en an infinite delight to her to
hover and brood around him, yet it was of him she thought and not
of herself. She gently drew herself on one side to make way for Mrs
Bellingham to pass.

By-and-by Mrs Morgan came up. Ruth was still near the door, from
which it seemed as if she could not tear herself away.

"Indeed, miss, and you must not hang about the door in this way; it
is not pretty manners. Mrs Bellingham has been speaking very sharp
and cross about it, and I shall lose the character of my inn if
people take to talking as she does. Did not I give you a room last
night to keep in, and never be seen or heard of; and did I not tell
you what a particular lady Mrs Bellingham was, but you must come out
here right in her way? Indeed, it was not pretty, nor grateful to me,
Jenny Morgan, and that I must say."

Ruth turned away like a chidden child. Mrs Morgan followed her to her
room, scolding as she went; and then, having cleared her heart after
her wont by uttering hasty words, her real kindness made her add, in
a softened tone:

"You stop up here like a good girl. I'll send you your breakfast
by-and-by, and let you know from time to time how he is; and you can
go out for a walk, you know; but if you do, I'll take it as a favour
if you'll go out by the side door. It will, maybe, save scandal."

All that day long, Ruth kept herself close prisoner in the room to
which Mrs Morgan accorded her; all that day, and many succeeding
days. But at nights, when the house was still, and even the little
brown mice had gathered up the crumbs, and darted again to their
holes, Ruth stole out, and crept to his door to catch, if she could,
the sound of his beloved voice. She could tell by its tones how he
felt, and how he was getting on, as well as any of the watchers in
the room. She yearned and pined to see him once more; but she had
reasoned herself down into something like patience. When he was well
enough to leave his room, when he had not always one of the nurses
with him, then he would send for her, and she would tell him how very
patient she had been for his dear sake. But it was long to wait even
with this thought of the manner in which the waiting would end. Poor
Ruth! her faith was only building up vain castles in the air; they
towered up into heaven, it is true, but, after all, they were but
visions.

CHAPTER VIII

Mrs Bellingham "Does the Thing Handsomely"

If Mr Bellingham did not get rapidly well, it was m