ow--I will take you home with me. Do not fear. Give me your love, and
trust to me for the rest."

"Now I feel safe," she cried, snatching up Dic's hand. "You are stronger
than mother. I saw that the evening before you left, when we were all on
the porch and you spoke up so bravely to her. You will meet her face to
face and beat down her will. I can't do it. I become helpless when she
attacks me. I am miserably weak. I sometimes hate myself and fear I
should not marry you. I know I shall not be able to make you a good
wife."

Dic expressed an entire willingness to take the risk. "But why did you
accept a ring from him?"

"I did not," responded Rita, with wide-open eyes. "He offered me a
diamond when he asked me to--to--but I refused it. I gave him back his
watch, too; but mother does not know I did. She would be angry. She
thinks the watch you gave me is the one he offered."

"Sukey Yates said you showed her his ring."

"Dic," returned Rita, firing up indignantly, "did Sukey tell you
that--that lie? I don't like to use the word, but, Dic, she lied. She
once saw your ring upon my finger, before I could hide it from her, but
I did not tell her who had given it to me. I told her nothing. I don't
believe she intended to tell a story. I am sorry I used the other word.
She probably thought that Mr.--Mr.--that man had given it to me." After
she had spoken, a shadowy little cloud came upon her face. "You were
over to see Sukey Christmas night," she said, looking very straight into
the fire.

"Yes," returned Dic. "How did you learn that I was there?"

"Tom told me," she answered. "And I cried right out before Mr.--Mr.--the
Boston man."

"Ah, did you?" asked Dic, leaning forward and taking her hand.

"Yes; and when he put his hand on my arm," she continued, very proud of
the spirit she had shown, "I just flew at him savagely. Oh, I can be
fierce when I wish. He will never touch me again, you may depend on it."
She then gave the details of the scene with Williams, dwelling proudly
upon the fact of her successful retreat to bed, and meekly telling of
what she called her jealousy and wickedness. She had asked forgiveness
of God, and now she would ask it of Dic, evidently believing that if God
and Dic would forgive her wicked jealousy, no one else had any right to
complain. She was justly proud of the manner in which she had
accomplished the retreat movement, and really felt that she was becoming
dare-devilish to a degree s