She smiled, but the smile brought no sunshine to his heart; a perfunctory smile of duty and good manners, such as might have greeted any other human animal. And as she stood there, against the dark background of the woods, calm, cold, beautiful, and oh! so far away!--he saw aversion in her face and in every line of the rigid little figure. In a low, uncertain voice he spoke. "So you will never forgive me?" For a moment she looked away, beyond him, along the road toward the village. "I forgive you a great deal. I forgive your taking me by force and against my will from a welcome refuge where I was looking forward to a peaceful, happy life. But the greater wrong you have done me, the irreparable injury--that is harder to forgive." "Irreparable injury? What do you mean, Ruth?" Her eyebrows went up. "Indeed! You really do not know what I mean?" "On my honor I do not." "I mean my reputation--the loss of my good name." "Oh, Ruth! Why you--oh--don't say that!" Calmly, but with an obvious effort at self control she answered: "Do you think there is no gossip in Longfields, no comment on my unexpected arrival? Do you think an unmarried woman can travel about the world alone with a young man as I did, and keep her good name?" "I never thought of it--in that way. On my honor--I did not." "Do you know of any other respectable young woman of your acquaintance who has done anything like it?" "But it was all my doing. You couldn't help it. Don't they all know that?" "No. Why should they know it? Will they believe that you, whom they have known from boyhood, whom they respect and like, would carry me off by force, entirely against my will?" Then with a bitter little laugh: "Oh, no! They are not so simple! And some woman has started a story that we----" Her face became crimson and she covered it for a moment with her hands--"Oh, I can't bear to think of it." Cyrus closed his eyes. His head drooped. "I never thought of all that. I was stupid. I can see it now. I don't blame you for hating me." Ruth went on, speaking with nervous haste. "A pleasanter bit of scandal never happened in this village. I could not bear to live here. It would kill me to live here." "You are not going away!" "Indeed I am!" "Where?" "To Worcester, to earn my living as a nurse." "Listen, Ruth. Let me do something, no matter what. Let me take you, or send you back to the Convent." "The Convent! The Convent!" she repeated, and her cheeks reddened. "Do you think the Convent a refuge for women who leave it as I did?--for women who elope with--oh! It's for better women than that! They would never allow me within its gates." "Then let me atone in some way." "Indeed! And how?" "In any way you say--there's all my money--take some of it--all of it. Not as a gift, but in some business way. Let me buy something at a----" "Clever thought! Regild my reputation with Cyrus Alton's money!"