The moment the fatal truth was revealed to her, the quiet heroism of her character asserted itself. She renounced him, not with scorn or indignation, but with loving words and gentle pity. She bade him farewell, and buried her unhappy love in the innermost chamber of her heart. She bowed beneath the blow, and prayed God for strength to bear it. He went his way, and she went hers, and from that moment the poor and suffering took the vacant place in her heart. She didn’t break her heart, but, like a brave woman, resolved to devote the life that should have been lived for a man to her suffering fellow-creatures. She had a hearty sympathy with the poor and oppressed, with dumb animals and little children, and she went about doing good quietly and effectively. Ruth Adrian was free from the cant which mars the efforts of so many well-meaning people. If she could save a soul she was delighted, but she always tried to save the body first. The penny-packet-of -tea-dust-once-a-month, and tracts-once-a-week system of mission work she despised. She did not bribe people to be hypocrites, neither did she have holy names in her mouth in season and out of season. She went with the precepts of the loving Lord in her heart instead of on her lips, and so she conquered where the professional missionary, male and female, failed utterly. She had taken a deep interest in Gertie from the first, and, as the beauties of the child’s nature blossomed in the sunshine of her care, she grew to love the little outcast with almost maternal love. She had a great fight with her conscience over keeping their connexion a secret from the grandfather; but she found out for a certainty that she would be forbidden the house, and so for Gertie’s sake she played the Jesuit, and convinced herself that the end justified the means. Gertie’s books were hidden up in her bed-room, where Heckett never went. Only Lion knew about them. She was beginning to write a little now, and she had a slate on which she wrote letters to Lion and to Miss Adrian and did little sums. It was a strange sight to see Ruth and her _protégée_ at lessons. The foxhound and the spaniel and the bulldog always wagged their tails when Ruth came in, and then sat down on their haunches and stared at the proceedings. Lion was privileged. He was one of the class. But then he was such a superior dog to all the others. They were always being sold and going away and being replaced by other dogs before they had learned proper behaviour. But Lion was part of the establishment. Heckett kept him to guard the premises, perhaps. When Ruth had gone, Gertie would sit with her arm round Lion’s neck and say her lessons over to him, and explain things that perhaps might not be quite clear to him. Lion said nothing, but he evidently thought a good deal. Unfortunately, there was a member of the menagerie who behaved very indifferently. That was the parrot.