“Leonard!  Leonard! for the love of heaven, let him do it!  She has only to go to her mother; let her go!  It’s the last hope.  But she’d better be dead, and she’d a hundred times rather be dead, than that Leonard Byington should be her rescuer!  Come in here a minute.”

Slipping both hands into his she drew him into the lighted room, adding as they went, “In a few minutes I can make some errand to her and find how matters stand”—­

They stumbled over a disordered rug.  She fell into a chair; he sank to his knees, and with his face in her hands he moaned, “Oh, Ruth!  Oh, Ruth! it’s my fault after all!  I should have gone away at the beginning!”

Ruth and Arthur met face to face in the Winslow garden.  “I was just coming for you,” he said, excitedly.

“For Isabel?”

“Yes, her mother is with her, and”—­a sound of wheels—­“here’s Giles, now, off for the doctor.”

The servant passed.  “Yes, I got here by the sunset express.  I couldn’t stay away—­with this impending.”

“I didn’t see you come.”

“No, of course you didn’t see me, for I didn’t go to the station, and so I didn’t pass anywhere near your house.  I got off at the tank and came up the hill path.”

“You must have got drenched; you are drenched.”

“Oh no!  I got in before the rain began.  Let myself in without seeing any one, and found Isabel was over at her mother’s.  So I waited here.”

“Didn’t let her know you were home?” asked Ruth, with a penetrating gaze.

“No, I haven’t been off the place since I came, but I stepped out so many times into the garden to see if she was coming that I’m soaking wet.”

They entered the lighted house, and he turned upon her a glance heavy and wavering with falsehood.  His tongue ran like a terrified horse.  “Oh—­eh—­before you go upstairs—­Ruth—­there’s one thing I’m distressed about.  I’ve told Mrs. Morris, and she’s promised to see that the doctor understands it perfectly,—­though I shall explain it to him myself the moment he comes.  And still I wish you’d see that he understands, will you?”

“What is it?”

“Why, at last, as I was waiting for Isabel, and saw her coming, I went to meet her.  Unfortunately she took me for a stranger, turned to run, and tripped and fell headlong!  She somehow got her lantern between the base of a tree and the crown of her head, smashed the lantern, and cut and bruised her head pitifully!”

To hide her start of distress Ruth moved up the stair; but after a step or two she turned.  “Arthur, why say anything about it, if nothing is asked?”

The husband stared at her and turned deadly pale.

“Th—­that’s tr—­true!” he said, with an eager gesture.  “I’ll not mention it.  And—­Ruth!”—­she was leaving him—­“you might s—­say the same to Mrs. Morris!”

She nodded, but would not trust her eyes to meet his.  He was right; she had divined his deed.