Ruth by Elizabeth Gaskell Page B

was by his side.
    "Let me put my cool hands on your forehead," she begged; "that used
to do mamma good."
    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 cool 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 waken him. He seemed stupified 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 she 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," said she, 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 Llanglâs 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 Llanglâs; but I'll send a boy on the pony directly."
    Saying this, Mrs Morgan left Ruth alone. There was nothing to be
done, for Mr Bellingham had again fallen into a heavy sleep. Sounds
of daily life began, bells rang, breakfast-services clattered up
and down the passages, and Ruth sat on shivering by the bedside in
that darkened room. Mrs Morgan sent her breakfast upstairs by a
chambermaid, but Ruth motioned it away in her sick agony, and the
girl had no right to urge her to partake of it. That alone broke the
monotony of the long morning. She heard the sound of merry parties
setting out on excursions, on horseback or in carriages; and once,
stiff and wearied, she stole to the window, and looked out on one
side of the blind; but the day looked bright and discordant to her
aching, anxious heart. The gloom of the darkened room was better and
more befitting.
    It was some hours after he was summoned before the doctor made his
appearance. He questioned his patient, and, receiving no coherent
answers, he asked Ruth concerning the symptoms; but when she
questioned him in turn he only shook his head and looked grave. He
made a sign to Mrs Morgan to follow him out of the room, and they
went down to her