Davis might labour with all his
professional skill--however much they might all watch--and
pray--and weep--it was but too evident that Ruth "home must go,
and take her wages." Poor, poor Ruth! It might be that, utterly
exhausted by watching and nursing, first in the hospital, and
than by the bedside of her former lover, the power of her
constitution was worn out; or, it might be, her gentle, pliant
sweetness, but she displayed no outrage or discord even in her
delirium. There she lay in the attic-room in which her baby had
been born, her watch over him kept, her confession to him made;
and now she was stretched on the bed in utter helplessness,
softly gazing at vacancy with her open, unconscious eyes, from
which all the depth of their meaning had fled, and all they told
of was of a sweet, child-like insanity within. The watchers could
not touch her with their sympathy, or come near her in her dim
world;--so, mutely, but looking at each other from time to time
with tearful eyes, they took a poor comfort from the one evident
fact that, though lost and gone astray, she was happy and at
peace. They had never heard her sing; indeed, the simple art
which her mother had taught her, had died, with her early
joyousness, at that dear mother's death. But now she sang
continually, very slow, and low. She went from one old childish
ditty to another without let or pause, keeping a strange sort of
time with her pretty fingers, as they closed and unclosed
themselves upon the counterpane.
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