I have not forgotten the tender nurse who soothed me in my delirium. When I am feverish, I dream that I am again at Llan-dhu, in the little old bedchamber, and you, in white--which you always wore then, you know--flitting about me." The tears dropped, large and round from Ruth's eyes--she could not help it--how could she? "We were happy then," continued he, gaining confidence from the sight of her melted mood, and recurring once more to the admission which he considered so much in his favour. "Can such happiness never return?" Thus he went on, quickly, anxious to lay before her all he had to offer, before she should fully understand his meaning. "If you would consent, Leonard should be always with you--educated where and how you liked--money to any amount you might choose to name should be secured to you and him--if only, Ruth--if only those happy days might return." Ruth spoke-- "I said that I was happy, because I had asked God to protect and help me--and I dared not tell a lie. I was happy. Oh! what is happiness or misery that we should talk about them now?" Mr. Donne looked at her, as she uttered these words, to see if she was wandering in her mind, they seemed to him so utterly strange and incoherent. "I dare not think of happiness--I must not look forward to sorrow. God did not put me here to consider either of these things." "My dear Ruth, compose yourself! There is no hurry in answering the question I asked." "What was it?" said Ruth. "I love you so, I cannot live without you. I offer you my heart, my life--Ioffer to place Leonard wherever you would have him placed. I have the power and the means to advance him in any path of life you choose. All who have shown kindness to you shall be rewarded by me, with a gratitude even surpassing your own. If there is anything else I can do that you can suggest, I will do it." "Listen to me!" said Ruth, now that the idea of what he proposed had entered her mind. "When I said that I was happy with you long ago, I was choked with shame as I said it. And yet it may be a vain, false excuse that Imake for myself. I was very young; I did not know how such a life was against God's pure and holy will--at least, not as I know it now; and I tell you the truth--all the days of my years since I have gone about with a stain on my hidden soul--a stain which made me loathe myself, and envy those who stood spotless and undefiled; which made me shrink from my child--from Mr. Benson, from his sister, from the innocent girls whom I teach--nay, even I have cowered away from God Himself; and what I did wrong then, Idid blindly to what I should do now if I listened to you." She was so strongly agitated that she put her hands over her face, and sobbed without restraint. Then, taking them away, she looked at him with a glowing face, and beautiful, honest, wet eyes, and tried to speak calmly, as she asked if she needed to stay longer (she would have gone away at once but that she thought of Leonard, and wished to hear all that his father might have to say). He was so struck anew by her beauty, and understood her so little, that he believed that she only required a little more urging to consent to what he wished; for in all she had said there was no trace of the anger and resentment for his desertion of her, which he had expected would be a prominent feature--the greatest obstacle he had to encounter.
The deep sense of penitence she expressed he mistook for earthly shame;which he imagined he could soon soothe away. "Yes, I have much more to say. I have not said half. I cannot tell you how fondly I will--how fondly I do love you--how my life shall be spent in ministering to your wishes. Money, I see--I know, you despise----" "Mr. Bellingham! I will not stay to hear you speak to me so' again. I have been sinful, but it is not you who should----" She could not speak, she was so choking with passionate sorrow. He wanted to calm her, as he saw her shaken with repressed sobs. He put his hand on her arm. She shook it off impatiently, and moved away in an instant. "Ruth!" said he, nettled by her action of repugnance, "I begin to think you never loved me." "I!--I never loved you! Do you dare to say so?" Her eyes flamed on him as she spoke. Her red, round lip curled into beautiful contempt. "Why do you shrink so from me?" said he, in his turn getting impatient. "I did not come here to be spoken to in this way," said she. "I came, if by any chance I could do Leonard good. I would submit to many humiliations for his sake--but to no more from you." "Are not you afraid to brave me so?" said he. "Don't you know how much you are in my power?" She was silent. She longed to go away, but dreaded lest he should follow her, where she might be less subject to interruption than she was here--near the fisherman's nets, which the receding tide was leaving every moment barer and more bare, and the posts they were fastened to more blackly uprising above the waters. Mr. Donne put his hands on her arms as they hung down before her--her hands tightly clasped together. "Ask me to let you go," said he. "I will, if you will ask me. He looked very fierce and passionate and determined. The vehemence of his action took Ruth by surprise, and the painful tightness of the grasp almost made her exclaim. But she was quite still and mute. "Ask me," said he, giving her a little shake. She did not speak. Her eyes, fixed on the distant shore, were slowly filling with tears. Suddenly a light came through the mist that obscured them, and the shut lips parted.
She saw some distant object that gave her hope. "It is Stephen Bromley," said she. "He is coming to his nets. They say he is a very desperate, violent man, but he will protect me." "You obstinate, wilful creature!" said Mr. Donne, releasing his grasp.
