Her husband did not make much
ado at first--at least, not in outward show; her memory seemed to
keep in check all external violence of grief; but, day by day,
dating from his wife's death, his mental powers decreased. He was
still a hale-looking elderly man, and his bodily health appeared
as good as ever; but he sat for hours in his easy-chair, looking
into the fire, not moving, nor speaking, unless when it was
absolutely necessary to answer repeated questions. If Ruth, with
coaxings and draggings, induced him to come out with her, he went
with measured steps around his fields, his head bent to the
ground with the same abstracted, unseeing look; never
smiling--never changing the expression of his face, not even to
one of deeper sadness, when anything occurred which might be
supposed to remind him of his dead wife. But, in this abstraction
from all outward things, his worldly affairs went ever lower
down. He paid money away, or received it, as if it had been so
much water; the gold mines of Potosi could not have touched the
deep grief of his soul; but God in in His mercy knew the sure
balm, and sent the Beautiful Messenger to take the weary one
home.
After his death, the creditors were the chief people who appeared
to take any interest in the affairs; and it seemed strange to
Ruth to see people, whom she scarcely knew, examining and
touching all that she had been accustomed to consider as precious
and sacred.
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