She called this intolerance "keeping up the character of her establishment."It would have been a better and more Christian thing if she had kept up the character of her girls by tender vigilance and maternal care. This evening, too, she was in an irritated state of temper. Her brother had undertaken to drive her round by Henbury, in order to give her the unpleasant information of the misbehaviour of her eldest son, who was an assistant in a draper's shop in a neighbouring town. She was full of indignation against want of steadiness, though not willing to direct her indignation against the right object--her ne'er-do-well darling. While she was thus charged with anger (for her brother justly defended her son's master and companions from her attacks), she saw Ruth standing with a lover, far away from home, at such a time in the evening, and she boiled over with intemperate displeasure. "Come here directly, Miss Hilton," she exclaimed sharply. Then, dropping her voice to low, bitter tones of concentrated wrath; she said to the trembling, guilty Ruth-- "Don't attempt to show your face at my house again after this conduct.
I saw you, and your spark too. I'll have no slurs on the character of my apprentices. Don't say a word. I saw enough. I shall write and tell your guardian to-morrow. The horse started away, for he was impatient to be off; and Ruth was left standing there, stony, sick, and pale, as if the lightning had tom up the ground beneath her feet. She could not go on standing, she was so sick and faint; she staggered back to the broken sand-bank, and sank down, and covered her face with her hands. "My dearest Ruth! are you ill? Speak, darling! My love, my love, do speak to me!" What tender words after such harsh ones! They loosened the fountain of Ruth's tears, and she cried bitterly. "Oh! did you see her--did you hear what she said?" "She! Who, my darling? Don't sob so, Ruth; tell me what it is. Who has been near you?--who has been speaking to you to make you cry so?" "Oh, Mrs. Mason." And there was a fresh burst of sorrow. "You don't say so! are you sure? I was not away five minutes." "Oh, yes, sir, I'm quite sure. She was so angry; she said I must never show my face there again. Oh, dear! what shall I do?" It seemed to the poor child as if Mrs. Mason's words were irrevocable, and, that being so, she was shut out from every house. She saw how much she had done that was deserving of blame, now when it was too late to undo it. She knew with what severity and taunts Mrs. Mason had often treated her for involuntary fallings, of which she had been quite unconscious;and now she had really done wrong, and shrank with terror from the consequences.
Her eyes were so blinded by the fast-falling tears, she did not see (nor, had she seen, would she have been able to interpret) the change in Mr.
