“What is the use of undressing?  We must be up again and at work in three hours.”

“And in those three hours you may get a great deal of rest, if you will but undress yourself and fairly go to bed.  Come, love.”

Jenny’s advice was not resisted; but before Ruth went to sleep she said—­

“Oh!  I wish I was not so cross and impatient.  I don’t think I used to be.”

“No, I am sure not.  Most new girls get impatient at first; but it goes off, and they don’t care much for anything after a while.  Poor child! she’s asleep already,” said Jenny to herself.

She could not sleep or rest.  The tightness at her side was worse than usual.  She almost thought she ought to mention it in her letters home; but then she remembered the premium her father had struggled hard to pay, and the large family, younger than herself, that had to be cared for, and she determined to bear on, and trust that, when the warm weather came, both the pain and the cough would go away.  She would be prudent about herself.

What was the matter with Ruth?  She was crying in her sleep as if her heart would break.  Such agitated slumber could be no rest; so Jenny wakened her.

“Ruth!  Ruth!”

“Oh, Jenny!” said Ruth, sitting up in bed, and pushing back the masses of hair that were heating her forehead, “I thought I saw mamma by the side of the bed, coming as she used to do, to see if I were asleep and comfortable; and when I tried to take hold of her, she went away and left me alone—­I don’t know where; so strange!”

“It was only a dream; you know you’d been talking about her to me, and you’re feverish with sitting up late.  Go to sleep again, and I’ll watch, and waken you if you seem uneasy.”

“But you’ll be so tired.  Oh, dear! dear!” Ruth was asleep again, even while she sighed.

Morning came, and though their rest had been short, the girls arose refreshed.

“Miss Sutton, Miss Jennings, Miss Booth, and Miss Hilton, you will see that you are ready to accompany me to the shire-hall by eight o’clock.”

One or two of the girls looked astonished, but the majority, having anticipated the selection, and knowing from experience the unexpressed rule by which it was made, received it with the sullen indifference which had become their feeling with regard to most events—­a deadened sense of life, consequent upon their unnatural mode of existence, their sedentary days, and their frequent nights of late watching.

But to Ruth it was inexplicable.  She had yawned, and loitered, and looked off at the beautiful panel, and lost herself in thoughts of home, until she fully expected the reprimand which at any other time she would have been sure to receive, and now, to her surprise, she was singled out as one of the most diligent!

Much as she longed for the delight of seeing the noble shire-hall—­the boast of the county—­and of catching glimpses of the dancers, and hearing the band; much as she longed for some variety to the dull, monotonous life she was leading, she could not feel happy to accept a privilege, granted, as she believed, in ignorance of the real state of the case; so she startled her companions by rising abruptly and going up to Mrs. Mason, who was finishing a dress which ought to have been sent home two hours before—­