. Wentworth bade him go to the devil, and so was rid of him.
Alone, inside that low-ceilinged chamber, stood Ruth and Wilding face to face. He advanced towards her, and with a shuddering sob she flung herself into his arms. Still, he mistrusted the emotion to which she was a prey--dreading lest it should have its root in pity. He patted her shoulder soothingly.
"Nay, nay, little child," he whispered in her ear. "Never weep for me that have not a tear for myself. What better resolution of the difficulties my folly has created?" For only answer she clung closer, her hands locked about his neck, her slender body shaken by her silent weeping. "Don't pity me," he besought her. "I am content it should be so. It is the amend I promised you. Waste no pity on me, Ruth."
She raised her face, her eyes wild and blurred with tears, looked up to his.
"It is not pity!" she cried. "I want you, Anthony! I love you, Anthony, Anthony!"
His face grew ashen. "It is true, then!" he asked her. "And what you said to-night was true! I thought you said it only to detain me."
"Oh, it is true, it is true!" she wailed.
He sighed; he disengaged a hand to stroke her face. "I am happy," he said, and strove to smile. "Had I lived, who knows...?"
"No, no, no," she interrupted him passionately, her arms tightening about his neck. He bent his head. Their lips met and clung. A knock fell upon the door. They started, and Wilding raised his hands gently to disengage her pinioning arms.