Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Mothers and sons -- Fiction; Religious fiction; Unmarried mothers -- Fiction
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."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account