. I had not much to give you before; I have less than nothing
now. I never pretended to be a lady; but I thought that, as your wife, I
should never disgrace you. That's all past and done with now. I always
knew you were a true gentleman--honourable and kind. No one but a
gentleman like you would have kept his word with the daughter of a
murderer. But you have done so, dear, and I thank and bless you for your
kindness. The only way in which I can show how grateful I am is to give
you back your ring. Take it, Gabriel, and God be good to you for your
upright kindness.'

There was that in her tone which made Gabriel feel that her decision was
irrevocable. He mechanically took the ring she returned to him and
slipped it on his finger. Never again was it removed from where he
placed it at that moment; and in after days it often reminded him of the
one love of his life. With a second sigh, hopeless and resigned, he rose
to his feet, and looked at the dark figure in the twilight of the room.

'What are your plans, Bell?' he asked in an unemotional voice, which he
hardly recognised as his own.

'I am going away from Beorminster next week,' answered the girl,
listlessly. 'Sir Harry has arranged all about this hotel, and has been
most kind in every way. I have a little money, as Sir Harry paid me for
the furniture and the stock-in-trade. Of course I had to pay f--father's
debts'--she could hardly speak the words--'so there is not much left.
Still, I have sufficient to take me to London and keep me until I can
get a situation.'

'As--as a barmaid?' asked Gabriel, in a low voice.

'As a barmaid,' she replied coldly. 'What else am I fit for?'

'Can I not help you?'

'No; you have given me all the help you could, by showing me how much
you respect me.'

'I do more than respect you, Bell; I love you.' 'I am glad of that,'
replied Bell, softly; 'it is a great thing for a miserable girl like me
to be loved.'

'Bell! Bell! no one can cast a stone at you.'

'I am the daughter of a murderer, Gabriel; and I know better than you
what the world's charity is. Do you think I would stay in this place,
where cruel people would remind me daily and hourly of my father's sin?
Ah, my dear, I know what would be said, and I don't wish to hear it. I
shall bury my poor mother, and go away, never to return.'

'My poor Bell! God has indeed laid a heavy burden upon you.'

'Don't!' Her voice broke and the long-absent tears came into her eyes.
'