rgain for their winter fodder. He had not aged a day. His horse was
a tall grey, large-jointed, and ugly.

Ruth wore a veil, but it was wreathed just now above the brim of her
hat. Her first impulse was to draw it over her face, and her hand went
up; but she desisted in pride, and rode by her old enemy with a calm
face.

They passed one another, and she believed that he had not recognised
her; but after a few paces she heard him check his horse.

"Hi, madam!"

She halted, and he came slowly back.

"You are Ruth Josselin," he said.

"I am, sir."

"And what are you doing here?"

She smiled at him a little scornfully. "Do you ask as a magistrate,
sir, or in curiosity?"

He frowned, narrowing his eyes. "You are marvellously changed.
You appear prosperous. Has Vyell married you yet?"

"No, sir."

"Nor as yet cast you off, it would seem."

"No, sir."

"Ah, well, go your ways. You are a beautiful thing, but evil; and I
would have saved ye from it. I whipped ye, remember."

Her face burned, but she held her eyes steady on him. "Mr. Trask," she
said, "do you believe in hell?"

"Eh?" He was taken aback, but he could not frown away the question; for
she asked it with a certain authority, albeit very courteously. "Eh?
To be sure I do."

"I am going to prove to you (and some day you may take comfort from it)
that, except on earth, there is no such place."

"Ye'd like to believe that, I daresay!"

"For you see," she went on, letting the sneer pass, "it is agreed that,
if there be a hell, none but the wicked go there."

"Well?"

"Why, then, hell must defeat itself. For, where all are wicked
together, no punishment can degrade, because no shame is felt."

"There's the pain, madam." He eyed her, and barked it in a short,
savage laugh. "The torment--the worm that dies not, the fire that's not
quenched. Won't these content ye, bating the shame?"

Her eyes answered his in scorn. "No, sir. Because I once suffered your
cruelty, you have less understanding than I; but you have more ingenuity
than the Almighty, being able, in your district, to make a hell of
earth."

"You blaspheme thus to me, that honestly tried to save your soul?"

"Did you? . . . Well, perhaps you did in your fashion, and you may take
this comfort for reward. Believe me, who have tried, hell is
bottomless, but in its own way. Should ever you attain to it--and there
may in another world be such a place for the cruel--go dow