“For a good end!—­Nay! what next?”

The taunting contempt with which Mr. Bradshaw spoke these words almost surprised himself by what he imagined must be its successful power of withering; but in spite of it Mr. Benson lifted his grave eyes to Mr. Bradshaw’s countenance, and repeated—­

“For a good end.  The end was not, as perhaps you consider it to have been, to obtain her admission into your family—­nor yet to put her in the way of gaining her livelihood; my sister and I would willingly have shared what we have with her; it was our intention to do so at first, if not for any length of time, at least as long as her health might require it.  Why I advised (perhaps I only yielded to advice) a change of name—­an assumption of a false state of widowhood—­was because I earnestly desired to place her in circumstances in which she might work out her self-redemption; and you, sir, know how terribly the world goes against all such as have sinned as Ruth did.  She was so young, too.”

“You mistake, sir; my acquaintance has not lain so much among that class of sinners as to give me much experience of the way in which they are treated.  But, judging from what I have seen, I should say they meet with full as much leniency as they deserve; and supposing they do not—­I know there are plenty of sickly sentimentalists just now who reserve all their interest and regard for criminals—­why not pick out one of these to help you in your task of washing the blackamoor white?  Why choose me to be imposed upon—­my household into which to intrude your protegee?  Why were my innocent children to be exposed to corruption?  I say,” said Mr. Bradshaw, stamping his foot, “how dared you come into this house, where you were looked upon as a minister of religion, with a lie in your mouth?  How dared you single me out, of all people, to be gulled, and deceived, and pointed at through the town as the person who had taken an abandoned woman into his house to teach his daughters?”

“I own my deceit was wrong and faithless.”

“Yes! you can own it, now it is found out!  There is small merit in that, I think!”

“Sir!  I claim no merit.  I take shame to myself.  I did not single you out.  You applied to me with your proposal that Ruth should be your children’s governess.”

“Pah!”

“And the temptation was too great—­no!  I will not say that—­but the temptation was greater than I could stand—­it seemed to open out a path of usefulness.”

“Now, don’t let me hear you speak so,” said Mr. Bradshaw, blazing up.  “I can’t stand it.  It is too much to talk in that way when the usefulness was to consist in contaminating my innocent girls.”

“God knows that if I had believed there had been any danger of such contamination—­God knows how I would have died sooner than have allowed her to enter your family.  Mr. Bradshaw, you believe me, don’t you?” asked Mr. Benson earnestly.

“I really must be allowed the privilege of doubting what you say in future,” said Mr. Bradshaw, in a cold, contemptuous manner.