ed
Nemesis. The meanest wretch here in the West, if he has a quarrel,
avenges himself openly and at once. Actions are rough and ready,
perhaps, but that is our simple way. Hate is manly--and womanly
too--when it is open and brave. But when it haunts and shadows, it is
not understood here."

Mrs. Falchion sat during this speech, the fingers of one hand idly
drumming the arm of her chair, as idly as when on board the 'Fulvia' she
listened to me telling that story of Anson and his wife. Outwardly her
coolness was remarkable. But she was really admiring, and amazed at
Ruth's adroitness and courage. She appreciated fully the skilful duel
that had kept things on the surface, and had committed neither of
them to anything personal. It was a battle--the tragical battle of a
drawing-room.

When Ruth had ended, she said slowly: "You speak very earnestly. You do
your mountains justice; but each world has its code. It is good for some
men to be followed by a slow hatred--it all depends on themselves. There
are some who wish to meet their fate and its worst, and others who would
forget it. The latter are in the most danger always."

Ruth rose.

She stepped forward slightly, so that her feet also were within
the sunlight. The other saw this; it appeared to interest her. Ruth
looked--as such a girl can look--with incredible sincerity into Mrs.
Falchion's eyes, and said: "Oh, if I knew such a man, I would be
sorry--sorry for him; and if I also knew that his was only a mistake and
not a crime, or, if the crime itself had been repented of, and atonement
made, I would beg some one--some one better than I--to pray for him. And
I would go to the person who had his life and career at disposal, and
would say to her, if it were a woman, oh, remember that it is not he
alone who would suffer! I would beg that woman--if it were a woman--to
be merciful, as she one day must ask for mercy."

The girl as she stood there, all pale, yet glowing with the white light
of her pain, was beautiful, noble, compelling. Mrs. Falchion now rose
also. She was altogether in the sunlight now. From the piano in the
next room came a quick change of accompaniment, and a voice was heard
singing, as if to the singer's self, 'Il balen del suo sorris'. It is
hard to tell how far such little incidents affected her in what she
did that afternoon; but they had their influence. She said: "You are
altruistic--or are you selfish, or both?... And should the woman--if it
wer