"If God
will but spare you to me, never mother did more than I will. I
have done you a grievous wrong--but, if I may but live, I will
spend my life in serving you!"
"And in serving God!" said Miss Benson, with tears in her eyes.
"You must not make him into an idol, or God will, perhaps, punish
you through him."
A pang of affright shot through Ruth's heart at these words; had
she already sinned and made her child into an idol, and was there
punishment already in store for her through him? But then the
internal voice whispered that God was "Our Father," and that He
knew our frame, and knew how natural was the first outburst of a
mother's love; so, although she treasured up the warning, she
ceased to affright herself for what had already gushed forth.
"Now go to sleep, Ruth," said Miss Benson, kissing her, and
darkening the room. But Ruth could not sleep; if her heavy eyes
closed, she opened them again with a start, for sleep seemed to
be an enemy stealing from her the consciousness of being a
mother. That one thought excluded all remembrance and all
anticipation, in those first hours of delight.
But soon remembrance and anticipation came. There was the natural
want of the person, who alone could take an interest similar in
kind, though not in amount, to the mother's. And sadness grew
like a giant in the still watches of the night, when she
remembered that there would be no father to guide and strengthen
the child, and place him in a favourable position for fighting
the hard "Battle of Life.
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