a lighter shade, one which might be noticed as different to the old gown.  For he had no doubt she would like to have it remarked, and, perhaps, would not object to tell people, that it was a present from Mr. Bradshaw—­a token of his approbation.  He smiled a little to himself as he thought of this additional source of pleasure to Ruth.  She, in the meantime, was getting up to go home.  While Jemima was lighting the bed-candle at the lamp, Ruth came round to bid good-night.  Mr. Bradshaw could not allow her to remain till the morrow uncertain whether he was satisfied or not.

“Good-night, Mrs Denbigh,” said he.  “Good-night.  Thank you.  I am obliged to you—­I am exceedingly obliged to you.”

He laid emphasis on these words, for he was pleased to see Mr. Farquhar step forward to help Jemima in her little office.

Mr. Farquhar offered to accompany Ruth home; but the streets that intervened between Mr. Bradshaw’s and the Chapel-house were so quiet that he desisted, when he learnt from Ruth’s manner how much she disliked his proposal.  Mr. Bradshaw, too, instantly observed—­

“Oh!  Mrs. Denbigh need not trouble you, Farquhar.  I have servants at liberty at any moment to attend on her, if she wishes it.”

In fact, he wanted to make hay while the sun shone, and to detain Mr. Farquhar a little longer, now that Jemima was so gracious.  She went upstairs with Ruth to help her to put on her things.

“Dear Jemima!” said Ruth, “I am so glad to see you looking better to-night!  You quite frightened me this morning, you looked so ill.”

“Did I?” replied Jemima.  “O Ruth!  I have been so unhappy lately.  I want you to come and put me to rights,” she continued, half smiling.  “You know I’m a sort of out-pupil of yours, though we are so nearly of an age.  You ought to lecture me, and make me good.”

“Should I, dear?” said Ruth.  “I don’t think I’m the one to do it.”

“Oh yes! you are—­you’ve done me good to-night.”

“Well, if I can do anything for you, tell me what it is?” asked Ruth tenderly.

“Oh, not now—­not now,” replied Jemima.  “I could not tell you here.  It’s a long story, and I don’t know that I can tell you at all.  Mamma might come up at any moment, and papa would be sure to ask what we had been talking about so long.”

“Take your own time, love,” said Ruth; “only remember, as far as I can, how glad I am to help you.”

“You’re too good, my darling!” said Jemima fondly.

“Don’t say so,” replied Ruth earnestly, almost as if she were afraid.  “God knows I am not.”

“Well! we’re none of us too good,” answered Jemima; “I know that.  But you are very good.  Nay, I won’t call you so, if it makes you look so miserable.  But come away downstairs.”

With the fragrance of Ruth’s sweetness lingering about her, Jemima was her best self during the next half-hour.  Mr. Bradshaw was more and more pleased, and raised the price of the silk, which he was going to give Ruth, sixpence a yard during the time.  Mr. Farquhar went home through the garden-way, happier than he had been this long time.  He even caught himself humming the old refrain: