“No, that was not it that made me hate you.  It was before that.  Oh, Ruth, I did hate you!”

They were silent for some time, still holding each other’s hands.  Ruth spoke first—­

“And you are going to be married to-morrow!”

“Yes,” said Jemima.  “To-morrow at nine o’clock.  But I don’t think I could have been married without coming to wish Mr. Benson and Miss Faith good-bye.”

“I will go for them,” said Ruth.

“No, not just yet.  I want to ask you one or two questions first.  Nothing very particular; only it seems as if there had been such a strange, long separation between us.  Ruth,” said she, dropping her voice, “is Leonard stronger than he was?  I was so sorry to hear about him from Walter.  But he is better?” asked she anxiously.

“Yes, he is better.  Not what a boy of his age should be,” replied his mother, in a tone of quiet but deep mournfulness.  “Oh, Jemima!” continued she, “my sharpest punishment comes through him.  To think of what he might have been, and what he is.”

“But Walter says he is both stronger in health, and not so—­nervous and shy;” Jemima added the last words in a hesitating and doubtful manner, as if she did not know how to express her full meaning without hurting Ruth.

“He does not show that he feels his disgrace so much.  I cannot talk about it, Jemima, my heart aches so about him.  But he is better,” she continued, feeling that Jemima’s kind anxiety required an answer at any cost of pain to herself.

“He is only studying too closely now; he takes to his lessons evidently as a relief from thought.  He is very clever, and I hope and trust, yet I tremble to say it, I believe he is very good.”

“You must let him come and see us very often when we come back.  We shall be two months away.  We are going to Germany, partly on Walter’s business.  Ruth, I have been talking to papa to-night, very seriously and quietly; and it has made me love him so much more, and understand him so much better.”

“Does he know of your coming here?  I hope he does,” said Ruth.

“Yes.  Not that he liked my doing it at all.  But, somehow, I can always do things against a person’s wishes more easily when I am on good terms with them—­that’s not exactly what I meant; but now to-night, after papa had had been showing me that he really loved me more than I ever thought he had done (for I always fancied he was so absorbed in Dick, he did not care much for us girls), I felt brave enough to say that I intended to come here and bid you all good-bye.  He was silent for a minute, and then said I might do it, but I must remember he did not approve of it, and was not to be compromised by my coming; still I can tell that, at the bottom of his heart, there is some of the old kindly feeling to Mr. and Miss Benson, and I don’t despair of its all being made up, though, perhaps, I ought to say that mamma does.”

“Mr. and Miss Benson won’t hear of my going away,” said Ruth sadly.