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the dream. Then, still silent, she went on into her mother's
parlour. But there, the bleak look of what had once been full of
peace and mother's love, struck cold on her heart. She uttered a cry,
and threw herself down by the sofa, hiding her face in her hands,
while her frame quivered with her repressed sobs.
    "Dearest Ruth, don't give way so. It can do no good; it cannot bring
back the dead," said Mr Bellingham, distressed at witnessing her
distress.
    "I know it cannot," murmured Ruth; "and that is why I cry. I cry
because nothing will ever bring them back again." She sobbed afresh,
but more gently, for his kind words soothed her, and softened, if
they could not take away, her sense of desolation.
    "Come away; I cannot have you stay here, full of painful
associations as these rooms must be. Come"—raising her with gentle
violence—"show me your little garden you have often told me about.
Near the window of this very room, is it not? See how well I remember
everything you tell me."
    He led her round through the back part of the house into the pretty
old-fashioned garden. There was a sunny border just under the
windows, and clipped box and yew-trees by the grass-plat, further
away from the house; and she prattled again of her childish
adventures and solitary plays. When they turned round they saw the
old man, who had hobbled out with the help of his stick, and was
looking at them with the same grave, sad look of anxiety.
    Mr Bellingham spoke rather sharply:
    "Why does that old man follow us about in that way? It is excessively
impertinent of him, I think."
    "Oh, don't call old Thomas impertinent. He is so good and kind, he
is like a father to me. I remember sitting on his knee many and many
a time when I was a child, whilst he told me stories out of the
'Pilgrim's Progress.' He taught me to suck up milk through a straw.
Mamma was very fond of him too. He used to sit with us always in the
evenings when papa was away at market, for mamma was rather afraid of
having no man in the house, and used to beg old Thomas to stay; and
he would take me on his knee, and listen just as attentively as I did
while mamma read aloud."
    "You don't mean to say you have sat upon that old fellow's knee?"
    "Oh, yes! many and many a time."
    Mr Bellingham looked graver than he had done while witnessing Ruth's
passionate emotion in her mother's room. But he lost his sense of
indignity in admiration of his companion as she wandered among the
flowers, seeking for favourite bushes or plants, to which some
history or remembrance was attached. She wound in and out in natural,
graceful, wavy lines between the luxuriant and overgrown shrubs,
which were fragrant with a leafy smell of spring growth; she went on,
careless of watching eyes, indeed unconscious, for the time, of their
existence. Once she stopped to take hold of a spray of jessamine, and
softly kiss it; it had been her mother's favourite flower.
    Old Thomas was standing by the horse-mount, and was also an observer
of all her goings-on. But, while Mr Bellingham's feeling was that
of passionate admiration mingled with a selfish kind of love, the
old man gazed with tender anxiety, and his lips moved in words of
blessing:
    "She's a pretty creature, with a glint of her mother about her; and
she's the same kind lass as ever. Not a bit set up with yon fine
manty-maker's shop she's in. I misdoubt that young fellow though,
for all she called him a real gentleman, and checked me when I asked
if he was her sweetheart. If his are not sweetheart's looks, I've
forgotten all my young days. Here! they're going, I suppose. Look!
he wants her to go without a word to the old man; but she is none so
changed as that, I reckon."
    Not Ruth, indeed! She never perceived the dissatisfied expression of
Mr Bellingham's countenance, visible to the old man's keen eye; but
came running up to Thomas to send her love to his wife, and to shake
him many times by the hand.
    "Tell Mary I'll make her such a fine gown, as soon as ever I