the large old
window, and pressed against it as a bird presses against the bars of
its cage. She put back the blind, and gazed into the quiet moonlight
night. It was doubly light--almost as much so as day--for everything
was covered with the deep snow which had been falling silently ever
since the evening before. The window was in a square recess; the old
strange little panes of glass had been replaced by those which gave
more light. A little distance off, the feathery branches of a larch
waved softly to and fro in the scarcely perceptible night-breeze.
Poor old larch! the time had been when it had stood in a pleasant
lawn, with the tender grass creeping caressingly up to its very
trunk; but now the lawn was divided into yards and squalid
back premises, and the larch was pent up and girded about with
flag-stones. The snow lay thick on its boughs, and now and then fell
noiselessly down. The old stables had been added to, and altered into
a dismal street of mean-looking houses, back to back with the ancient
mansions. And over all these changes from grandeur to squalor, bent
down the purple heavens with their unchanging splendour!

Ruth pressed her hot forehead against the cold glass, and strained
her aching eyes in gazing out on the lovely sky of a winter's night.
The impulse was strong upon her to snatch up a shawl, and wrapping it
round her head, to sally forth and enjoy the glory; and time was when
that impulse would have been instantly followed; but now, Ruth's eyes
filled with tears, and she stood quite still, dreaming of the days
that were gone. Some one touched her shoulder while her thoughts were
far away, remembering past January nights, which had resembled this,
and were yet so different.

"Ruth, love," whispered a girl who had unwillingly distinguished
herself by a long hard fit of coughing, "come and have some supper.
You don't know yet how it helps one through the night."

"One run--one blow of the fresh air would do me more good," said
Ruth.

"Not such a night as this," replied the other, shivering at the very
thought.

"And why not such a night as this, Jenny?" answered Ruth. "Oh! at
home I have many a time run up the lane all the way to the mill, just
to see the icicles hang on the great wheel; and when I was once out,
I could hardly find in my heart to come in, even to mother, sitting
by the fire;--even to mother," she added, in a low, melancholy tone,
which had something of inexpressible sadness i