her more;
never be reminded, as she must be whenever she saw her, that such
things were in this sunny, bright, lark-singing earth, over which the
blue dome of heaven bent softly down as Jemima sat in the hayfield
that June afternoon; her cheeks flushed and red, but her lips pale
and compressed, and her eyes full of a heavy, angry sorrow. It was
Saturday, and the people in that part of the country left their work
an hour earlier on that day. By this, Jemima knew it must be growing
time for her to be at home. She had had so much of conflict in her
own mind of late, that she had grown to dislike struggle, or speech,
or explanation; and so strove to conform to times and hours much
more than she had done in happier days. But oh! how full of hate her
heart was growing against the world! And oh! how she sickened at the
thought of seeing Ruth! Who was to be trusted more, if Ruth--calm,
modest, delicate, dignified Ruth--had a memory blackened by sin?

As she went heavily along, the thought of Mr Farquhar came into
her mind. It showed how terrible had been the stun, that he had
been forgotten until now. With the thought of him came in her first
merciful feeling towards Ruth. This would never have been, had there
been the least latent suspicion in Jemima's jealous mind that Ruth
had purposely done aught--looked a look--uttered a word--modulated a
tone--for the sake of attracting. As Jemima recalled all the passages
of their intercourse, she slowly confessed to herself how pure and
simple had been all Ruth's ways in relation to Mr Farquhar. It was
not merely that there had been no coquetting, but there had been
simple unconsciousness on Ruth's part, for so long a time after
Jemima had discovered Mr Farquhar's inclination for her; and when at
length she had slowly awakened to some perception of the state of his
feelings, there had been a modest, shrinking dignity of manner, not
startled, or emotional, or even timid, but pure, grave, and quiet;
and this conduct of Ruth's, Jemima instinctively acknowledged to be
of necessity transparent and sincere. Now, and here, there was no
hypocrisy; but some time, somewhere, on the part of somebody, what
hypocrisy, what lies must have been acted, if not absolutely spoken,
before Ruth could have been received by them all as the sweet,
gentle, girlish widow, which she remembered they had all believed
Mrs Denbigh to be when first she came among them! Could Mr and Miss
Benson know? Could they be a