to go the round;
and when she was once in the meadows that skirted the town, she
forgot all doubt and awkwardness--nay, almost forgot the presence of
Mr Bellingham--in her delight at the new tender beauty of an early
spring day in February. Among the last year's brown ruins, heaped
together by the wind in the hedgerows, she found the fresh green
crinkled leaves and pale star-like flowers of the primroses. Here and
there a golden celandine made brilliant the sides of the little brook
that (full of water in "February fill-dyke") bubbled along by the
side of the path; the sun was low in the horizon, and once, when they
came to a higher part of the Leasowes, Ruth burst into an exclamation
of delight at the evening glory of mellow light which was in the sky
behind the purple distance, while the brown leafless woods in the
foreground derived an almost metallic lustre from the golden mist and
haze of the sunset. It was but three-quarters of a mile round by the
meadows, but somehow it took them an hour to walk it. Ruth turned
to thank Mr Bellingham for his kindness in taking her home by this
beautiful way, but his look of admiration at her glowing, animated
face, made her suddenly silent; and, hardly wishing him good-bye, she
quickly entered the house with a beating, happy, agitated heart.

"How strange it is," she thought that evening, "that I should feel as
if this charming afternoon's walk were, somehow, not exactly wrong,
but yet as if it were not right. Why can it be? I am not defrauding
Mrs Mason of any of her time; that I know would be wrong; I am left
to go where I like on Sundays. I have been to church, so it can't be
because I have missed doing my duty. If I had gone this walk with
Jenny, I wonder whether I should have felt as I do now. There must
be something wrong in me, myself, to feel so guilty when I have done
nothing which is not right; and yet I can thank God for the happiness
I have had in this charming spring walk, which dear mamma used to say
was a sign when pleasures were innocent and good for us."

She was not conscious, as yet, that Mr Bellingham's presence had
added any charm to the ramble; and when she might have become aware
of this, as, week after week, Sunday after Sunday, loitering ramble
after loitering ramble succeeded each other, she was too much
absorbed with one set of thoughts to have much inclination for
self-questioning.

"Tell me everything, Ruth, as you would to a brother; let me help