"My precious child--my beautiful daughter--hear your father's vow! Come
what will, nevermore shall a drop of the accursed fire pass my lips. I
will redeem our name--I can and I will."

He kept his word. Ruth went to Vassar. She wrote long, loving letters to
her mother and father every week of her school life. Once she said to
her mother:

"You know what I wish, my darling mamma. You know that I long to unite
my two beloveds; but never shall I ask it. You must follow your own
heart. I believe my father will be worthy of us; I shall be guided by
you alone."

At first the mother was stricken down by the fierce throes of jealousy
and pain that rent her soul; but as time went on and she knew that she
was not supplanted, she grew quiescent. But she owned to herself that
she never could have sent Ruth away if it had not been to separate
her from her father as well.

On every side his praises were sung in her ears. He was rising higher
and higher in his profession, and one enormous fee in a contested will
case, had suddenly made him rich. Both were getting on toward middle
life, and he was slightly gray; but her brown hair lay in the same soft,
glossy bands, and her pure white face was placid as of yore.

Four years had passed, and Ruth's birthday was at hand. Her mind had
long been made up; and now Christmas light and gladness reigned supreme.
It was just at the close of the day when entering the fire-lit room upon
the arm of her tall, distinguished-looking father, she threw her arms
about her mother and whispered three words,--"For our sake!"