Ruth
remembered the cup of tea she had drunk; it must be paid for, and
she had no money with her. She feared that he would not let her
quit the house without paying. She thought that she would leave a
note for Mr. Bellingham, saying where she was gone, and how she
had left the house in debt, for (like a child) all dilemmas
appeared of equal magnitude to her; and the difficulty of passing
the landlord while he stood there, and of giving him an
explanation of the circumstances (as far as such explanation was
due to him), appeared insuperable, and as awkward and fraught
with inconvenience as far more serious situations. She kept
peeping out of her room, after she had written her little
pencil-note, to see if the outer door was still obstructed. There
he stood, motionless, enjoying his pipe, and looking out into the
darkness which gathered thick with the coming night. The fumes of
the tobacco were carried by the air into the house, and brought
back Ruth's sick headache. Her energy left her; she became stupid
and languid, and incapable of spirited exertion; she modified her
plan of action, to the determination of asking Mr. Bellingham to
take her to Milham Grange, to the care of her humble friends,
instead of to London. And she thought, in her simplicity, that he
would instantly consent when he had heard her reasons.
She started up. A carriage dashed up to the door. She hushed her
beating heart, and tried to stop her throbbing head, to listen.
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