distant manner when he and Mr. Benson met face to face, shunned him as often as he possibly could.  All that happened in the household, which once was as patent to him as his own, was now a sealed book; he heard of its doings by chance, if he heard at all.  Just at the time when he was feeling the most depressed from this cause, he met Jemima at a sudden turn of the street.  He was uncertain for a moment how to accost her, but she saved him all doubt; in an instant she had his hand in both of hers, her face flushed with honest delight.

“Oh, Mr. Benson, I am so glad to see you!  I have so wanted to know all about you.  How is poor Ruth? dear Ruth!  I wonder if she has forgiven me my cruelty to her?  And I may not go to her now, when I should be so glad and thankful to make up for it.”

“I never heard you had been cruel to her.  I am sure she does not think so.”

“She ought; she must.  What is she doing?  Oh!  I have so much to ask, I can never hear enough; and papa says”—­she hesitated a moment, afraid of giving pain, and then, believing that they would understand the state of affairs, and the reason for her behaviour better if she told the truth, she went on—­“Papa says I must not go to your house—­I suppose it’s right to obey him?”

“Certainly, my dear.  It is your clear duty.  We know how you feel towards us.”

“Oh! but if I could do any good—­if I could be of any use or comfort to any of you—­especially to Ruth, I should come, duty or not.  I believe it would be my duty,” said she, hurrying on to try and stop any decided prohibition from Mr. Benson.  “No! don’t be afraid; I won’t come till I know I can do some good.  I hear bits about you through Sally every now and then, or I could not have waited so long.  Mr. Benson,” continued she, reddening very much, “I think you did quite right about poor Ruth.”

“Not in the falsehood, my dear.”

“No! not perhaps in that.  I was not thinking of that.  But I have been thinking a great deal about poor Ruth’s——­you know I could not help it when everybody was talking about it—­and it made me think of myself, and what I am.  With a father and mother, and home and careful friends, I am not likely to be tempted like Ruth; but oh!  Mr. Benson,” said she, lifting her eyes, which were full of tears, to his face, for the first time since she began to speak, “if you knew all I have been thinking and feeling this last year, you would see how I have yielded to every temptation that was able to come to me; and, seeing how I have no goodness or strength in me, and how I might just have been like Ruth, or rather worse than she ever was, because I am more headstrong and passionate by nature, I do so thank you and love you for what you did for her!  And will you tell me really and truly now if I can ever do anything for Ruth?  If you’ll promise me that, I won’t rebel unnecessarily against papa; but if you don’t, I will, and come and see you all this very afternoon.  Remember!  I trust you!” said she, breaking away.  Then turning back, she came to ask after Leonard.