And when the meal was
at an end, he rose abruptly and called his
daughter into another room. Presently Ralph
heard his angry voice resounding through the
house, interrupted now and then by a woman's
sobs, and a subdued, passionate pleading. When
Bertha again entered the room, her eyes were
very red, and he saw that she had been weeping.
She threw a shawl over her shoulders,
beckoned to him with her hand, and he arose
and followed her. She led the way silently
until they reached a thick copse of birch and
alder near the strand. She dropped down upon
a bench between two trees, and he took his seat
at her side.
"Ralph," began she, with a visible effort, "I
hardly know what to say to you; but there is
something which I must tell you--my father
wishes you to leave us at once."
"And YOU, Bertha?"
"Well--yes--I wish it too."
She saw the painful shock which her words
gave him, and she strove hard to speak. Her
lips trembled, her eyes became suffused with
tears, which grew and grew, but never fell; she
could not utter a word.
"Well, Bertha," answered he, with a little
quiver in his voice, "if you, too, wish me to go,
I shall not tarry. Good-bye."
He rose quickly, and, with averted face, held
out his hand to her; but as she made no motion
to grasp the hand, he began distractedly to
button his coat, and moved slowly away.
"Ralph."
He turned sharply, and, before he knew it,
she lay sobbing upon his breast.
"Ralph," she murmured, while the tears
almost choked her words, "I could not have you
leave me thus.
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