Rude, perhaps, in some ways, without other learning than the hard usage of life had given her; yet she was a fine soul, as deep as the tarn on the mountain-top, and as pure and clear.
And he had fancied she loved him.

No disaster had quite overshadowed the bright hope of that surmise.

Yet had she not loved Ralph instead?
Perhaps the girl herself did not realize that in reality the love of his brother had taken hold of her.

Did Ralph himself love the girl?
That could not be, or he should have guessed the truth the night they spoke together.

Still, it _might_ be that Ralph loved her after all.
By the following morning Rotha had decided that her duty at this crisis lay one way only, and that way she must take.