Ruth (59 page)

Leonard said "Yes," rather shortly, as if he were annoyed that any
one else should know, or even have a right to imagine, how proud he
was. Jemima went on:

"Now, Ruth! I have got a plan for you. Walter and I have partly made
it; and partly it's papa's doing. Yes, dear! papa has been quite
anxious to show his respect for you. We all want you to go to the
dear Eagle's Crag for this next month, and get strong, and have some
change in that fine air at Abermouth. I am going to take little
Rosa there. Papa has lent it to us. And the weather is often very
beautiful in November."

"Thank you very much. It is very tempting; for I have been almost
longing for some such change. I cannot tell all at once whether I
can go; but I will see about it, if you will let me leave it open a
little."

"Oh! as long as you like, so that you will but go at last. And,
Master Leonard! you are to come too. Now, I know I have you on my
side."

Ruth thought of the place. Her only reluctance arose from the
remembrance of that one interview on the sands. That walk she could
never go again; but how much remained! How much that would be a
charming balm and refreshment to her!

"What happy evenings we shall have together! Do you know, I think
Mary and Elizabeth may perhaps come."

A bright gleam of sunshine came into the room. "Look! how bright and
propitious for our plans. Dear Ruth, it seems like an omen for the
future!"

Almost while she spoke, Miss Benson entered, bringing with her Mr
Grey, the rector of Eccleston. He was an elderly man, short and
stoutly-built, with something very formal in his manner; but any one
might feel sure of his steady benevolence who noticed the expression
of his face, and especially of the kindly black eyes that gleamed
beneath his grey and shaggy eyebrows. Ruth had seen him at the
hospital once or twice, and Mrs Farquhar had met him pretty
frequently in general society.

"Go and tell your uncle," said Miss Benson to Leonard.

"Stop, my boy! I have just met Mr Benson in the street, and my errand
now is to your mother. I should like you to remain and hear what it
is; and I am sure that my business will give these ladies"—bowing to
Miss Benson and Jemima—"so much pleasure, that I need not apologise
for entering upon it in their presence."

He pulled out his double eye-glass, saying, with a grave smile:

"You ran away from us yesterday so quietly and cunningly, Mrs
Denbigh, that you were, perhaps, not aware that the Board was sitting
at that very time, and trying to form a vote sufficiently expressive
of our gratitude to you. As Chairman, they requested me to present
you with this letter, which I shall have the pleasure of reading."

With all due emphasis he read aloud a formal letter from the
Secretary to the Infirmary, conveying a vote of thanks to Ruth.

The good rector did not spare her one word, from date to signature;
and then, folding the letter up, he gave it to Leonard, saying:

"There, sir! when you are an old man, you may read that testimony to
your mother's noble conduct with pride and pleasure. For, indeed,"
continued he, turning to Jemima, "no words can express the relief
it was to us. I speak of the gentlemen composing the Board of the
Infirmary. When Mrs Denbigh came forward, the panic was at its
height, and the alarm of course aggravated the disorder. The poor
creatures died rapidly; there was hardly time to remove the dead
bodies before others were brought in to occupy the beds, so little
help was to be procured on account of the universal terror; and the
morning when Mrs Denbigh offered us her services, we seemed at the
very worst. I shall never forget the sensation of relief in my mind
when she told us what she proposed to do; but we thought it right to
warn her to the full extent—

"Nay, madam," said he, catching a glimpse of Ruth's changing colour,
"I will spare you any more praises. I will only say, if I can be a
friend to you, or a friend to your child, you may command my poor
powers to the utmost."

He got up, and bowing formally, he took his leave. Jemima came and
kissed Ruth. Leonard went upstairs to put the precious letter away.
Miss Benson sat crying heartily in a corner of the room. Ruth went to
her and threw her arms round her neck, and said:

"I could not tell him just then. I durst not speak for fear of
breaking down; but if I have done right, it was all owing to you and
Mr Benson. Oh! I wish I had said how the thought first came into my
head from seeing the things Mr Benson has done so quietly ever since
the fever first came amongst us. I could not speak; and it seemed
as if I was taking those praises to myself, when all the time I was
feeling how little I deserved them—how it was all owing to you."

"Under God, Ruth," said Miss Benson, speaking through her tears.

"Oh! I think there is nothing humbles one so much as undue praise.
While he was reading that letter, I could not help feeling how many
things I have done wrong! Could he know of—of what I have been?"
asked she, dropping her voice very low.

"Yes!" said Jemima, "he knew—everybody in Eccleston did know—but
the remembrance of those days is swept away. Miss Benson," she
continued, for she was anxious to turn the subject, "you must be on
my side, and persuade Ruth to come to Abermouth for a few weeks. I
want her and Leonard both to come."

"I'm afraid my brother will think that Leonard is missing his lessons
sadly. Just of late we could not wonder that the poor child's heart
was so full; but he must make haste, and get on all the more for his
idleness." Miss Benson piqued herself on being a disciplinarian.

"Oh, as for lessons, Walter is so very anxious that you should give
way to his superior wisdom, Ruth, and let Leonard go to school. He
will send him to any school you fix upon, according to the mode of
life you plan for him."

"I have no plan," said Ruth. "I have no means of planning. All I can
do is to try and make him ready for anything."

"Well," said Jemima, "we must talk it over at Abermouth; for I
am sure you won't refuse to come, dearest, dear Ruth! Think of
the quiet, sunny days, and the still evenings, that we shall have
together, with little Rosa to tumble about among the fallen leaves;
and there's Leonard to have his first sight of the sea."

"I do think of it," said Ruth, smiling at the happy picture Jemima
drew. And both smiling at the hopeful prospect before them, they
parted—never to meet again in life.

No sooner had Mrs Farquhar gone than Sally burst in.

"Oh! dear, dear!" said she, looking around her. "If I had but known
that the rector was coming to call, I'd ha' put on the best covers,
and the Sunday tablecloth! You're well enough," continued she,
surveying Ruth from head to foot; "you're always trim and dainty
in your gowns, though I reckon they cost but tuppence a yard, and
you've a face to set 'em off; but as for you" (as she turned to Miss
Benson), "I think you might ha' had something better on than that
old stuff, if it had only been to do credit to a parishioner like me,
whom he has known ever sin' my father was his clerk."

"You forget, Sally, I have been making jelly all the morning. How
could I tell it was Mr Grey when there was a knock at the door?" Miss
Benson replied.

"You might ha' letten me do the jelly; I'se warrant I could ha'
pleased Ruth as well as you. If I had but known he was coming,
I'd ha' slipped round the corner and bought ye a neck-ribbon, or
summut to lighten ye up. I'se loath he should think I'm living with
Dissenters, that don't know how to keep themselves trig and smart."

"Never mind, Sally; he never thought of me. What he came for, was to
see Ruth; and, as you say, she's always neat and dainty."

"Well! I reckon it cannot be helped now; but if I buy ye a ribbon,
will you promise to wear it when church-folks come? for I cannot
abide the way they have of scoffing at the Dissenters about their
dress."

"Very well! we'll make that bargain," said Miss Benson; "and now,
Ruth, I'll go and fetch you a cup of warm jelly."

"Oh! indeed, Aunt Faith," said Ruth, "I am very sorry to balk you;
but if you're going to treat me as an invalid, I am afraid I shall
rebel."

But when she found that Aunt Faith's heart was set upon it, she
submitted very graciously, only dimpling up a little, as she found
that she must consent to lie on the sofa, and be fed, when, in truth,
she felt full of health, with a luxurious sensation of languor
stealing over her now and then, just enough to make it very pleasant
to think of the salt breezes, and the sea beauty which awaited her at
Abermouth.

Mr Davis called in the afternoon, and his visit was also to Ruth. Mr
and Miss Benson were sitting with her in the parlour, and watching
her with contented love, as she employed herself in household sewing,
and hopefully spoke about the Abermouth plan.

"Well! so you had our worthy rector here to-day; I am come on
something of the same kind of errand; only I shall spare you the
reading of my letter, which, I'll answer for it, he did not. Please
to take notice," said he, putting down a sealed letter, "that I have
delivered you a vote of thanks from my medical brothers; and open
and read it at your leisure; only not just now, for I want to have
a little talk with you on my own behoof. I want to ask you a favour,
Mrs Denbigh."

"A favour!" exclaimed Ruth; "what can I do for you? I think I may say
I will do it, without hearing what it is."

"Then you're a very imprudent woman," replied he; "however, I'll take
you at your word. I want you to give me your boy."

"Leonard!"

"Aye! there it is, you see, Mr Benson. One minute she is as ready as
can be, and the next, she looks at me as if I was an ogre!"

"Perhaps we don't understand what you mean," said Mr Benson.

"The thing is this. You know I've no children; and I can't say I've
ever fretted over it much; but my wife has; and whether it is that
she has infected me, or that I grieve over my good practice going
to a stranger, when I ought to have had a son to take it after me, I
don't know; but, of late, I've got to look with covetous eyes on all
healthy boys, and at last I've settled down my wishes on this Leonard
of yours, Mrs Denbigh."

Ruth could not speak; for, even yet, she did not understand what he
meant. He went on:

"Now, how old is the lad?" He asked Ruth, but Miss Benson replied:

"He'll be twelve next February."

"Umph! only twelve! He's tall and old-looking for his age. You look
young enough, it is true." He said this last sentence as if to
himself, but seeing Ruth crimson up, he abruptly changed his tone.

"Twelve, is he! Well, I take him from now. I don't mean that I really
take him away from you," said he, softening all at once, and becoming
grave and considerate. "His being your son—the son of one whom I
have seen—as I have seen you, Mrs Denbigh (out and out the best
nurse I ever met with, Miss Benson; and good nurses are things
we doctors know how to value)—his being your son is his great
recommendation to me; not but what the lad himself is a noble boy.
I shall be glad to leave him with you as long and as much as we can;
he could not be tied to your apron-strings all his life, you know.
Only I provide for his education, subject to your consent and good
pleasure, and he is bound apprentice to me. I, his guardian, bind him
to myself, the first surgeon in Eccleston, be the other who he may;
and in process of time he becomes partner, and some day or other
succeeds me. Now, Mrs Denbigh, what have you got to say against this
plan? My wife is just as full of it as me. Come! begin with your
objections. You're not a woman if you have not a whole bag-full of
them ready to turn out against any reasonable proposal."

"I don't know," faltered Ruth. "It is so sudden—"

"It is very, very kind of you, Mr Davis," said Miss Benson, a little
scandalised at Ruth's non-expression of gratitude.

"Pooh! pooh! I'll answer for it, in the long run, I am taking good
care of my own interests. Come, Mrs Denbigh, is it a bargain?"

Now Mr Benson spoke.

"Mr Davis, it is rather sudden, as she says. As far as I can see,
it is the best as well as the kindest proposal that could have been
made; but I think we must give her a little time to think about it."

"Well, twenty-four hours! Will that do?"

Ruth lifted up her head. "Mr Davis, I am not ungrateful because I
can't thank you" (she was crying while she spoke); "let me have a
fortnight to consider about it. In a fortnight I will make up my
mind. Oh, how good you all are!"

"Very well. Then this day fortnight—Thursday the 28th—you will let
me know your decision. Mind! if it's against me, I shan't consider it
a decision, for I'm determined to carry my point. I'm not going to
make Mrs Denbigh blush, Mr Benson, by telling you, in her presence,
of all I have observed about her this last three weeks, that has made
me sure of the good qualities I shall find in this boy of hers. I was
watching her when she little thought it. Do you remember that night
when Hector O'Brien was so furiously delirious, Mrs Denbigh?"

Ruth went very white at the remembrance.

"Why now, look there! how pale she is at the very thought of it. And
yet, I assure you, she was the one to go up and take the piece of
glass from him which he had broken out of the window for the sole
purpose of cutting his throat, or the throat of any one else, for
that matter. I wish we had some others as brave as she is."

"I thought the great panic was passed away!" said Mr Benson.

"Aye! the general feeling of alarm is much weaker; but, here and
there, there are as great fools as ever. Why, when I leave here, I am
going to see our precious member, Mr Donne—"

"Mr Donne?" said Ruth.

"Mr Donne, who lies ill at the Queen's—came last week, with the
intention of canvassing, but was too much alarmed by what he heard of
the fever to set to work; and, in spite of all his precautions, he
has taken it; and you should see the terror they are in at the hotel;
landlord, landlady, waiters, servants—all; there's not a creature
will go near him, if they can help it; and there's only his groom—a
lad he saved from drowning, I'm told—to do anything for him. I must
get him a proper nurse, somehow or somewhere, for all my being a
Cranworth man. Ah, Mr Benson! you don't know the temptations we
medical men have. Think, if I allowed your member to die now, as he
might very well, if he had no nurse—how famously Mr Cranworth would
walk over the course!—Where's Mrs Denbigh gone to? I hope I've not
frightened her away by reminding her of Hector O'Brien, and that
awful night, when I do assure you she behaved like a heroine!"