"
When she told Mr. Benson of this choice of name, he was rather
sorry; it was like his sister's impulsive kindness--impulsive in
everything--and he could imagine how Ruth's humility had touched
her. He was sorry, but he said nothing. And now the letter was
written home, announcing the probable arrival of the brother and
sister on a certain day, "with a distant relation, early left a
widow," as Miss Benson expressed it. She desired the spare room
might be prepared, and made every provision she could think of
for Ruth's comfort; for Ruth still remained feeble and weak.
When the black gown, at which she had stitched away incessantly,
was finished--when nothing remained, but to rest for the next
day's journey--Ruth could not sit still. She wandered from window
to window, learning off each rock and tree by heart. Each had its
tale, which it was agony to remember; but which it would have
been worse agony to forget. The sound of running waters she heard
that quiet evening was in her ears as she lay on her death-bed;
so well had she learnt their tune.
And now all was over. She had driven in to Llan-dhu, sitting by
her lover's side, living in the bright present, and strangely
forgetful of the past or the future; she had dreamed out her
dream, and she had awakened from the vision of love. She walked
slowly and sadly down the long hill, her tears fast falling, but
as quickly wiped away; while she strove to make steady the low
quivering voice which was often called upon to answer some
remark of Miss Benson's.
Pages:
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187