Ruth eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 595 pages of information about Ruth.
sick, shrinking yearning, Ruth awaited her—­and the crumbs of intelligence she might drop out about him.  Ruth’s sense of hearing was quickened to miserable intensity as she stood before the chimney-piece, grasping it tight with both hands—­gazing into the dying fire, but seeing—­not the dead grey embers, or the little sparks of vivid light that ran hither and thither among the wood-ashes—­but an old farmhouse, and climbing, winding road, and a little golden breezy common, with a rural inn on the hill-top, far, far away.  And through the thoughts of the past came the sharp sounds of the present—­of three voices, one of which was almost silence, it was so hushed.  Indifferent people would only have guessed that Mr. Donne was speaking by the quietness in which the others listened; but Ruth heard the voice and many of the words, though they conveyed no idea to her mind.  She was too much stunned even to feel curious to know to what they related.  He spoke.  That was her one fact.

Presently up came Mary, bounding, exultant.  Papa had let her stay up one quarter of an hour longer, because Mr. Hickson had asked.  Mr. Hickson was so clever!  She did not know what to make of Mr. Donne, he seemed such a dawdle.  But he was very handsome.  Had Ruth seen him?  Oh, no!  She could not, it was so dark on those stupid sands.  Well, never mind, she would see him to-morrow.  She must be well to-morrow.  Papa seemed a good deal put out that neither she nor Elizabeth were in the drawing-room to-night; and his last words were, “Tell Mrs. Denbigh I hope” (and papa’s “hopes” always meant “expect”) “she will be able to make breakfast at nine o’clock;” and then she would see Mr. Donne.

That was all Ruth heard about him.  She went with Mary into her bedroom, helped her to undress, and put the candle out.  At length she was alone in her own room!  At length!

But the tension did not give way immediately.  She fastened her door, and threw open the window, cold and threatening as was the night.  She tore off her gown; she put her hair back from her heated face.  It seemed now as if she could not think—­as if thought and emotion had been repressed so sternly that they would not come to relieve her stupefied brain.  Till all at once, like a flash of lightning, her life, past and present, was revealed to her to its minutest detail.  And when she saw her very present “Now,” the strange confusion of agony was too great to be borne, and she cried aloud.  Then she was quite dead, and listened as to the sound of galloping armies.

“If I might see him!  If I might see him!  If I might just ask him why he left me; if I had vexed him in any way; it was so strange—­so cruel!  It was not him; it was his mother,” said she, almost fiercely, as if answering herself.  “O God! but he might have found me out before this,” she continued sadly.  “He did not care for me, as I did for him.  He did not care for me at all,” she went on wildly and sharply.  “He did me cruel harm.  I can never again lift up my face in innocence.  They think I have forgotten all, because I do not speak.  Oh, darling love! am I talking against you?” asked she tenderly.  “I am so torn and perplexed!  You, who are the father of my child!”

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Ruth from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.