d pleading about
it that pained her inexpressibly.

"Louis," she said, with slow distinctness, her hand moving down until
it touched his, "I never thought of this as a possibility. You know how
much I have always loved you, dear; but oh, Louis, will it hurt you very
much, will you forgive me if I have to say no, I cannot be your wife?"

"Wait. I wish you to consider this well. I am offering you all that I
have in the world; it is not despicable. Your family, I know, would be
pleased. Besides, it would be well for you--God knows, not because I am
what I am, but for other reasons. Wait. I beg of you not to answer me
till you have thought it over. You know me; I am no saint, but a man who
would give his life for you. I ask of you nothing but the right to guard
yours. Do not answer me now."

They had turned the corner of their block.

"I need no time," said Ruth, with a sad sob in her voice; "I cannot
marry you, Louis. My answer would be the same to-morrow or at the end of
all time,--I can never, never be your wife."

"It is then as I feared,--anything."

The girl's bowed head was the only answer to his bitter words.

"Well," he said, with a hard laugh, "that ends it, then. Don't let it
bother you. Your answer has put it entirely from my mind. I should be
pleased if you would forget it as readily as I shall. I hardly think
we shall meet in the morning. I am going down to the club now. Good-by;
enjoy yourself."

He held out his hand carelessly; Ruth carried it in both hers to her
lips. Being at the gate, he lifted his hat with a smile and walked away.
Ruth did not smile; neither did Arnold when he had turned from her.

Chapter XIV

Beacham's lies in a dimple of the inner coast range, and is reached
nowadays through one of the finest pieces of engineering skill in the
State. The tortuous route through the mountains, over trestle-bridges
that span what seem, from the car-windows, like bottomless chasms,
needs must hold some compensation at the end to counterbalance the fears
engendered on the way. The higher one goes the more beautiful becomes
the scenery among the wild, marvellous redwoods that stand like mammoth
guides pointing heavenward; and Beacham's realizes expectation.

It is a quiet little place, with its one hotel and two attached
cottages, its old, disused saw-mill, its tiny schoolhouse beyond the
fairy-like woods, its one general merchandise store, where cheese
and calico, hats and hoes, ham and ho