all lighter thoughts than the consideration of present duties, and the remembrance of the happy time which had been.  But the interval of blank, after the loss of her mother and during her father’s life-in-death, had made her all the more ready to value and cling to sympathy—­first from Jenny, and now from Mr. Bellingham.  To see her home again, and to see it with him; to show him (secure of his interest) the haunts of former times, each with its little tale of the past—­of dead-and-gone events!—­No coming shadow threw its gloom over this week’s dream of happiness—­a dream which was too bright to be spoken about to common and indifferent ears.

CHAPTER IV

TREADING IN PERILOUS PLACES

Sunday came, as brilliant as if there were no sorrow, or death, or guilt in the world; a day or two of rain had made the earth fresh and brave as the blue heavens above.  Ruth thought it was too strong a realisation of her hopes, and looked for an over-clouding at noon; but the glory endured, and at two o’clock she was in the Leasowes, with a beating heart full of joy, longing to stop the hours, which would pass too quickly through the afternoon.

They sauntered through the fragrant lanes, as if their loitering would prolong the time and check the fiery-footed steeds galloping apace towards the close of the happy day.  It was past five o’clock before they came to the great mill-wheel, which stood in Sabbath idleness, motionless in a brown mass of shade, and still wet with yesterday’s immersion in the deep transparent water beneath.  They clambered the little hill, not yet fully shaded by the overarching elms; and then Ruth checked Mr. Bellingham, by a slight motion of the hand which lay within his arm, and glanced up into his face to see what that face should express as it looked on Milham Grange, now lying still and peaceful in its afternoon shadows.  It was a house of after-thoughts; building materials were plentiful in the neighbourhood, and every successive owner had found a necessity for some addition or projection, till it was a picturesque mass of irregularity—­of broken light and shadow—­which, as a whole, gave a full and complete idea of a “Home.”  All its gables and nooks were blended and held together by the tender green of the climbing roses and young creepers.  An old couple were living in the house until it should be let, but they dwelt in the back part, and never used the front door; so the little birds had grown tame and familiar, and perched upon the window-sills and porch, and on the old stone cistern which caught the water from the roof.

They went silently through the untrimmed garden, full of the pale-coloured flowers of spring.  A spider had spread her web over the front door.  The sight of this conveyed a sense of desolation to Ruth’s heart; she thought it was possible the state-entrance had never been used since her father’s dead body had been borne forth, and without speaking a word, she turned abruptly away, and went round the house to another door.  Mr. Bellingham followed without questioning, little understanding her feelings, but full of admiration for the varying expression called out upon her face.