to mean the death of a child; and all Miss Benson's
endeavours were directed to making her keep silence to Ruth about
this dream. Sally thought that the mother ought to be told; what were
dreams sent for but for warnings? But it was just like a pack of
Dissenters, who would not believe anything like other folks. Miss
Benson was too much accustomed to Sally's contempt for Dissenters, as
viewed from the pinnacle of the Establishment, to pay much attention
to all this grumbling; especially as Sally was willing to take as
much trouble about Leonard as if she believed he was going to live,
and that his recovery depended upon her care. Miss Benson's great
object was to keep her from having any confidential talks with Ruth;
as if any repetition of the dream could have deepened the conviction
in Ruth's mind that the child would die.

It seemed to her that his death would only be the fitting punishment
for the state of indifference towards him--towards life and
death--towards all things earthly or divine, into which she had
suffered herself to fall since her last interview with Mr Donne.
She did not understand that such exhaustion is but the natural
consequence of violent agitation and severe tension of feeling. The
only relief she experienced was in constantly serving Leonard; she
had almost an animal's jealousy lest any one should come between her
and her young. Mr Benson saw this jealous suspicion, although he
could hardly understand it; but he calmed his sister's wonder and
officious kindness, so that the two patiently and quietly provided
all that Ruth might want, but did not interfere with her right to
nurse Leonard. But when he was recovering, Mr Benson, with the slight
tone of authority he knew how to assume when need was, bade Ruth
lie down and take some rest, while his sister watched. Ruth did not
answer, but obeyed in a dull, weary kind of surprise at being so
commanded. She lay down by her child, gazing her fill at his calm
slumber; and as she gazed, her large white eyelids were softly
pressed down as with a gentle irresistible weight, and she fell
asleep.

She dreamed that she was once more on the lonely shore, striving to
carry Leonard away from some pursuer--some human pursuer--she knew he
was human, and she knew who he was, although she dared not say his
name even to herself, he seemed so close and present, gaining on her
flying footsteps, rushing after her as with the sound of the roaring
tide. Her feet seem