Hope on, my Ruth." She looked at him with eyes wide open--lustrous eyes of sapphire in a face of ivory.

A faint smile parted her lips, the reflection of the thought in her mind that had she, indeed, been eager for his death she would not be with him at this moment; had she desired it, how easy would her course have been.
"You do me wrong to bid me hope for that," she answered him, her tones level.

"I do not wish the death of any man, unless..." She paused; her truthfulness urged her too far.
"Unless ?" said he, brows raised, polite interest on his face.
"Unless it be His Grace of Monmouth." He considered her with suddenly narrowed eyes.

"You have not by chance sought me to talk politics ?" said he.

"Or..." and he suddenly caught his breath, his nostrils dilating with rage at the bare thought that leapt into his mind.