"Ruth," said the gardener, struggling with himself to speak firmly, and yet with kindness, "there was something more. After Dick left, or before that, did Mr. Hurst—that is, were you more forgiving to him than you were to Storms?"
"I—I do not understand, father."
She does understand, thought Jessup, turning his eyes away from her burning face, heart-sick with apprehension. Then he nerved himself, and spoke again.
"Ruth, I met Dick in the park, and he made a strange charge against you."
"Against me!"
"He says that insults greater than he would have dared to offer, but for which he was kicked from my door, were forgiven to young Mr. Hurst. Nay, that you encouraged them."
"And you believed this, father?" questioned the girl, turning her eyes full upon those that were searching her face with such questioning anxiety.
"No, Ruth, I did not want to believe him; but how happened it that the young master came here so late at night?"
"Oh, father! Why do you question me so sharply?"
The panic that whitened Ruth's face, the terror that shook her voice, gave force to the suspicion that poor man had been trying so hard to quench. It stung him like a serpent now, and he started up, exclaiming: