The Ultimate Sacrifice
She stared at him, as the blow fell, and then her
glance turned slowly to Caroline who had uttered a
sharp cry and sunk into a chair.
“Help me, Ruth,” she implored pitifully.
“No other person in the world can help me but
you!”
“Do you see that,” asked Ruth quietly
of John Mark, “and still it doesn’t move
you?”
“Not a hairbreadth, my dear.”
“But isn’t it absurd? Suppose I have
my freedom, and I tell the police that in this house
a girl against her will—”
“Tush, my dear! You really do not know
me at all. Do you think they can reach me?
She may be a hundred miles away before you have spoken
ten words to the authorities.”
“But I warn you that all your holds on her are
broken. She knows that you have no holds over
her brother. She knows that Ronicky Doone has
broken them all—that Jerry is free of you!”
“Ronicky Doone,” said Mark, his face turning
gray, “is a talented man. No doubt of it;
his is a very peculiar and incisive talent, I admit.
But, though he has broken all the old holds, there
are ways of finding new ones. If you leave now,
I can even promise you, my dear, that, before the
next day dawns, the very soul of Caroline will be a
pawn in my hands. Do you doubt it? Such
an exquisitely tender, such a delicate soul as Caroline,
can you doubt that I can form invisible bonds which
will hold her even when she is a thousand miles away
from me? Tush, my dear; think again, and you
will think better of my ability.”
“Suppose,” Ruth said, “I were to
offer to stay?”
He bowed. “You tempt me, with such overwhelming
generosity, to become even more generous myself and
set her free at once. But, alas, I am essentially
a practical man. If you will stay with me, Ruth,
if you marry me at once, why, then indeed this girl
is as free as the wind. Otherwise I should be
a fool. You see, my dear, I love you so that I
must have you by fair means or foul, but I cannot put
any chain upon you except your own word. I confess
it, you see, even before this poor girl, if she is
capable of understanding, which I doubt. But speak
again—do you make the offer?”
She hesitated, and he went on: “Be careful.
I have had you once, and I have lost you, it seems.
If I have you again there is no power in you—no
power between earth and heaven to take you from me
a second time. Give yourself to me with a word,
and I shall make you mine forever. Then Caroline
shall go free—free as the wind—to
her lover, my dear, who is waiting.”
He made no step toward her, and he kept his voice
smooth and clear. Had he done otherwise he knew
that she would have shrunk. She looked to him,
she looked to Caroline Smith. The latter had suddenly
raised her head and thrown out her hands, with an
unutterable appeal in her eyes. At that mute
appeal Ruth Tolliver surrendered.
