an help."

The dull agony that flashes into her eyes quickens into life some
compassionate feeling that still lies dormant in Clarissa's breast.

"I do not judge you at all," she says, with infinite gentleness. Then,
with an impulsive movement, she turns and lays her hand upon her
shoulder. "Come home with me--now!" she says. "Leave this place, Ruth,
I implore you, listen to me!"

"Do not," says Ruth, shrinking from her grasp; "I am not fit for you
to touch. Remember all that has passed."

"Do you think I shall ever forget!" says Clarissa, slowly. "But for
your father's sake: he is ill,--perhaps dying. Come. For his sake you
will surely return?"

"It is too late!" says the girl, in a melancholy voice. And then,
again, "It is impossible." Yet it is apparent that a terrible struggle
is taking place within her breast: how it might have ended, whether
the good or bad angel would have gained the day, can never now be
said; a sigh, a broken accent, decided her.

"My head!" murmurs the sick man, feebly, drawing his breath wearily,
and as if with pain. "Ruth, Ruth, are you there?" The querulous
dependent tone rouses into instant life all the passionate tenderness
that is in Ruth's heart. Having soothed him by a touch, she turns once
more to Clarissa.

"He too is sick,--perhaps dying," she says, feverishly. "I cannot
leave him! I have sacrificed all for him, and I shall be faithful unto
the end. Leave me: I have done you the greatest wrong one woman can do
another. Why should you care for my salvation?" Through all the
defiance there is bitter misery in her tone.

"I don't know why; yet I do," says poor Clarissa, earnestly.

"You are a saint," says Ruth, with white lips. And then she falls upon
her knees. "Oh, if it be in your heart," she cries, "grant me your
forgiveness!"

Clarissa bursts into tears.

"I do grant it," she says. "But I would that my tongue possessed such
eloquence as could induce you to leave this house." She tries to raise
Ruth from her kneeling position.

"Let me remain where I am," says Ruth, faintly. "It is my right
position. I tell you again to go; this is no place for you. Yet stay
you, sweet woman,"--she cries, with sudden fervor, catching hold of
the hem of Clarissa's gown and pressing it to her lips,--"let me look
at you once again! It is my final farewell to all that is pure; and I
would keep your face fresh within my heart."

She gazes at her long and eagerly.

"What! tears?" she s