Mr. Benson's deep anger against her betrayer had
been shown too clearly in the old time to allow her to think that
he would keep it down without expression now. He would cease to
do anything to forward his election; he would oppose him as much
as he could; and Mr. Bradshaw would be angry, and a storm would
arise, from the bare thought of which Ruth shrank with the
cowardliness of a person thoroughly worn out with late contest.
She was bodily wearied with her spiritual buffeting.
One morning, three or four days after their departure, she
received a letter from Miss Benson. She could not open it at
first, and put it on one side, clenching her hands over it all
the time. At last she tore it open. Leopard was safe as yet.
There were a few lines in his great round hand, speaking of
events no larger than the loss of a beautiful "alley." There was
a sheet from Miss Benson. She always wrote letters in the manner
of a diary. "Monday we did so-and-so; Tuesday, so-and-so, &c."
Ruth glanced rapidly down the pages. Yes, here it was! Sick,
fluttering heart, be still!
"In the middle of the damsons, when they were just on the fire,
there was a knock at the door. My brother was out, and Sally was
washing up, and I was stirring the preserve with my great apron
and bib on; so I bade Leonard come in from the garden and open
the door. But I would have washed his face first if I had known
who it was! It was Mr.
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