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.