For the first time in her life she had money to handle; money furnished by Sir Oliver to be spent at her own disposal on the honeymoon. It seemed to her a prodigious sum, but she was none the less economical with it. I fear that sometimes she opened the bags and gloated over the coins as over a hoard. She was neither miser nor spendthrift; but unlike many girls brought up in poverty, she brought good husbandry to good fortune. Yet "shopping"--to enter a store and choose among the goods for sale, having money to pay, but weighing quality and price--was undeniably pleasant. Twice or thrice, bethinking her of some trifle overlooked at Port Nassau, she enjoyed visiting the village store--it boasted but one--and dallying with a purchase. She was riding back from one of these visits--it had been (if the Muse will smile and condescend) to buy a packet of hairpins--when, half-way up the village street, she spied a horseman approaching. An instant later she recognised Mr. Trask. There was really nothing strange in her meeting him here. Mr. Trask owned a herd of bullocks, and had ridden over from Port Nassau to bargain for their winter fodder. He had not aged a day. His horse was a tall grey, large-jointed, and ugly. Ruth wore a veil, but it was wreathed just now above the brim of her hat. Her first impulse was to draw it over her face, and her hand went up; but she desisted in pride, and rode by her old enemy with a calm face. They passed one another, and she believed that he had not recognised her; but after a few paces she heard him check his horse. "Hi, madam!" She halted, and he came slowly back. "You are Ruth Josselin," he said. "I am, sir." "And what are you doing here?" She smiled at him a little scornfully. "Do you ask as a magistrate, sir, or in curiosity?" He frowned, narrowing his eyes. "You are marvellously changed. You appear prosperous. Has Vyell married you yet?" "No, sir." "Nor as yet cast you off, it would seem." "No, sir." "Ah, well, go your ways. You are a beautiful thing, but evil; and I would have saved ye from it. I whipped ye, remember." Her face burned, but she held her eyes steady on him. "Mr. Trask," she said, "do you believe in hell?" "Eh?" He was taken aback, but he could not frown away the question; for she asked it with a certain authority, albeit very courteously. "Eh? To be sure I do." "I am going to prove to you (and some day you may take comfort from it) that, except on earth, there is no such place." "Ye'd like to believe that, I daresay!" "For you see," she went on, letting the sneer pass, "it is agreed that, if there be a hell, none but the wicked go there." "Well?" "Why, then, hell must defeat itself. For, where all are wicked together, no punishment can degrade, because no shame is felt."