“Ruth is a dear girl, Philip, and has as much firmness of purpose as ever, but don’t you see she has just discovered that she is fond of society?  Don’t you let her see you are selfish about it, is my advice.”

The last evening they were to spend in Fallkill, they were at the Montagues, and Philip hoped that he would find Ruth in a different mood.  But she was never more gay, and there was a spice of mischief in her eye and in her laugh.  “Confound it,” said Philip to himself, “she’s in a perfect twitter.”

He would have liked to quarrel with her, and fling himself out of the house in tragedy style, going perhaps so far as to blindly wander off miles into the country and bathe his throbbing brow in the chilling rain of the stars, as people do in novels; but he had no opportunity.  For Ruth was as serenely unconscious of mischief as women can be at times, and fascinated him more than ever with her little demurenesses and half-confidences.  She even said “Thee” to him once in reproach for a cutting speech he began.  And the sweet little word made his heart beat like a trip-hammer, for never in all her life had she said “thee” to him before.

Was she fascinated with Harry’s careless ‘bon homie’ and gay assurance?  Both chatted away in high spirits, and made the evening whirl along in the most mirthful manner.  Ruth sang for Harry, and that young gentleman turned the leaves for her at the piano, and put in a bass note now and then where he thought it would tell.

Yes, it was a merry evening, and Philip was heartily glad when it was over, and the long leave-taking with the family was through with.

“Farewell Philip.  Good night Mr. Brierly,” Ruth’s clear voice sounded after them as they went down the walk.

And she spoke Harry’s name last, thought Philip.

CHAPTER XXIII.

               “O see ye not yon narrow road
               So thick beset wi’ thorns and briers? 
               That is the Path of Righteousness,
               Though after it but few inquires.

               “And see ye not yon braid, braid road,
               That lies across the lily leven? 
               That is the Path of Wickedness,
               Though some call it the road to Heaven.”

Thomas the Rhymer.

Phillip and Harry reached New York in very different states of mind.  Harry was buoyant.  He found a letter from Col.  Sellers urging him to go to Washington and confer with Senator Dilworthy.  The petition was in his hands.

It had been signed by everybody of any importance in Missouri, and would be presented immediately.

“I should go on myself,” wrote the Colonel, “but I am engaged in the invention of a process for lighting such a city as St. Louis by means of water; just attach my machine to the water-pipes anywhere and the decomposition of the fluid begins, and you will have floods of light for the mere cost of the machine.  I’ve nearly got the lighting part, but I want to attach to it a heating, cooking, washing and ironing apparatus.  It’s going to be the great thing, but we’d better keep this appropriation going while I am perfecting it.”