ionally nowhere to go, and that it would be
sometimes necessary to order a Sunday's dinner, and leave a lighted
fire on that day.

For five months Ruth had been an inmate at Mrs Mason's, and such had
been the regular order of the Sundays. While the forewoman stayed
there, it is true, she was ever ready to give Ruth the little variety
of hearing of recreations in which she was no partaker; and however
tired Jenny might be at night, she had ever some sympathy to bestow
on Ruth for the dull length of day she had passed. After her
departure, the monotonous idleness of the Sunday seemed worse to
bear than the incessant labour of the work-days; until the time came
when it seemed to be a recognised hope in her mind, that on Sunday
afternoons she should see Mr Bellingham, and hear a few words from
him, as from a friend who took an interest in her thoughts and
proceedings during the past week.

Ruth's mother had been the daughter of a poor curate in Norfolk,
and, early left without parents or home, she was thankful to marry
a respectable farmer a good deal older than herself. After their
marriage, however, everything seemed to go wrong. Mrs Hilton fell
into a delicate state of health, and was unable to bestow the
ever-watchful attention to domestic affairs so requisite in a
farmer's wife. Her husband had a series of misfortunes--of a more
important kind than the death of a whole brood of turkeys from
getting among the nettles, or the year of bad cheeses spoilt by a
careless dairymaid--which were the consequences (so the neighbours
said) of Mr Hilton's mistake in marrying a delicate, fine lady. His
crops failed; his horses died; his barn took fire; in short, if he
had been in any way a remarkable character, one might have supposed
him to be the object of an avenging fate, so successive were the
evils which pursued him; but as he was only a somewhat commonplace
farmer, I believe we must attribute his calamities to some want in
his character of the one quality required to act as keystone to many
excellences. While his wife lived, all worldly misfortunes seemed as
nothing to him; her strong sense and lively faculty of hope upheld
him from despair; her sympathy was always ready, and the invalid's
room had an atmosphere of peace and encouragement, which affected all
who entered it. But when Ruth was about twelve, one morning in the
busy hay-time, Mrs Hilton was left alone for some hours. This had
often happened before, nor had she