“Missus—­or miss, as the case may be—­I’ve my doubts as to you.  I’m not going to have my master and Miss Faith put upon, or shame come near them.  Widows wears these sort o’ caps, and has their hair cut off; and whether widows wears wedding-rings or not, they shall have their hair cut off—­they shall.  I’ll have no half work in this house.  I’ve lived with the family forty-nine year come Michaelmas, and I’ll not see it disgraced by any one’s fine long curls.  Sit down and let me snip off your hair; and let me see you sham decently in a widow’s cap to-morrow, or I’ll leave the house.  Whatten’s come over Miss Faith, as used to be as mim a lady as ever was, to be taken by such as you, I dunnot know.  Here I sit down with ye, and let me crop you.”

She laid no light hand on Ruth’s shoulder; and the latter, partly intimidated by the old servant, who had hitherto only turned her vixen lining to observation, and partly because she was broken-spirited enough to be indifferent to the measure proposed, quietly sat down.  Sally produced the formidable pair of scissors that always hung at her side, and began to cut in a merciless manner.  She expected some remonstrance or some opposition, and had a torrent of words ready to flow forth at the least sign of rebellion; but Ruth was still and silent, with meekly-bowed head, under the strange hands that were shearing her beautiful hair into the clipped shortness of a boy’s.  Long before she had finished, Sally had some slight misgivings as to the fancied necessity of her task; but it was too late, for half the curls were gone, and the rest must now come off.  When she had done, she lifted up Ruth’s face by placing her hand under the round white chin.  She gazed into the countenance, expecting to read some anger there, though it had not come out in words; but she only met the large, quiet eyes, that looked at her with sad gentleness out of their finely-hollowed orbits.  Ruth’s soft, yet dignified submission, touched Sally with compunction, though she did not choose to show the change in her feelings.  She tried to hide it indeed, by stooping to pick up the long bright tresses; and, holding them up admiringly, and letting them drop down and float on the air (like the pendent branches of the weeping birch) she said:  “I thought we should ha’ had some crying—­I did.  They’re pretty curls enough; you’ve not been so bad to let them be cut off neither.  You see, Master Thurstan is no wiser than a babby in some things; and Miss Faith just lets him have his own way; so it’s all left to me to keep him out of scrapes.  I’ll wish you a very good night.  I’ve heard many a one say as long hair was not wholesome.  Good night.”

But in a minute she popped her head into Ruth’s room once more—­

“You’ll put on them caps to-morrow morning.  I’ll make you a present on them.”

Sally had carried away the beautiful curls, and she could not find it in her heart to throw such lovely chestnut tresses away, so she folded them up carefully in paper, and placed them in a safe corner of her drawer.