"You are a saint," says Ruth, with white lips. And then she falls upon her knees. "Oh, if it be in your heart," she cries, "grant me your forgiveness!"
Clarissa bursts into tears.
"I do grant it," she says. "But I would that my tongue possessed such eloquence as could induce you to leave this house." She tries to raise Ruth from her kneeling position.
"Let me remain where I am," says Ruth, faintly. "It is my right position. I tell you again to go; this is no place for you. Yet stay you, sweet woman,"—she cries, with sudden fervor, catching hold of the hem of Clarissa's gown and pressing it to her lips,—"let me look at you once again! It is my final farewell to all that is pure; and I would keep your face fresh within my heart."
She gazes at her long and eagerly.
"What! tears?" she says; "and for me? Oh, believe me, though I shall never see you again, the recollection of these tears will soothe my dying hours, and perhaps wash out a portion of my sins!"
Her head drops upon her hands. So might the sad Magdalen have knelt. Her whole body trembles with the intensity of her emotion, yet no sound escapes her.
"Ruth, for the last time, I implore you to come with me," says Clarissa, brokenly. And once more the parched lips of the crouching woman frame the words, "It is too late!"
A moment after, the door is opened, and closed again and Clarissa has looked her last upon Ruth Annersley.
How she makes her way down to the room where Sir James sits awaiting her, Clarissa never afterwards remembers.