lutely he slipped a gold ring on to her finger.

"And you will give me your word to keep it there," he said, looking up at
her.

Her lips were quivering; she could not speak.

"Never mind," he said; "I can trust you."

He released her hand with the words, and there followed a brief silence
while Nan stood struggling vainly for self-control.

Failing at length, she sank suddenly down upon her knees at the table
hiding her face and crying as if her heart would break.

"My dear Anne!" he said. And then in a different tone, his hand upon her
bowed head: "What is it child? Don't cry, don't cry! Is it so hard for
you to be my wife?"

She could not answer him. His kindness was so strange to her. She could
only sob under that gentle, comforting hand.

"Hush!" he said. "Hush! Don't be so distressed. Anne, listen! I will
never be a savage to you again. I swear it on my honour, on my faith in
you, and on the love I have for you. What more can I do?"

Still she could not answer him, but her tears were ceasing. Yielding to
the pressure of his hand, she had drawn nearer to him. But she did not
raise her head.

After a long, quivering silence she spoke.

"Piet, I--I want you to--forgive me; not just for this, but for--a
thousand things. Piet, I--I didn't know you really loved me."

"I have always loved you, Anne," he said, in his deep, slow voice.

"And you--forgive me," she said faintly.

"I have forgiven you," he answered gravely.

She made a slight, shy movement, and he took his hand from her head. But
in an instant impulsively she caught at it, drawing it down against her
burning face.

"And you are not angry with me any more?" she murmured.

"No," he said again.

She was silent for a space, not moving, still tightly holding his hand.

He could not see her face, nor did he seek to do so. Perhaps he feared to
scare away her new-found courage.

At length, in a very small voice, she broke the silence.

"Piet!"

He leaned forward.

"What is it, Anne?"

He could feel her breath quick and short upon his hand. She seemed to be
making a supreme effort.

"Piet!" she said again.

"I am listening," he responded, with absolute patience.

She turned one cheek slightly towards him.

"If I loved anybody," she said, rather incoherently, "I--I'd find some
way of letting them know it."

He leaned his head once more upon his hand.

"I am a rough beast, Anne," he said sadly. "My love-making only hurts
you."