While Thurston read, Mrs. Welch, who was enjoying her triumph, annotated each letter with running comments. These impressed Ruth greatly, but Thurston wilily kept his face from giving the slightest clew to his thoughts. When he was through reading, Mrs. Welch drew a long breath of exultation. “Well, what do you say to that?” “I don’t believe it!” said Thurston, calmly. “What!” Mrs. Welch was lifted out of her chair by astonishment. “The writer of that is Jonadab Leech, one of the most unmitigated——” “Captain Thurston! You do not know what you are talking about!” exclaimed Mrs. Welch. “Do you mean to say Leech is not the writer of those letters?” “No, I did not say that,” said Mrs. Welch, who would have cut out her tongue before she would have uttered a falsehood. “I would not believe Leech on oath,” said the Captain, blandly. “Oh, well, if that’s the stand you take, there’s no use reasoning with you.” And with a gesture expressive both of pity and sorrow that she must wash her hands of him completely and forever, Mrs. Welch gathered up her papers and indignantly swept from the room. When Thurston went away that day he had entrusted Ruth with an apology for Mrs. Welch capable of being expanded, as circumstances might require, to an unlimited degree; for Ruth had explained to him how dear to her mother’s heart her charities were. But he had also given Ruth such sound reasons for his views regarding the people in the region where he had been stationed that, however her principles remained steadfast, the sympathies of the girl had gone out to those whom he described as in such incredible difficulties. “Ask Larry about Miss Blair Cary,” he said. “Ask him which is the better man, Dr. Cary or Jonadab Leech, and which he’d believe first, that Steve Allen, who is spoken of as such a ruffian, or Hiram Still, the martyr.” “And how about Miss Dockett?” Ruth’s eyes twinkled. “Miss Dockett?—Who is Miss Dockett?” The little Captain’s face wore so comical an expression of counterfeit innocence and sheepish guilt that the girl burst out laughing. “Have you been in love with so many Miss Docketts that you can’t remember which one lived down there?” “No—oh, the girl I am in love with? Miss Ruth—ah, Dockett wasn’t the name. It began with Wel—.” He looked at Ruth with so languishing an expression that she held up a warning finger. “Remember.” He pretended to misunderstand her. “Certainly I remember—Ruth Welch.” Ruth gathered up her things to leave. “Please don’t go.—Now that just slipped out. I swear I’ll not say another word on the subject as long as I live, if you’ll just sit down.” “I can’t trust you.” “Yes, you can, I swear it; and I’ll tell you all about Miss Dockett and—Steve Allen.” This was too much for Ruth, and she reseated herself with impressive condescension.