Ruth by Elizabeth Gaskell Read Free Book Online Page B

very impatient
while she ran, with her eyes streaming with tears, round the garden,
tearing off in a passion of love whole boughs of favourite China and
damask roses, late flowering against the casement-window of what
had been her mother's room. When she took her seat in the gig, she
was little able, even if she had been inclined, to profit by her
guardian's lectures on economy and self-reliance; but she was quiet
and silent, looking forward with longing to the night-time, when, in
her bedroom, she might give way to all her passionate sorrow at being
wrenched from the home where she had lived with her parents, in that
utter absence of any anticipation of change, which is either the
blessing or the curse of childhood. But at night there were four
other girls in her room, and she could not cry before them. She
watched and waited till, one by one, they dropped off to sleep, and
then she buried her face in the pillow, and shook with sobbing grief;
and then she paused to conjure up, with fond luxuriance, every
recollection of the happy days, so little valued in their uneventful
peace while they lasted, so passionately regretted when once gone for
ever; to remember every look and word of the dear mother, and to moan
afresh over the change caused by her death;—the first clouding in
of Ruth's day of life. It was Jenny's sympathy on this first night,
when awakened by Ruth's irrepressible agony, that had made the bond
between them. But Ruth's loving disposition, continually sending
forth fibres in search of nutriment, found no other object for regard
among those of her daily life to compensate for the want of natural
ties.
    But, almost insensibly, Jenny's place in Ruth's heart was filled
up; there was some one who listened with tender interest to all
her little revelations; who questioned her about her early days
of happiness, and, in return, spoke of his own childhood—not so
golden in reality as Ruth's, but more dazzling, when recounted
with stories of the beautiful cream-coloured Arabian pony, and the
old picture-gallery in the house, and avenues, and terraces, and
fountains in the garden, for Ruth to paint, with all the vividness
of imagination, as scenery and background for the figure which was
growing by slow degrees most prominent in her thoughts.
    It must not be supposed that this was effected all at once, though
the intermediate stages have been passed over. On Sunday, Mr
Bellingham only spoke to her to receive the information about
the panel; nor did he come to St Nicholas' the next, nor yet the
following Sunday. But the third he walked by her side a little way,
and, seeing her annoyance, he left her; and then she wished for him
back again, and found the day very dreary, and wondered why a strange
undefined feeling had made her imagine she was doing wrong in walking
alongside of one so kind and good as Mr Bellingham; it had been very
foolish of her to be self-conscious all the time, and if ever he
spoke to her again she would not think of what people might say,
but enjoy the pleasure which his kind words and evident interest in
her might give. Then she thought it was very likely he never would
notice her again, for she knew she had been very rude with her short
answers; it was very provoking that she had behaved so rudely. She
should be sixteen in another month, and she was still childish and
awkward. Thus she lectured herself, after parting with Mr Bellingham;
and the consequence was, that on the following Sunday she was ten
times as blushing and conscious, and (Mr Bellingham thought) ten
times more beautiful than ever. He suggested, that instead of going
straight home through High-street, she should take the round by the
Leasowes; at first she declined, but then, suddenly wondering and
questioning herself why she refused a thing which was, as far as
reason and knowledge (
her
knowledge) went, so innocent, and which
was certainly so tempting and pleasant, she agreed to go the round;
and when she was once in the meadows