At length she rose up.
"Mr. Benson!" said she, standing before him, and propping herself
by the table, as she was trembling sadly from weakness, "I mean
to try very, very hard, to do my duty to Leonard--and to God,"
she added reverently. "I am only afraid my faith may sometimes
fail about Leonard----"
"Ask, and it shall be given unto you. That is no vain or untried
promise, Ruth!"
She sat down again, unable longer to stand. There was another
long silence.
"I must never go to Mr. Bradshaw's again," she said at last, as
if thinking aloud.
"No, Ruth, you shall not," he answered.
"But I shall earn no money!" added she quickly, for she thought
that he did not perceive the difficulty that was troubling her.
"You surely know, Ruth, that, while Faith and I have a roof to
shelter us, or bread to eat, you and Leonard share it with us."
"I know--I know your most tender goodness," said she, "but it
ought not to be."
"It must be at present," he said, in a decided manner. "Perhaps,
before long you may have some employment; perhaps it may be some
time before an opportunity occurs."
"Hush," said Ruth; "Leonard is moving about in the parlour. I
must go to him." But when she stood up, she turned so dizzy, and
tottered so much, that she was glad to sit down again
immediately.
"You must rest here. I will go to him," said Mr. Benson. He left
her; and when he was gone, she leaned her head on the back of the
chair, and cried quietly and incessantly; but there was a more
patient, hopeful, resolved feeling in the heart, which all along,
through all the tears she shed, bore her onwards to higher
thoughts, until at last she rose to prayers.
Pages:
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479