He
did it very slowly and impressively, however, in the hope that Ruth
might realize the fact that he had killed the buck whose huge horns made
the rifle's rest on his cabin walls. But she saw and realized only that
he was wounded, and instantly darted toward him like a swallow. She
caught his rigid rifle arm and clung to it, looking up in his set face.
Her blue eyes were already filling with tears while the smile was still
on her lips. That was Ruth's way; her smiles and tears were even closer
together than most women's are; she was nearly always quiveringly poised
between gayety and sadness; like a living sunbeam continually glancing
across life's shadows.
"What is it, David, dear?" she pleaded, with her sweet lips close to his
ear. "What foolish thing have I said? You must know--whatever it
was--that it was all in fun. Why, I wouldn't have you different, dear,
if I could! I couldn't love you so much if you were not just what you
are. And yet," sighing, "it might be better for you."
She laid her head against his shoulder and drew closer to him in that
soft little nestling way of hers.
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