Her heart ached as she saw the ashen pallor of his face and the skin
beginning to draw tight and slick across the protruding cheek-bones
of his once magnificent face. Three years of prison had bent
his shoulders and reduced his giant frame to a mere shadow of his
former self. Only the eyes had grown larger and softer, and their
gaze now seemed turned within. They burned with a feverish mystic
beauty.
Ruth fixed on him a look of melting tenderness and asked:
"Do you not long for the open fields, the sky and sea, my dear?"
He gazed at her hungrily.
"No. Sometimes I've felt a queer homesickness in these dying
muscles that thirst for the open world, but I've no time to think
of mountain or lake, or hear the call of field or sea---Ruth, I
can only think of you! I have but one interest, but one desire of
soul and body--that you may be happy. I would be free, not because
I fear death or covet life"--his voice sank to a broken whisper--"but
that I might crawl around the earth on my hands and knees and
confess my shame and sorrow that I deserted you."
"Hush, hush, my love; I forgive you," she moaned.
"Yes, I know; but all time and eternity will be too short for my
repentance.
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