Her yesterday's suffering went into the black
distance of long-past years. The present was all in all. When she
heard people stirring, she went in search of Mrs. Morgan, whose
shrewd, sharp manners, unsoftened by inward respect for the poor
girl, had awed Ruth even when Mr. Bellingham was by to protect
her.
"Mrs. Morgan," she said, sitting down in the little parlour
appropriated to the landlady, for she felt her strength suddenly
desert her--"Mrs. Morgan, I'm afraid Mr. Bellingham is very
ill;"--here she burst into tears, but instantly checking herself,
"Oh, what must I do?" continued she; "I don't think he has known
anything all through the night, and he looks so strange and wild
this morning."
She gazed up into Mrs. Morgan's face, as if reading an oracle.
"Indeed, miss, ma'am, and it's a very awkward thing. But don't
cry, that can do no good; 'deed it can't. I'll go and see the
poor young man myself, and then I can judge if a doctor is
wanting."
Ruth followed Mrs. Morgan upstairs. When they entered the
sick-room Mr. Bellingham was sitting up in bed, looking wildly
about him, and as he saw them, he exclaimed--
"Ruth! Ruth! come here; I won't be left alone!" and then he fell
down exhausted on the pillow. Mrs. Morgan went up and spoke to
him, but he did not answer or take any notice.
"I'll send for Mr. Jones, my dear, 'deed and I will; we'll have
him here in a couple of hours, please God.
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