“Love me!” said she, looking at him wistfully.  As she looked, her eyes filled slowly with tears.  It was a good sign, and Mr. Benson took heart to go on.

“Yes!  Ruth.  You know we do.  You may have other things to fill up your mind just now, but you know we love you; and nothing can alter our love for you.  You ought not to have thought of leaving us.  You would not, if you had been quite well.”

“Do you know what has happened?” she asked, in a low, hoarse voice.

“Yes.  I know all,” he answered.  “It makes no difference to us.  Why should it?”

“Oh!  Mr. Benson, don’t you know that my shame is discovered?” she replied, bursting into tears—­“and I must leave you, and leave Leonard, that you may not share in my disgrace.”

“You must do no such thing.  Leave Leonard!  You have no right to leave Leonard.  Where could you go to?”

“To Helmsby,” she said humbly.  “It would break my heart to go, but I think I ought, for Leonard’s sake.  I know I ought.”  She was crying sadly by this time, but Mr. Benson knew the flow of tears would ease her brain.  “It will break my heart to go, but I know I must.”

“Sit still here at present,” said he, in a decided tone of command.  He went for the cup of tea.  He brought it to her without Sally’s being aware for whom it was intended.

“Drink this!” He spoke as you would do to a child, if desiring it to take medicine.  “Eat some toast.”  She took the tea, and drank it feverishly; but when she tried to eat, the food seemed to choke her.  Still she was docile, and she tried.

“I cannot,” said she at last, putting down the piece of toast.  There was a return of something of her usual tone in the words.  She spoke gently and softly; no longer in the shrill, hoarse voice she had used at first.  Mr. Benson sat down by her.

“Now, Ruth, we must talk a little together.  I want to understand what your plan was.  Where is Helmsby?  Why did you fix to go there?”

“It is where my mother lived,” she answered.  “Before she was married she lived there; and wherever she lived, the people all loved her dearly; and I thought—­I think, that for her sake, some one would give me work.  I meant to tell them the truth,” said she, dropping her eyes; “but still they would, perhaps, give me some employment—­I don’t care what—­for her sake.  I could do many things,” said she, suddenly looking up.  “I am sure I could weed—­I could in gardens—­if they did not like to have me in their houses.  But perhaps some one, for my mother’s sake—­oh! my dear, dear mother!—­do you know where and what I am?” she cried out, sobbing afresh.

Mr. Benson’s heart was very sore, though he spoke authoritatively, and almost sternly—­

“Ruth! you must be still and quiet.  I cannot have this.  I want you to listen to me.  Your thought of Helmsby would be a good one, if it was right for you to leave Eccleston; but I do not think it is.  I am certain of this, that it would be a great sin in you to separate yourself from Leonard.  You have no right to sever the tie by which God has bound you together.”