et of scolding Sally,
for expressing just the same opinion respecting Ruth's proceedings as
she herself had done not two hours before. Taking what her brother
had said to her as a text, she delivered such a lecture to Sally
on want of faith that she was astonished at herself, and so much
affected by what she had said that she had to shut the door of
communication between the kitchen and the parlour pretty hastily, in
order to prevent Sally's threatened reply from weakening her belief
in the righteousness of what Ruth had done. Her words had gone beyond
her conviction.

Evening after evening Mr Benson went forth to gain news of Ruth;
and night after night he returned with good tidings. The fever, it
is true, raged; but no plague came nigh her. He said her face was
ever calm and bright, except when clouded by sorrow as she gave the
accounts of the deaths which occurred in spite of every care. He said
he had never seen her face so fair and gentle as it was now, when she
was living in the midst of disease and woe.

One evening Leonard (for they had grown bolder as to the infection)
accompanied him to the street on which the hospital abutted. Mr
Benson left him there, and told him to return home; but the boy
lingered, attracted by the crowd that had gathered, and were gazing
up intently towards the lighted windows of the hospital. There was
nothing beyond to be seen; but the greater part of these poor people
had friends or relations in that palace of Death.

Leonard stood and listened. At first their talk consisted of vague
and exaggerated accounts (if such could be exaggerated) of the
horrors of the fever. Then they spoke of Ruth--of his mother; and
Leonard held his breath to hear.

"They say she has been a great sinner, and that this is her penance,"
quoth one. And as Leonard gasped, before rushing forward to give the
speaker straight the lie, an old man spoke:

"Such a one as her has never been a great sinner; nor does she do her
work as a penance, but for the love of God, and of the blessed Jesus.
She will be in the light of God's countenance when you and I will be
standing afar off. I tell you, man, when my poor wench died, as no
one would come near, her head lay at that hour on this woman's sweet
breast. I could fell you," the old man went on, lifting his shaking
arm, "for calling that woman a great sinner. The blessing of them who
were ready to perish is upon her."

Immediately there arose a clamour of tongues