ible longing for a few minutes' change of scene after
her night of watching. She felt that the crisis was over; and the
relief to her mind made her conscious of every bodily feeling and
irritation, which had passed unheeded as long as she had been in
suspense.
She slowly opened the door. Ruth sprang upright at the first sound
of the creaking handle. Her very lips were stiff and unpliable with
the force of the blood which rushed to her head. It seemed as if she
could not form words. She stood right before Mrs Bellingham. "How is
he, madam?"
Mrs Bellingham was for a moment surprised at the white apparition
which seemed to rise out of the ground. But her quick, proud mind
understood it all in an instant. This was the girl, then, whose
profligacy had led her son astray; had raised up barriers in the way
of her favourite scheme of his marriage with Miss Duncombe; nay, this
was the real cause of his illness, his mortal danger at this present
time, and of her bitter, keen anxiety. If, under any circumstances,
Mrs Bellingham could have been guilty of the ill-breeding of not
answering a question, it was now; and for a moment she was tempted to
pass on in silence. Ruth could not wait; she spoke again:
"For the love of God, madam, speak! How is he? Will he live?"
If she did not answer her, she thought the creature was desperate
enough to force her way into his room. So she spoke.
"He has slept well: he is better."
"Oh! my God, I thank Thee," murmured Ruth, sinking back against the
wall.
It was too much to hear this wretched girl thanking God for her son's
life; as if, in fact, she had any lot or part in him, and to dare to
speak to the Almighty on her son's behalf! Mrs Bellingham looked at
her with cold, contemptuous eyes, whose glances were like ice-bolts,
and made Ruth shiver up away from them.
"Young woman, if you have any propriety or decency left, I trust that
you will not dare to force yourself into his room."
She stood for a moment as if awaiting an answer, and half expecting
it to be a defiance. But she did not understand Ruth. She did not
imagine the faithful trustfulness of her heart. Ruth believed that
if Mr Bellingham was alive and likely to live, all was well. When he
wanted her, he would send for her, ask for her, yearn for her, till
every one would yield before his steadfast will. At present she
imagined that he was probably too weak to care or know who was about
him; and though it would have be
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