Ruth (2 page)

"Not such a night as this," replied the other, shivering at the very
thought.

"And why not such a night as this, Jenny?" answered Ruth. "Oh! at
home I have many a time run up the lane all the way to the mill, just
to see the icicles hang on the great wheel; and when I was once out,
I could hardly find in my heart to come in, even to mother, sitting
by the fire;—even to mother," she added, in a low, melancholy tone,
which had something of inexpressible sadness in it. "Why, Jenny!"
said she, rousing herself, but not before her eyes were swimming
with tears, "own, now, that you never saw those dismal, hateful,
tumble-down old houses there look half so—what shall I call them?
almost beautiful—as they do now, with that soft, pure, exquisite
covering; and if they are so improved, think of what trees, and
grass, and ivy must be on such a night as this."

Jenny could not be persuaded into admiring the winter's night, which
to her came only as a cold and dismal time, when her cough was more
troublesome, and the pain in her side worse than usual. But she put
her arm round Ruth's neck, and stood by her, glad that the orphan
apprentice, who was not yet inured to the hardship of a dressmaker's
workroom, should find so much to give her pleasure in such a common
occurrence as a frosty night.

They remained deep in separate trains of thought till Mrs Mason's
step was heard, when each returned, supperless but refreshed, to her
seat.

Ruth's place was the coldest and the darkest in the room, although
she liked it the best; she had instinctively chosen it for the sake
of the wall opposite to her, on which was a remnant of the beauty
of the old drawing-room, which must once have been magnificent, to
judge from the faded specimen left. It was divided into panels of
pale sea-green, picked out with white and gold; and on these panels
were painted—were thrown with the careless, triumphant hand of a
master—the most lovely wreaths of flowers, profuse and luxuriant
beyond description, and so real-looking, that you could almost
fancy you smelt their fragrance, and heard the south wind go softly
rustling in and out among the crimson roses—the branches of purple
and white lilac—the floating golden-tressed laburnum boughs.
Besides these, there were stately white lilies, sacred to the
Virgin—hollyhocks, fraxinella, monk's-hood, pansies, primroses;
every flower which blooms profusely in charming old-fashioned country
gardens was there, depicted among its graceful foliage, but not in
the wild disorder in which I have enumerated them. At the bottom of
the panel lay a holly-branch, whose stiff straightness was ornamented
by a twining drapery of English ivy and mistletoe and winter aconite;
while down either side hung pendant garlands of spring and autumn
flowers; and, crowning all, came gorgeous summer with the sweet
musk-roses, and the rich-coloured flowers of June and July.

Surely Monnoyer, or whoever the dead and gone artist might be, would
have been gratified to know the pleasure his handiwork, even in its
wane, had power to give to the heavy heart of a young girl; for they
conjured up visions of other sister-flowers that grew, and blossomed,
and withered away in her early home.

Mrs Mason was particularly desirous that her workwomen should exert
themselves to-night, for, on the next, the annual hunt-ball was to
take place. It was the one gaiety of the town since the assize-balls
had been discontinued. Many were the dresses she had promised should
be sent home "without fail" the next morning; she had not let one
slip through her fingers, for fear, if it did, it might fall into the
hands of the rival dressmaker, who had just established herself in
the very same street.

She determined to administer a gentle stimulant to the flagging
spirits, and with a little preliminary cough to attract attention,
she began:

"I may as well inform you, young ladies, that I have been requested
this year, as on previous occasions, to allow some of my young people
to attend in the ante-chamber of the assembly-room with sandal
ribbon, pins, and such little matters, and to be ready to repair any
accidental injury to the ladies' dresses. I shall send four—of the
most diligent." She laid a marked emphasis on the last words, but
without much effect; they were too sleepy to care for any of the
pomps and vanities, or, indeed, for any of the comforts of this
world, excepting one sole thing—their beds.

Mrs Mason was a very worthy woman, but, like many other worthy women,
she had her foibles; and one (very natural to her calling) was to
pay an extreme regard to appearances. Accordingly, she had already
selected in her own mind the four girls who were most likely to do
credit to the "establishment;" and these were secretly determined
upon, although it was very well to promise the reward to the most
diligent. She was really not aware of the falseness of this conduct;
being an adept in that species of sophistry with which people
persuade themselves that what they wish to do is right.

At last there was no resisting the evidence of weariness. They were
told to go to bed; but even that welcome command was languidly
obeyed. Slowly they folded up their work, heavily they moved about,
until at length all was put away, and they trooped up the wide, dark
staircase.

"Oh! how shall I get through five years of these terrible nights! in
that close room! and in that oppressive stillness! which lets every
sound of the thread be heard as it goes eternally backwards and
forwards," sobbed out Ruth, as she threw herself on her bed, without
even undressing herself.

"Nay, Ruth, you know it won't be always as it has been to-night. We
often get to bed by ten o'clock; and by-and-by you won't mind the
closeness of the room. You're worn out to-night, or you would not
have minded the sound of the needle; I never hear it. Come, let me
unfasten you," said Jenny.

"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 awhile. 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:

"If you please, Mrs Mason, I was not one of the most diligent; I am
afraid—I believe—I was not diligent at all. I was very tired; and
I could not help thinking, and when I think, I can't attend to my
work." She stopped, believing she had sufficiently explained her
meaning; but Mrs Mason would not understand, and did not wish for any
further elucidation.

"Well, my dear, you must learn to think and work too; or, if you
can't do both, you must leave off thinking. Your guardian, you know,
expects you to make great progress in your business, and I am sure
you won't disappoint him."

But that was not to the point. Ruth stood still an instant, although
Mrs Mason resumed her employment in a manner which any one but a "new
girl" would have known to be intelligible enough, that she did not
wish for any more conversation just then.

"But as I was not diligent I ought not to go, ma'am. Miss Wood was
far more industrious than I, and many of the others."

"Tiresome girl!" muttered Mrs Mason; "I've half a mind to keep her
at home for plaguing me so." But, looking up, she was struck afresh
with the remarkable beauty which Ruth possessed; such a credit to the
house, with her waving outline of figure, her striking face, with
dark eyebrows and dark lashes, combined with auburn hair and a fair
complexion. No! diligent or idle, Ruth Hilton must appear to-night.

"Miss Hilton," said Mrs Mason, with stiff dignity, "I am not
accustomed (as these young ladies can tell you) to have my decisions
questioned. What I say, I mean; and I have my reasons. So sit down,
if you please, and take care and be ready by eight. Not a word more,"
as she fancied she saw Ruth again about to speak.

"Jenny! you ought to have gone, not me," said Ruth, in no low voice
to Miss Wood, as she sat down by her.

"Hush! Ruth. I could not go if I might, because of my cough. I would
rather give it up to you than any one, if it were mine to give. And
suppose it is, and take the pleasure as my present, and tell me every
bit about it when you come home to-night."

"Well! I shall take it in that way, and not as if I'd earned it,
which I haven't. So thank you. You can't think how I shall enjoy it
now. I did work diligently for five minutes last night, after I heard
of it, I wanted to go so much. But I could not keep it up. Oh, dear!
and I shall really hear a band! and see the inside of that beautiful
shire-hall!"

In due time that evening, Mrs Mason collected "her young ladies"
for an inspection of their appearance before proceeding to the
shire-hall. Her eager, important, hurried manner of summoning them
was not unlike that of a hen clucking her chickens together; and to
judge from the close investigation they had to undergo, it might have
been thought that their part in the evening's performance was to be
far more important than that of temporary ladies'-maids.

"Is that your best frock, Miss Hilton?" asked Mrs Mason, in a
half-dissatisfied tone, turning Ruth about; for it was only her
Sunday black silk, and was somewhat worn and shabby.

"Yes, ma'am," answered Ruth, quietly.

"Oh! indeed. Then it will do" (still the half-satisfied tone).
"Dress, young ladies, you know, is a very secondary consideration.
Conduct is everything. Still, Miss Hilton, I think you should write
and ask your guardian to send you money for another gown. I am sorry
I did not think of it before."

"I do not think he would send any if I wrote," answered Ruth, in a
low voice. "He was angry when I wanted a shawl, when the cold weather
set in."

Mrs Mason gave her a little push of dismissal, and Ruth fell into the
ranks by her friend, Miss Wood.

"Never mind, Ruthie; you're prettier than any of them," said a merry,
good-natured girl, whose plainness excluded her from any of the envy
of rivalry.

"Yes! I know I am pretty," said Ruth, sadly, "but I am sorry I have
no better gown, for this is very shabby. I am ashamed of it myself,
and I can see Mrs Mason is twice as much ashamed. I wish I need not
go. I did not know we should have to think about our own dress at
all, or I should not have wished to go."

"Never mind, Ruth," said Jenny, "you've been looked at now, and Mrs
Mason will soon be too busy to think about you and your gown."

"Did you hear Ruth Hilton say she knew she was pretty?" whispered one
girl to another, so loudly that Ruth caught the words.

"I could not help knowing," answered she, simply, "for many people
have told me so."

At length these preliminaries were over, and they were walking
briskly through the frosty air; the free motion was so inspiriting
that Ruth almost danced along, and quite forgot all about shabby
gowns and grumbling guardians. The shire-hall was even more striking
than she had expected. The sides of the staircase were painted with
figures that showed ghostly in the dim light, for only their faces
looked out of the dark, dingy canvas, with a strange fixed stare of
expression.