It was the judge who told him that she was in her own room, together with the older ladies, all in attendance upon the injured man.  The priest then saw the second swift darkening of Philip Alston’s face.

“I will go up to her room,” he said quietly.  “I wish to be sure that she has not been harmed.”

As he rose, there was a sound outside.  He turned to the open door and saw two horsemen approaching at a gallop.  It was light enough for him to see and recognize the attorney-general and the doctor.  The other men hurriedly went out to meet them.  Philip Alston stood still in a shadowed corner of the great room, while the rest hastened up the stairway and into the chamber where Paul Colbert lay.  And then he followed them with his swift, light step, and pausing upon the threshold, looked into the open room, his gaze first seeking Ruth.  She stood on the other side of the chamber, apart from the group around the bed.  But she did not see him; her eyes and hands and thoughts were on the bandages which she was hastily preparing.  He shrank from what she was doing and turning hastily away fixed his eyes on the attorney-general.  Thus, silently looking and listening, he presently heard him say how deeply he regretted being compelled to leave the country before knowing the result of his friend’s wound, adding that he was leaving on the next day for Tippecanoe.  Philip Alston barely glanced at the white face lying against the pillow.  He was disturbed and even shocked to see it there.  He felt this stranger’s presence in her chamber to be a desecration.  And then the sight of suffering always made him uncomfortable.  He wondered how she could endure it.  The repulsion which the average man feels for any affliction of mind, body, or estate was so intensified in him that he could not, with all his intelligence, understand that the very sight of great suffering nobly borne, does much to win a woman’s heart.

XXI

THE EAGLE IN THE DOVE’S NEST

The worst hurt that Paul Colbert had received was from a blow on the head, which had stunned and nearly killed him.  But there had been no lasting injury, even from this, and the knife-wound in his shoulder had healed rapidly; he was young, and strong, and healthy.

On the morning of the seventh day he awoke and looked at Ruth.  He was feeling almost well, but had no inclination to stir.  It was pleasant enough just to lie there and look at her, and let his gaze wander around her chamber.  This white shrine of maidenhood!  He had felt its influence before he was able to understand, and the reverential awe had grown with his returning strength.  How dainty it was, for all its rough board floor and rude log walls!  Even those were as white as the driven snow.  The bed was like the warm, soft breast of a snow-white swan, and its drawn curtains like folded wings.  There were spotless muslin curtains over the windows, and the little toilet table also