eded to comment on the poaching
affray of the previous night, and the arrest of a man who had been
seriously injured; but at her mention of the subject Ruth became so
silent, and Mrs. Alwynn so voluble, that she felt it was useless to stay
any longer, and had to take her leave without a word with Ruth.

"Something is wrong with that girl," she said to herself, as she drove
back to Atherstone. "I know what it is. Charles has been behaving in his
usual manner, and as there is no one else to point out to him how
infamous such conduct is, I shall have to do it myself. Shameful! That
charming, interesting girl! And yet, and yet, there was a look in her
face more like some great anxiety than disappointment. If she had had a
disappointment, I do not think she would have let any one see it. Those
Deyncourts are all too proud to show their feelings, though they have
got them, too, somewhere. Perhaps, on the whole, considering how
excessively disagreeable and scriptural Charles can be, and what
unexpected turns he can give to things, I had better say nothing to him
at present."

The moment Lady Mary had left the house, Ruth hurried to her uncle's
study. He was not there. He had not yet come in. She gave a gesture of
despair, and flung herself down in the old leather chair opposite to his
own, on which many a one had sat who had come to him for help or
consolation. All the buttons had been gradually worn off that chair by
restless or heavy visitors. Some had been lost, but others--the greater
part, I am glad to say--Mr. Alwynn had found and had deposited in a
Sevres cup on the mantle-piece, till the wet afternoon should come when
he and his long packing-needle should restore them to their home.

The room was very quiet. On the mantle-piece the little conscientious
silver clock ticked, orderly, gently (till Ruth could hardly bear the
sound), then hesitated, and struck a soft, low tone. She started to her
feet, and paced up and down, up and down. Would he never come in? She
dared not go out to look for him for fear of missing him. Why did not he
come back when she wanted him so terribly? She sat down again. She
tried to be patient. It was no good. Would he never come?

She heard a sound, rushed out to meet him in the passage, and pulled him
into the study.

"Uncle John," she gasped, holding out a letter in her shaking hand.
"That man who was taken up last night was--Raymond. He is in prison. He
is ill. Let us go to him," and sh