However, I think I'll take another."
Mr. Benson could not refrain from a little sigh as he poured it
out. He thought he had never seen his sister so deliberately
hungry and thirsty before. He did not guess that she was feeling
the meal rather a respite from a distasteful interview, which she
was aware was awaiting her at its conclusion. But all things come
to an end, and so did Miss Benson's tea.
"Now, will you go and see her?"
"Yes."
And so they went. Mrs. Hughes had pinned up a piece of green
calico, by way of a Venetian blind, to shut out the afternoon
sun; and in the light thus shaded lay Ruth--still, and wan, and
white. Even with her brother's account of Ruth's state, such
death-like quietness startled Miss Benson--startled her into pity
for the poor lovely creature who lay thus stricken and felled.
When she saw her, she could no longer imagine her to be an
impostor, or a hardened sinner; such prostration of woe belonged
to neither. Mr. Benson looked more at his sister's face than at
Ruth's; he read her countenance as a book.
Mrs. Hughes stood by, crying.
Mr. Benson touched his sister, and they left the room together.
"Do you think she will live?" asked he.
"I cannot tell," said Miss Benson, in a softened voice. "But how
young she looks! quite a child, poor creature! When will the
doctor come, Thurstan? Tell me all about her; you have never told
me the particulars.
Pages:
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165