ven I have cowered away from
God Himself; and what I did wrong then, I did blindly to what I
should do now if I listened to you."

She was so strongly agitated that she put her hands over her face,
and sobbed without restraint. Then, taking them away, she looked at
him with a glowing face, and beautiful, honest, wet eyes, and tried
to speak calmly, as she asked if she needed to stay longer (she would
have gone away at once but that she thought of Leonard, and wished to
hear all that his father might have to say). He was so struck anew by
her beauty, and understood her so little, that he believed that she
only required a little more urging to consent to what he wished; for
in all she had said there was no trace of the anger and resentment
for his desertion of her, which he had expected would be a prominent
feature--the greatest obstacle he had to encounter. The deep sense
of penitence she expressed, he mistook for earthly shame; which he
imagined he could soon soothe away.

"Yes, I have much more to say. I have not said half. I cannot tell
you how fondly I will--how fondly I do love you--how my life shall
be spent in ministering to your wishes. Money, I see--I know, you
despise--"

"Mr Bellingham! I will not stay to hear you speak to me so again.
I have been sinful, but it is not you who should--" She could not
speak, she was so choking with passionate sorrow.

He wanted to calm her, as he saw her shaken with repressed sobs. He
put his hand on her arm. She shook it off impatiently, and moved away
in an instant.

"Ruth!" said he, nettled by her action of repugnance, "I begin to
think you never loved me."

"I!--I never loved you! Do you dare to say so?"

Her eyes flamed on him as she spoke. Her red, round lip curled into
beautiful contempt.

"Why do you shrink so from me?" said he, in his turn getting
impatient.

"I did not come here to be spoken to in this way," said she. "I came,
if by any chance I could do Leonard good. I would submit to many
humiliations for his sake--but to no more from you."

"Are not you afraid to brave me so?" said he. "Don't you know how
much you are in my power?"

She was silent. She longed to go away, but dreaded lest he should
follow her, where she might be less subject to interruption than she
was here--near the fisherman's nets, which the receding tide was
leaving every moment barer and more bare, and the posts they were
fastened to more blackly uprising above the waters.

M