Mr. Benson set his teeth hard together, to keep in words little short of a curse.

“Indeed, I offered her money to almost any amount before:—­do me justice, sir,” catching the gleam of indignation on Mr. Benson’s face; “I offered to marry her, and provide for the boy as if he had been legitimate.  It’s of no use recurring to that time,” said he, his voice faltering; “what is done cannot be undone.  But I came now to say, that I should be glad to leave the boy still under your charge, and that every expense you think it right to incur in his education I will gladly defray;—­and place a sum of money in trust for him—­say, two thousand pounds—­or more:  fix what you will.  Of course, if you decline retaining him, I must find some one else; but the provision for him shall be the same, for my poor Ruth’s sake.”

Mr. Benson did not speak.  He could not, till he had gathered some peace from looking at the ineffable repose of the Dead.  Then, before he answered, he covered up her face; and in his voice there was the stillness of ice.

“Leonard is not unprovided for.  Those that honoured his mother will take care of him.  He shall never touch a penny of your money.  Every offer of service you have made, I reject in his name, and in her presence,” said he, bending towards the Dead.  “Men may call such actions as yours youthful follies!  There is another name for them with God.  Sir!  I will follow you downstairs.”

All the way down, Mr. Benson heard Mr. Donne’s voice urging and entreating, but the words he could not recognise for the thoughts that filled his brain—­the rapid putting together of events that was going on there.  And when Mr. Donne turned at the door, to speak again, and repeat his offers of service to Leonard, Mr. Benson made answer, without well knowing whether the answer fitted the question or not—­

“I thank God, you have no right, legal or otherwise, over the child.  And for her sake, I will spare him the shame of ever hearing your name as his father.”  He shut the door in Mr. Donne’s face.

“An ill-bred, puritanical old fellow!  He may have the boy, I am sure, for aught I care.  I have done my duty, and will get out of this abominable place as soon as I can.  I wish my last remembrance of my beautiful Ruth was not mixed up with all these people.”

Mr. Benson was bitterly oppressed with this interview; it disturbed the peace with which he was beginning to contemplate events.  His anger ruffled him, although such anger had been just, and such indignation well deserved; and both had been unconsciously present in his heart for years against the unknown seducer, whom he met face to face by the death-bed of Ruth.

It gave him a shock which he did not recover from for many days.  He was nervously afraid lest Mr. Donne should appear at the funeral; and not all the reasons he alleged to himself against this apprehension, put it utterly away from him.  Before then, however, he heard casually (for he would allow himself no inquiries) that he had left the town.  No!  Ruth’s funeral passed over in calm and simple solemnity.  Her child, her own household, her friend and Mr. Farquhar, quietly walked after the bier, which was borne by some of the poor to whom she had been very kind in her lifetime And many others stood aloof in the little burying-ground, sadly watching that last ceremony.