It was Saturday, and the people in
that part of the country left their work an hour earlier on that
day. By this, Jemima knew it must be growing time for her to be
at home. She had had so much of conflict in her own mind of late,
that she had grown to dislike struggle, or speech, or
explanation; and so strove to conform to times and hours much
more than she had done in happier days. But oh! how full of hate
her heart was growing against the world! And oh! how she sickened
at the thought of seeing Ruth! Who was to be trusted more, if
Ruth--calm, modest, delicate, dignified Ruth--had a memory
blackened by sin? As she went heavily along, the thought of Mr.
Farquhar came into her mind. It showed how terrible had been the
stun, that he had been forgotten until now. With the thought of
him came in her first merciful feeling towards Ruth. This would
never have been, had there been the least latent suspicion in
Jemima's jealous mind that Ruth had purposely done aught--looked
a look--uttered a word--modulated a tone--for the sake of
attracting. As Jemima recalled all the passages of their
intercourse, she slowly confessed to herself how pure and simple
had been all Ruth's ways in relation to Mr. Farquhar. It was not
merely that there had been no coquetting, but there had been
simple unconsciousness on Ruth's part, for so long a time after
Jemima bad discovered Mr. Farquhar's inclination for her; and,
when at length she had slowly awakened to some perception of the
state of his feelings, there had been a modest, shrinking dignity
of manner, not startled, or emotional, or even timid, but pure,
grave, and quiet; and this conduct of Ruth's Jemima instinctively
acknowledged to be of necessity transparent and sincere.
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