Is it ever wise to cut the last thread that holds a girl to those who have loved and cherished her? I thought not. Perhaps the slender thread that now existed between Ruth and me might be the means of drawing a stouter cord, which in its turn might haul a cable, strong and reliable. I did not think then of the possible dangers in New York--the difficulties, the risks; there was no time to discuss, no time for doubts and misgivings; there was simply time for me to fill out two blank checks for twenty-five dollars each, put on my hat and coat, and speed with all possible haste to the station. I found Ruth eagerly awaiting me in the train-shed. There were crowds of people hastening here and there with bags and suit-cases. There were trucks and train-men. There was the roar of an incoming train. Through the confusion Ruth's anxious eyes looked straight into mine. "Well?" "Is this your train?" I asked with a nod toward the sweating monster that had just come to a standstill on the first track. "It's the New York train," said Ruth. "Well, I've brought some money," I went on quickly. "Fifty dollars. It will last for a while. They don't know about it yet, back there at the house. I shall have to tell them when I go back. I can't predict. Tom may wire Malcolm to meet you and drag you back home. I don't know. But I'll use all the influence I can against it. I'll do my very best, Ruth." Ruth's hand found mine in a sudden grasp and held it tightly. Another train roared into the train-shed. "Where shall you stay tonight?" I shrieked at her. She gave the name of a well-known hotel reserved especially for women. "I shall be all right," she called. "I'll drop you a line tomorrow. You needn't worry about me. I'll let you know if I need anything." A deep megaphoned voice announced the New York train. "Your ticket?" I reminded. "I have it. I was going anyway," she replied. "Well, then," I said, and opened my bag and produced the two checks. She took them. "Promise me, Ruth, promise _always_ to let me know--always if you need anything, or are unhappy." Her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. Her under lip quavered. She broke down at last. I held her in my arms. "Oh, Lucy, Lucy," she cried. "You're so good to me. I miss him so. I left the ring in the corner of your top drawer. You give it to Bob. I can't. You're all I have. I've been so horrid to you all my life. I miss Bob so. I hate Tom. I almost hate Tom. Oh, Lucy, what's to become of me? Whatever is to become of me?" The train gave a little jerk. "All aboard, Miss," called a porter. "Your train, Ruth dear," I said gently and actually pushed her a little toward New York, which even now was beginning to appall me. She kissed me good-by. I looked up and saw her floating away in a cloud of fitful steam. CHAPTER XVIII A YEAR LATER