es got off
his knees as best he could, and stood with one hand on the railing of
the balcony, as if to steady himself. His usually pale face was crimson.

Ruth closed the book in silence, and with a dreadful precision put it
back in its accustomed place. Then she turned and faced him, with the
western light full upon her stern face, and another light of contempt
and indignation burning in her direct eyes.

"Poor little girl," she said, in a low distinct voice. "What a triumph
to have succeeded in making her unhappy. She is very young, and she did
not understand the rules of the game. Poor, foolish little girl!"

If he had been red before, he was pale enough now. He drew himself up,
and met her direct gaze without flinching. He did not speak, and she
left him standing in the window, and went slowly along the balcony and
down the little staircase into the room below.

As she was about to leave the room he moved forward suddenly, and said,
"Miss Deyncourt!"

Involuntarily she stopped short, in obedience to the stern authority of
the tone.

"You are unjust."

She did not answer and left the room.

CHAPTER XVIII.

"Uncle John," said Ruth next morning, taking Mr. Alwynn aside after
breakfast, "we are leaving by the early train, are we not?"

"No, my love, it is quite impossible. I have several papers to identify
and rearrange."

"We have stayed a day longer than we intended as it is. Most of the
others go early. Do let us go too."

"It is most natural, I am sure, my dear, that you should wish to get
home," said Mr. Alwynn, looking with sympathetic concern at his niece;
"and why your aunt has not forwarded your letters I can't imagine. But
still, if we return by the mid-day train, Ruth, you will have plenty of
time to answer any letters that--ahem!--seem to require immediate
attention, before the post goes; and I don't see my way to being ready
earlier."

Ruth had not even been thinking of Dare and his letters; but she saw
that by the early train she was not destined to depart, and watched the
other guests take leave with an envious sigh. She was anxious to be
gone. The last evening, after the episode in the library, had been
interminably long. Already the morning, though breakfast was hardly
over, seemed to have dragged itself out to days in length. A sense of
constraint between two people who understand and amuse each other is
very galling. Ruth had felt it so. All the previous evening Charles had
h