Burning deeds of prowess rioted in his brain. Oh for dungeons and
towers and forbidding battlements! Any danger was welcome from which
he might rescue her. Fire, flood, or bandits--he would brave them all.
Meanwhile he sat in the prow of the boat, his hands clasped about his
knees, utterly powerless to break the spell of awkward silence that
seemed to possess him.
[Illustration: "Burning deeds of prowess rioted in his brain"]
They had paddled in under the willows to avoid the heat of the sun,
and had tied their boat to an overhanging bough.
Ruth, with her sleeve turned back to the elbow, was trailing her hand
in the cool water and watching the little circles that followed her
fingers. Her hat was off, and her hair, where the sun fell on it
through the leaves, was almost the color of her eyes.
But what was the real color of her eyes? Sandy brought all his
intellect to bear upon the momentous question. Sometimes, he thought,
they were as dark as the velvet shadows in the heart of the stream;
sometimes they were lighted by tiny flames of gold that sparkled in
the brown depths as the sunshine sparkled in the shadows. They were
deep as his love and bright as his hope.
Suddenly he realized that she had asked him a question.
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