o much to ask, I
can never hear enough; and papa says"--she hesitated a moment, afraid
of giving pain, and then, believing that they would understand the
state of affairs, and the reason for her behaviour better if she told
the truth, she went on: "Papa says I must not go to your house--I
suppose it's right to obey him?"

"Certainly, my dear. It is your clear duty. We know how you feel
towards us."

"Oh! but if I could do any good--if I could be of any use or comfort
to any of you--especially to Ruth, I should come, duty or not. I
believe it would be my duty," said she, hurrying on to try and stop
any decided prohibition from Mr Benson. "No! don't be afraid; I won't
come till I know I can do some good. I hear bits about you through
Sally every now and then, or I could not have waited so long. Mr
Benson," continued she, reddening very much, "I think you did quite
right about poor Ruth."

"Not in the falsehood, my dear."

"No! not perhaps in that. I was not thinking of that. But I have been
thinking a great deal about poor Ruth's--you know I could not help it
when everybody was talking about it--and it made me think of myself,
and what I am. With a father and mother, and home and careful
friends, I am not likely to be tempted like Ruth; but oh! Mr Benson,"
said she, lifting her eyes, which were full of tears, to his face,
for the first time since she began to speak, "if you knew all I have
been thinking and feeling this last year, you would see how I have
yielded to every temptation that was able to come to me; and, seeing
how I have no goodness or strength in me, and how I might just have
been like Ruth, or rather, worse than she ever was, because I am more
headstrong and passionate by nature, I do so thank you and love you
for what you did for her! And will you tell me really and truly now
if I can ever do anything for Ruth? If you'll promise me that, I
won't rebel unnecessarily against papa; but if you don't, I will, and
come and see you all this very afternoon. Remember! I trust you!"
said she, breaking away. Then turning back, she came to ask after
Leonard.

"He must know something of it," said she. "Does he feel it much?"

"Very much," said Mr Benson. Jemima shook her head sadly.

"It is hard upon him," said she.

"It is," Mr Benson replied.

For in truth, Leonard was their greatest anxiety indoors. His health
seemed shaken, he spoke half sentences in his sleep, which showed
that in his dreams he was ba