The doctor had drawn himself up to his full height.  He was about to say that he recognized no right on the part of Philip Alston to interfere, and to declare that he held himself accountable to no one but the judge.  Yet as this purpose formed, his gaze instinctively sought Ruth’s, and he saw that she was looking up at Philip Alston with love—­unmistakable love—­in her face.  The sight brought back all the helplessness that he always felt when forced to realize her fondness for the man.  He felt as he might have done had he seen some deadly thing coiled about her so closely that he could not strike it without wounding her tender breast.  The trouble had been like that from the first and it was like that now—­perhaps it always would be.  He did not know what to do or say, with her blue eyes appealing from him to Philip Alston.  He was glad when William Pressley broke the silence.  The young lawyer had been thinking hard; he never did anything on mere impulse.  He always stopped to consider how a thing would look, no matter how angry he might be.  His vanity had been slowly swallowing a bitter morsel, and it was now quite clear to him that he must act promptly in order to escape a still bitterer humiliation.  Moreover, the chief consideration which had kept him from allowing Ruth to break the engagement sooner, was now removed.  Philip Alston could hardly blame him in view of what had happened; no one could think ill of him now.

“Just a moment, if you please,” he said coldly and bitterly, addressing all who were present.  “There is no cause for delay or hesitation so far as I can see—­certainly there need be none on my account.  The engagement between Ruth and myself was tacitly broken some weeks ago.  She has been over-scrupulous in thinking that anything was due me.  She was quite free from any promise to me.  You owe me nothing,” turning to her with a bow.  “You have my best wishes.”

She went to him, holding out her hand.  “William, it hurts me to hear you speak like that.  I did my best to tell you—­alone—­and earlier.  We were both mistaken—­neither was to blame.  There surely is no reason for hard feeling.  My affection for you is just the same.  William, dear—­just for old time’s sake.”

He took her hand, not because her loving gentleness won his forgiveness, but because he thought that no gentleman could refuse a lady’s hand.  And when she turned away with a long sigh and quivering lips, he stood firm and invincible, supported by the conviction that he alone of all those present had been right in everything.  And such a conviction of one’s own infallibility must be a very great support under life’s trials and disappointments.  There can hardly be any other armor so nearly impenetrable to all those barbed doubts and fears which perpetually assail and wound the unarmored.  Think of what it must mean!—­never to feel that you might have been kinder or more just, or more generous or more merciful than you were; never to have doubts and fears come knocking, knocking, knocking at your heart till you are compelled to see your mistakes when it is too late to do what was left undone, and—­saddest and bitterest of all—­too late to undo what was done.