she never thought of that now. Her great desire was to hold quiet
till she was alone. Quietness it was not--it was rigidity; but she
succeeded in being rigid in look and movement, and went through her
duties to Elizabeth (who preferred remaining with her upstairs) with
wooden precision. But her heart felt at times like ice, at times
like burning fire; always a heavy, heavy weight within her. At last
Elizabeth went to bed. Still Ruth dared not think. Mary would come
upstairs soon; and with a strange, sick, shrinking yearning, Ruth
awaited her--and the crumbs of intelligence she might drop out about
_him_. Ruth's sense of hearing was quickened to miserable intensity
as she stood before the chimney-piece, grasping it tight with both
hands--gazing into the dying fire, but seeing--not the dead grey
embers, or the little sparks of vivid light that ran hither and
thither among the wood-ashes--but an old farm-house, and climbing,
winding road, and a little golden breezy common, with a rural inn on
the hill-top, far, far away. And through the thoughts of the past
came the sharp sounds of the present--of three voices, one of which
was almost silence, it was so hushed. Indifferent people would only
have guessed that Mr Donne was speaking by the quietness in which
the others listened; but Ruth heard the voice and many of the words,
though they conveyed no idea to her mind. She was too much stunned
even to feel curious to know to what they related. _He_ spoke. That
was her one fact.

Presently up came Mary, bounding, exultant. Papa had let her stay
up one quarter of an hour longer, because Mr Hickson had asked. Mr
Hickson was so clever! She did not know what to make of Mr Donne,
he seemed such a dawdle. But he was very handsome. Had Ruth seen
him? Oh, no! She could not, it was so dark on those stupid sands.
Well, never mind, she would see him to-morrow. She _must_ be well
to-morrow. Papa seemed a good deal put out that neither she nor
Elizabeth were in the drawing-room to-night; and his last words were,
"Tell Mrs Denbigh I hope" (and papa's "hopes" always meant "expect")
"she will be able to make breakfast at nine o'clock;" and then she
would see Mr Donne.

That was all Ruth heard about him. She went with Mary into her
bedroom, helped her to undress, and put the candle out. At length she
was alone in her own room! At length!

But the tension did not give way immediately. She fastened her door,
and threw open the window, cold an