He
met Ruth in all possible places and ways, and addressed her in
every manner he could imagine most calculated to move and affect
her to penitence and virtue. Towards morning he fell asleep, but
the same thoughts haunted his dreams; he spoke, but his voice
refused to utter aloud; and she fled, relentless, to the deep,
black pool.
But God works in His own way.
The visions melted into deep, unconscious sleep. He was awakened
by a knock at the door, which seemed a repetition of what he had
heard in his last sleeping moments.
It was Mrs. Hughes. She stood at the first word of permission
within the room.
"Please, sir, I think the young lady is very ill indeed, sir;
perhaps you would please to come to her."
"How is she ill?" said he, much alarmed.
"Quite quiet-like, sir; but I think she is dying, that's all,
indeed, sir."
"Go away, I will be with you directly," he replied, his heart
sinking within him.
In a very short time he was standing with Mrs. Hughes by Ruth's
bedside. She lay as still as if she were dead, her eyes shut, her
wan face numbed into a fixed anguish of expression. She did not
speak when they spoke, though after a while they thought she
strove to do so. But all power of motion and utterance had left
her. She was dressed in everything, except her bonnet, as she had
been the day before; although sweet, thoughtful Mrs. Hughes had
provided her with nightgear, which lay on the little chest of
drawers that served as a dressing-table.
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