Ruth, I have been talking to papa to-night, very seriously and quietly;and it has made me love him so much more, and understand him so much better." "Does he know of your coming here? I hope he does," said Ruth. "Yes. Not that he liked my doing it at all. But, somehow, I can always do things against a person's wishes more easily when I am on good terms with them--that's not exactly what I meant; but now to-night, after papa had had been showing me that he really loved me more than I ever thought he had done (for I always fancied he was so absorbed in ****, he did not care much for us girls), I felt brave enough to say that I intended to come here and bid you all good-bye. He was silent for a minute, and then said I might do it, but I must remember he did not approve of it, and was not to be compromised by my coming; still I can tell that, at the bottom of his heart, there is some of the old kindly feeling to Mr. and Miss Benson, and I don't despair of its all being made up, though, perhaps, I ought to say that mamma does." "Mr. and Miss Benson won't hear of my going away," said Ruth sadly. "They are quite right." "But I am earning nothing. I cannot get any employment. I am only a burden and an expense." "Are you not also a pleasure? And Leonard, is he not a dear object of love?
It is easy for me to talk, I know, who am so impatient. Oh, I never deserved to be so happy as I am! You don't know how good Walter is. I used to think him so cold and cautious. But now, Ruth, will you tell Mr. and Miss Benson that I am here? There is signing of papers, and I don't know what to be done at home. And when I come back, I hope to see you often, if you'll let me." Mr. and Miss Benson gave her a warm greeting. Sally was called in, and would bring a candle with her, to have a close inspection of her, in order to see if she was changed--she had not seen her for so long a time, she said; and Jemima stood laughing and blushing in the middle of the room, while Sally studied her all over, and would not be convinced that the old gown which she was wearing for the last time was not one of the new wedding ones. The consequence of which misunderstanding was, that Sally, in her short petticoats and bedgown, turned up her nose at the old-fashioned way in which Miss Bradshaw's gown was made. But Jemima knew the old woman, and rather enjoyed the contempt for her dress. At last she kissed them all, and ran away to her impatient Mr. Farquhar, who was awaiting her. Not many weeks after this, the poor old woman whom I have named as having become a friend of Ruth's during Leonard's illness three years ago, fell down and broke her hip-bone. It was a serious, probably a fatal, injury, for one so old; and as soon as Ruth heard of it she devoted all her leisure time to old Ann Fleming. Leonard had now outstripped his mother's powers of teaching, and Mr. Benson gave him his lessons; so Ruth was a great deal at the cottage both night and day. There Jemima found her one November evening, the second after their return from their prolonged stay on the Continent. She and Mr. Farquhar had been to the Bensons, and had sat there some time; and now Jemima had come on just to see Ruth for five minutes, before the evening was too dark for her to return alone. She found Ruth sitting on a stool before the fire, which was composed of a few sticks on the hearth. The blaze they gave was, however, enough to enable her to read; and she was deep in study of the Bible in which she had read aloud to the poor old woman, until the latter had fallen asleep. Jemima beckoned her out, and they stood on the green just before the open door, so that Ruth could see if Ann awoke. "I have not many minutes to stay, only I felt as if I must see you. And we want Leonard to come to us to see all our German purchases, and hear all our German adventures. May he come to-morrow?" "Yes; thank you. Oh! Jemima, I have heard something--I have got a plan that makes me so happy! I have not told any one yet. But Mr. Wynne (the parish doctor, you know) has asked me if I would go out as a sick nurse--he thinks he could find me employment." "You, a sick nurse!" said Jemima, involuntarily glancing over the beautiful lithe figure, and the lovely refinement of Ruth's face as the light of the rising moon fell upon it. "My dear Ruth, I don't think you are fitted for it!" "Don't you?" said Ruth, a little disappointed. "I think I am; at least, that I should be very soon. I like being about sick and helpless people;I always feel so sorry for them; and then I think I have the gift of a very delicate touch, which is such a comfort in many cases. And I should try to be very watchful and patient. Mr. Wynne proposed it himself." "It was not in that way I meant you were not fitted for it. I meant that you were fitted for something better. Why, Ruth, you are better educated than I am!" "But if nobody will allow me to teach?--for that is what I suppose you mean. Besides, I feel as if all my education would be needed to make me a good sick nurse." "Your knowledge of Latin, for instance," said Jemima, hitting, in her vexation at the plan, on the first acquirement of Ruth she could think of. "Well!" said Ruth, "that won't come amiss; I can read the prescriptions." "Which the doctors would rather you did not do." "Still, you can't say that any knowledge of any kind will be in my way, or will unfit me for my work." "Perhaps not. But all your taste and refinement will be in your way, and will unfit you." "You have not thought about this so much as I have, or you would not say so. Any fastidiousness I shall have to get rid of, and I shall be better without; but any true refinement I am sure I shall find of use; for don't you think that every power we have may be made to help us in any right work, whatever that is? Would you not rather be nursed by a person who spoke gently and moved quietly about, than by a loud bustling woman?" "Yes, to be sure; but a person unfit for anything else may move quietly, and speak gently, and give medicine when the doctor orders it, and keep awake at night; and those are the best qualities I ever heard of in a sick nurse." Ruth was quite silent for some time. At last she said, "At any rate it is work, and as such I am thankful for it. You cannot discourage me--and perhaps you know too little of what my life has been--how set apart in idleness I have been--to sympathise with me fully." "And I wanted you to come to see us--me in my new home. Walter and I had planned that we would persuade you to come to us very often" (she had planned, and Mr. Farquhar had consented); "and now you will have to be fastened up in a sick-room." "I could not have come," said Ruth quickly. "Dear Jemima! it is like you to have thought of it--but I could not come to your house. It is not a thing to reason about. It is just feeling. But I do feel as if I could not go. Dear Jemima! if you are ill or sorrowful, and want me, I will come----" "So you would and must to any one, if you take up that calling." "But I should come to you, love, in quite a different way; I should go to you with my heart full of love--so full that I am afraid I should be too anxious." "I almost wish I were ill, that I might make you come at once." "And I am almost ashamed to think how I should like you to be in some position in which I could show you how well I remember that day--that terrible day in the school-room. God bless you for it, Jemima!"
