The sight of Gertie aggravated him. She was a little spy—she was this, she was that. She was always talking to a parcel of tramps, and letting them learn everybody’s business. What did this strange woman want with Ruth? He wouldn’t have a stranger admitted to the place. How often was he to say so? They were all in league against him—that was what it was. Poor Ruth sat and listened patiently. She was used to her husband’s paroxysms of temper and suspicion now. After the first great shock that had come upon her, she had set herself a task, and determined to bear all patiently. She had gathered from her husband’s ravings only that he accused himself of terrible crimes. At first she had believed that he was really guilty, but gradually she had persuaded herself that it was merely the remembrance of his earlier surroundings appearing to a disordered mind. The doctor had told her that men in her husband’s peculiar mental condition often accused themselves of terrible things, and that she was to take no notice of his words. It was but a phase of his disease. Some strong and sudden excitement had caused a temporary derangement, that was all. Rest and quiet were all he needed. The rest and quiet he had, and Ruth in time had the satisfaction of seeing him grow more reasonable, and at last, so far as his mental condition was concerned, all fear was removed. But his bodily health became worse and worse, and his nerves were always in a highly wrought condition. He could not bear the least noise, and the most trifling circumstance would fling him into an ungovernable rage. He was suspicious of everybody and of everything—of the servants, of Gertie, and of his wife. Ruth had long thought seriously of getting him away to try a complete change of scene, and on this very morning that they had gone for their first drive she had been urging him to try a three months’ tour on the Continent. He had jumped at the idea, and the thought of the change had seemed to put new life into him. He had been almost cheerful and amiable all through the drive, and it was not till they neared home that he fell into a brown study, and the old dull, worried look came upon his face. The sight of Gertie talking to a strange woman at the lodge-gates, and the woman’s request to speak with Ruth, had produced a remarkable change. He became violent and abusive, and poor Ruth had to put up with another ‘scene.’ It was some time before she could quiet him. Gertie assured him again and again that the woman had said nothing more than that she wanted to see Mrs. Heritage; and Ruth explained that it was probably only some one sent from the village to appeal to her charity. Ruth and Gertie left the squire alone directly his temper had cooled down, for they knew by experience that after these paroxysms he would sit for hours gazing into vacancy and uttering no sound.