e smoothed back his hair, then let her
fingers stray lightly on his cheek.

It hurt him like death to reply. "No, but there can be punishment here."

She shuddered slightly. "Punishment, punishment," she repeated
fearfully--"what punishment?"

"I do not quite know." Lines of pain grew deeper in his face.... "Ruth,
how much can a woman forgive?"

"A mother, everything." But she would say no more. He looked at her long
and earnestly, and said at last: "Will you believe in me no matter what
happens?"

"Always, always." Her smile was most winning.

"If things should appear dark against me?"

"Yes, if you give me your word."

"If I said to you that I did a wrong; that I broke the law of God,
though not the laws of man?"

There was a pause in which she drew back, trembling slightly, and looked
at him timidly and then steadily, but immediately put her hands bravely
in his, and said: "Yes."

"I did not break the laws of man."

"It was when you were in the navy?" she inquired, in an awe-stricken
tone.

"Yes, years ago."

"I know. I feel it. You must not tell me. It was a woman, and this
other woman, this Mrs. Falchion knows, and she would try to ruin you,
or"--here she seemed to be moved suddenly by a new thought--"or have
you love her. But she shall not, she shall not--neither! For I will love
you, and God will listen to me, and answer me."

"Would to Heaven I were worthy of you! I dare not think of where you
might be called to follow me, Ruth."

"'Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge:
thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God,'" she rejoined in a
low voice.

"'Thy God my God!'" he repeated after her slowly. He suddenly wondered
if his God was her God; whether now, in his trouble, he had that comfort
which his creed and profession should give him. For the first time he
felt acutely that his choice of this new life might have been more a
reaction from the past, a desire for expiation, than radical belief that
this was the right and only thing for him to do. And when, some time
after, he bade Ruth good-bye, as she went with her father, it came to
him with appalling conviction that his life had been a mistake. The
twist of a great wrong in a man's character distorts his vision; and if
he has a tender conscience he magnifies his misdeeds.

In silence Roscoe and I watched the two ride down the slope. I guessed
what had happened: afterwards I was told all. I was glad of it