"Do you think so?" I answered. "You might have got on all right
without me."

"I do not think I have been just to you," she went on.

"How?" I asked, abruptly.

"Perhaps I ought not to tell you," she said, "but I cannot help it now."

I asked her to explain.

"I have sudden likes and dislikes," she said, "and when you saved me in
the storm, and I heard that you were going to be my brother, I was
glad--more glad than I can say. Then when I was getting well your
mother came and told me that you had neither fear nor feelings. That
you had risked your life out of mere love of danger, that you were
cruel and vindictive. That, although you were the heir of the
Trewinions, you were totally unfit for its responsibilities. That your
brother Wilfred was in reality robbed of the position which he alone
was fit to take. That you had ever been cruel to him, that, although
you were superior in strength, you took advantage of his weakness.
Thus, when I saw you, although you had saved my life, I was prepared to
dislike you."

"And then?" I asked.

"I thought you verified what your mother had said. You seemed rough
and uncouth, and very different from your brother."

I suppose most of us like to be thought well of. None of us wish to be
looked upon as objects of repugnance. Anyhow, I was in no pleasant
frame of mind, and I had hard work to keep from bursting out with some
strong invective against my brother, but I held my tongue and waited
for her to continue.

"Since then," she went on, "I have been finding out my mistake, and I
have wanted to tell you so; but you have always been so cold and
repellent that I dared not. You are rough and stern, Roger, not a bit
like Wilfred."

I bit my lip angrily.

"Yes, I know you have saved my life again," she said, as if divining my
thoughts. "I know that Wilfred dared not do what you have done; but
what I meant was that anyone who does not understand you would think
you harsh. Besides, it takes some time to know you."

"But I always felt friendly towards you, Ruth, even though you seemed
to dislike me."

"And I shall always be more friendly to you in the future. I want you
to forgive me, Roger. Will you?"

She looked at me, and her great grey eyes were full of kindness, and
her voice was so gentle that I felt quite uncomfortable.

"Don't talk about forgiving," I said, rather roughly, I expect, "let us
be good friends."

She looked very pale as I said this, and t