He lay still, his face away from the light, and not speaking.  Presently he fell asleep.  Ruth put out the candles, and sat patiently by him for a long time, fancying he would awaken refreshed.  The room grew cold in the night air; but Ruth dared not rouse him from what appeared to be sound, restoring slumber.  She covered him with her shawl, which she had thrown over a chair on coming in from their twilight ramble.  She had ample time to think; but she tried to banish thought.  At last, his breathing became:  quick and oppressed, and, after listening to it for some minutes with increasing affright, Ruth ventured to awaken him.  He seemed stupefied and shivery.  Ruth became more and more terrified; all the household were asleep except one servant-girl, who was wearied out of what little English she had knowledge of in more waking hours, and could only answer, “Iss, indeed, ma’am,” to any question put to her by Ruth.

She sat by the bedside all night long.  He moaned and tossed, but never spoke sensibly.  It was a new form of illness to the miserable Ruth.  Her yesterday’s suffering went into the black distance of long-past years.  The present was all in all.  When she heard people stirring, she went in search of Mrs. Morgan, whose shrewd, sharp manners, unsoftened by inward respect for the poor girl, had awed Ruth even when Mr. Bellingham was by to protect her.

“Mrs. Morgan,” she said, sitting down in the little parlour appropriated to the landlady, for she felt her strength suddenly desert her—­“Mrs. Morgan, I’m afraid Mr. Bellingham is very ill;”—­here she burst into tears, but instantly checking herself, “Oh, what must I do?” continued she; “I don’t think he has known anything all through the night, and he looks so strange and wild this morning.”

She gazed up into Mrs. Morgan’s face, as if reading an oracle.

“Indeed, miss, ma’am, and it’s a very awkward thing.  But don’t cry, that can do no good; ’deed it can’t.  I’ll go and see the poor young man myself, and then I can judge if a doctor is wanting.”

Ruth followed Mrs. Morgan upstairs.  When they entered the sick-room Mr. Bellingham was sitting up in bed, looking wildly about him, and as he saw them, he exclaimed—­

“Ruth!  Ruth! come here; I won’t be left alone!” and then he fell down exhausted on the pillow.  Mrs. Morgan went up and spoke to him, but he did not answer or take any notice.

“I’ll send for Mr. Jones, my dear, ’deed and I will; we’ll have him here in a couple of hours, please God.”

“Oh, can’t he come sooner?” asked Ruth, wild with terror.

“’Deed no! he lives at Llanglas when he’s at home, and that’s seven mile away, and he may be gone a round eight or nine mile on the other side Llanglas; but I’ll send a boy on the pony directly.”