Father Damon had begun to use the Margaret Fund.  He found that its judicious use was more perplexing than he had supposed.  He needed advice, the advice of those who had more knowledge than he had of the merits of relief cases.  And then there might be many sufferers whom he in his limited field neglected.  It occurred to him that Dr. Leigh would be a most helpful co-almoner.  No sooner did this idea come to him than he was spurred to put it into effect.  This common labor would be a sort of bond between them, a bond of charity purified from all personal alloy.  He went at once to Mr. Henderson’s office and told him his difficulties, and about Dr. Leigh’s work, and the opportunities she would have.  Would it not be possible for Dr. Leigh to draw from the fund on her own checks independent of him?  Mr. Henderson thought not.  Dr. Leigh was no doubt a good woman, but he didn’t know much about woman visitors and that sort; their sympathies were apt to run away with them, and he should prefer at present to have the fund wholly under Father Damon’s control.  Some time, he intimated, he might make more lasting provisions with trustees.  It would be better for Father Damon to give Dr. Leigh money as he saw she needed it.

The letter recited this at length; it had a check endorsed, and the writer asked the doctor to be his almoner.  He dwelt very much upon the relief this would be to him, and the opportunity it would give her in many emergencies, and the absolute confidence he had in her discretion, as well as in her quick sympathy with the suffering about them.  And also it would be a great satisfaction to him to feel that he was associated with her in such a work.

In its length, in its tone of kindliness, of personal confidence, especially in its length, it was evident that the writing of it had been a pleasure, if not a relief, to the sender.  Ruth read it and reread it.  It was as if Father Damon were there speaking to her.  She could hear the tones of his voice.  And the glance of love—­that last overmastering appeal and cry thrilled through her soul.

But in the letter there was no love; to any third person it would have read like an ordinary friendly philanthropic request.  And her reply, accepting gratefully his trust, was almost formal, only the writer felt that she was writing out of her heart.

XVIII

The Roman poet Martial reckons among the elements of a happy life “an income left, not earned by toil,” and also “a wife discreet, yet blythe and bright.”  Felicity in the possession of these, the epigrammatist might have added, depends upon content in the one and full appreciation of the other.