Ruth by Elizabeth Gaskell Read Free Book Online Page A

attribute his calamities to some want in
his character of the one quality required to act as keystone to many
excellences. While his wife lived, all worldly misfortunes seemed as
nothing to him; her strong sense and lively faculty of hope upheld
him from despair; her sympathy was always ready, and the invalid's
room had an atmosphere of peace and encouragement, which affected all
who entered it. But when Ruth was about twelve, one morning in the
busy hay-time, Mrs Hilton was left alone for some hours. This had
often happened before, nor had she seemed weaker than usual when they
had gone forth to the field; but on their return, with merry voices,
to fetch the dinner prepared for the haymakers, they found an unusual
silence brooding over the house; no low voice called out gently to
welcome them, and ask after the day's progress; and, on entering the
little parlour, which was called Mrs Hilton's, and was sacred to her,
they found her lying dead on her accustomed sofa. Quite calm and
peaceful she lay; there had been no struggle at last; the struggle
was for the survivors, and one sank under it. Her husband did not
make much ado at first—at least, not in outward show; her memory
seemed to keep in check all external violence of grief; but, day by
day, dating from his wife's death, his mental powers decreased. He
was still a hale-looking elderly man, and his bodily health appeared
as good as ever; but he sat for hours in his easy-chair, looking into
the fire, not moving, nor speaking, unless when it was absolutely
necessary to answer repeated questions. If Ruth, with coaxings and
draggings, induced him to come out with her, he went with measured
steps around his fields, his head bent to the ground with the
same abstracted, unseeing look; never smiling—never changing the
expression of his face, not even to one of deeper sadness, when
anything occurred which might be supposed to remind him of his dead
wife. But in this abstraction from all outward things, his worldly
affairs went ever lower down. He paid money away, or received it, as
if it had been so much water; the gold mines of Potosi could not have
touched the deep grief of his soul; but God in His mercy knew the
sure balm, and sent the Beautiful Messenger to take the weary one
home.
    After his death, the creditors were the chief people who appeared to
take any interest in the affairs; and it seemed strange to Ruth to
see people, whom she scarcely knew, examining and touching all that
she had been accustomed to consider as precious and sacred. Her
father had made his will at her birth. With the pride of newly and
late-acquired paternity, he had considered the office of guardian to
his little darling as one which would have been an additional honour
to the lord-lieutenant of the county; but as he had not the pleasure
of his lordship's acquaintance, he selected the person of most
consequence amongst those whom he did know; not any very ambitious
appointment, in those days of comparative prosperity; but certainly
the flourishing maltster of Skelton was a little surprised, when,
fifteen years later, he learnt that he was executor to a will
bequeathing many vanished hundreds of pounds, and guardian to a young
girl whom he could not remember ever to have seen.
    He was a sensible, hard-headed man of the world; having a very fair
proportion of conscience as consciences go; indeed, perhaps more than
many people; for he had some ideas of duty extending to the circle
beyond his own family; and did not, as some would have done, decline
acting altogether, but speedily summoned the creditors, examined
into the accounts, sold up the farming-stock, and discharged all the
debts; paid about £80 into the Skelton bank for a week, while he
inquired for a situation or apprenticeship of some kind for poor
heart-broken Ruth; heard of Mrs Mason's; arranged all with her in two
short conversations; drove over for Ruth in his gig; waited while she
and the old servant packed up her clothes; and grew