She hesitated—­she looked up at him, still with the same dry glittering eyes.  At last she whispered (for she could only speak in a whisper), “To Helmsby—­I am going to Helmsby.”

“Helmsby! my poor girl—­may God have mercy upon you!” for he saw she hardly knew what she was saying.  “Where is Helmsby?”

“I don’t know.  In Lincolnshire, I think.”

“But why are you going there?”

“Hush! he’s asleep,” said she, as Mr. Benson had unconsciously raised his voice.

“Who is asleep?” asked Mr. Benson.

“That poor little boy,” said she, beginning to quiver and cry.

“Come here!” said he authoritatively, drawing her into the study.

“Sit down in that chair.  I will come back directly.”

He went in search of his sister, but she had not returned.  Then he had recourse to Sally, who was as busy as ever about her cleaning.

“How long has Ruth been at home?” asked he.

“Ruth!  She has never been at home sin’ morning.  She and Leonard were to be off for the day somewhere or other with them Bradshaw girls.”

“Then she has had no dinner?”

“Not here, any rate.  I can’t answer for what she may have done at other places.”

“And Leonard—­where is he?”

“How should I know?  With his mother, I suppose.  Leastways, that was what was fixed on.  I’ve enough to do of my own, without routing after other folks.”

She went on scouring in no very good temper.  Mr. Benson stood silent for a moment.

“Sally,” he said, “I want a cup of tea.  Will you make it as soon as you can; and some dry toast too?  I’ll come for it in ten minutes.”

Struck by something in his voice, she looked up at him for the first time.

“What ha’ ye been doing to yourself, to look so grim and grey?  Tiring yourself all to tatters, looking after some naught, I’ll be bound!  Well! well!  I mun make ye your tea, I reckon; but I did hope as you grew older you’d ha’ grown wiser.”

Mr. Benson made no reply, but went to look for Leonard, hoping that the child’s presence might bring back to his mother the power of self-control.  He opened the parlour-door, and looked in, but saw no one.  Just as he was shutting it, however, he heard a deep, broken, sobbing sigh; and, guided by the sound, he found the boy lying on the floor, fast asleep, but with his features all swollen and disfigured by passionate crying.

“Poor child!  This was what she meant, then,” thought Mr. Benson.  “He has begun his share of the sorrows too” he continued pitifully.  “No!  I will not waken him back to consciousness.”  So he returned alone into the study.  Ruth sat where he had placed her, her head bent back, and her eyes shut.  But when he came in she started up.

“I must be going,” she said in a hurried way.

“Nay, Ruth, you must not go.  You must not leave us.  We cannot do without you.  We love you too much.”