"Oh no, it is not necessary, my dear; I am going directly. Come, Ruth, my child, why do you shrink away? Am I so very dreadful, my little girl? There, sit still," he said in a whisper. "I shall have to make you a prisoner, while I read you a lesson on obedience and duty to those who have your welfare at heart." Ruth was growing alarmed, for he had softly passed one arm round her little waist, and in spite of her feeble struggles drawn her to his side. "There, my child, now I feel as if you were my own loving, dutiful little girl whom I had adopted; and I am going to cross-examine you like a father confessor," he continued playfully. "Ruth dear, I hope this little heart is in safe-keeping." "I--I do not understand you, Mr Montaigne," cried Ruth, whose womanly instincts were now alarmed. "Will you loose me, please, and let me ring for the candles? It is quite dark." "But you are not afraid of being in the dark, my child," he whispered; "and--hush! not a word." He laid his hand upon her lips, for just then Markes' voice was heard outside. "Ruth! Miss Ruth!" "Sit still, foolish child!" he whispered, holding her more tightly; "that woman would perhaps chatter if she knew you were here like this with me." A chill of horror came over Ruth, and she sat like one paralysed, as the handle turned, the door opened, and Markes looked into the darkened room. "Why, where has the girl gone?" she muttered angrily. She went away directly, and a moment or two later her voice was heard crying: "She isn't in the drawing-room, cook." "You had better go up to your own room, child," said Montaigne softly. "I will go now. Do not trouble about this; for I think it weak to trust servants, whose ignorance and prejudice often lead them to wrong ideas. Good-night, my child. You have neither father nor mother, but remember that while Paul Montaigne lives you have one who is striving to fill the place of both, as he tries to watch over you for your good." He had allowed her to rise now, but he still retained her hand as he stood beside her, his words for the moment disarming the resentment in her breast. "Good-night, my dear child. I shall let myself out after you have reached your room. Good-night--good-night. Nay, your lips, Ruth, to me." Before she had well realised the fact, he had folded her in his arms, and pressed his lips to hers. Then, loosening her from his embrace, he let her go, and, trembling and agitated as she had never been before, she ran quickly to her room. Innocent at heart, and unskilled in the ways of the world as girl could be, as she seated herself upon the edge of the bed she ran rapidly over what had taken place.