She hesitated.  What should she say?. ...  She must think, for a new face was upon the matter.  She must think, and she must talk with Dulac.  Dulac was stronger than she—­but he saw eye to eye with her.  The things she set up and worshiped in their shrines he worshiped more fervently. ...  She must put the boy off with evasion.  She must postpone her answer until she was certain she saw her duty clearly.

Love of humanity in the mass was in her heart—­it shouldered out fairness to an individual man.  She did not think of this.  If she had thought it might not have mattered, for if she were willing to immolate herself would she not have been as ready to sacrifice one man—­for the good of thousands?

“I-” she began, and was dimly conscious of shame at her duplicity.  “I did not know you—­wanted me this way. ...  Let me think.  I can’t answer—­to-night.  Wait. ...  Give me time.”

His voice was glad as he answered, and its gladness shamed her again.  “Wait. ...  I’d wait forever.  But I don’t want to wait forever. ...  It is more than I hoped, more than I had the right to hope.  I know I took you by surprise. ...  Let me have time and the chance to make you love me—­to let you get used to the idea of my loving you.  But try not to be long.  I’m impatient—­you don’t know how impatient. ...”

“I-I sha’n’t be long,” she said.  “You mustn’t build too many hopes. ...”

He laughed.  She had never heard him laugh with such lightness, with such a note of soul-gladness, before.  “Hope. ...  I shall eat and drink hope—­until you—­come to me.  For you will come to me.  I know it. ...  It couldn’t be any other way.”  He laughed again, gayly.  And then from out the blackness of the surrounding shrubbery there plunged the figure of a man. ...

Before Bonbright could lift a hand to shield himself blows began to fall, blows not delivered with the naked fist.  Once, twice, again the man struck with the strength of frenzy.  Ruth sat silent, stunned, paralyzed by fright, and uttered no scream.  Then she saw the face of Bonbright’s assailant.  It was Dulac—­and she understood.

She sprang to him, clutched at his arm, but he hurled her off and struck again. ...  It was enough.  Bonbright stood wavering a moment, struggling to remain upright, but sagging slowly.  Then he slumped to the ground in a sort of uncanny sitting posture, his head sunk upon his knees.

Ruth stood looking down upon him with horror-widened eyes.  Dulac hurled his weapon into the bushes and turned upon her furiously, seizing her arm and dragging her to him so that his eyes, glowing with unreason, could burn into hers.

“Oh—­” she moaned.

“I’ve taught him,” Dulac said, his voice quivering with rage.  “It was time... the vermin.  Because he was rich he thought he was safe.  He thought he could do anything. ...  But I’ve taught him.  They starve us and stamp on us—­and then steal our wives and smirch our sweethearts.”