"You are troubled, my son," he said, quietly and gently. "I see there is
something besides the trouble which touches us all--this terror of what
is coming on the other side of the river. I see that there is something
else--some closer trouble of your own. If you wish to tell me about it,
I will do what I can to help you; but you know this without being told."
He had spoken at the right moment, for there are moments in the lives of
the most reserved and self-reliant when the heart must speak to ease the
mind. Paul Colbert was a Protestant, and so firm and strong in his faith
that he was ready at all times to defend it, to fight for it; yet this
moment, which has nothing to do with any creed, had come to him, and he
spoke as one man speaks to another whom he trusts and knows to be his
friend. He told what he was suffering, and the cause of his
wretchedness. He spoke of his first meeting with Ruth, and of the love
for her that had leapt up in his heart at the first glimpse of her face,
before he had heard her voice, before he knew her name. He said how
happy he was when chance put her in his arms through that wild night's
ride.
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