Ruth counted the days and hours impatiently, as she waited for an answer. Hyacinth surely would not refuse _her_ when in almost every number of his magazine he was announcing some new contributor; or, if _he_ could not employ her _himself_, he surely would be brotherly enough to point out to her some one of the many avenues so accessible to a man of extensive newspaperial and literary acquaintance. She would so gladly support herself, so cheerfully toil day and night, if need be, could she only win an independence; and Ruth recalled with a sigh Katy's last visit to her father, and then she rose and walked the floor in her impatience; and then, her restless spirit urging her on to her fate, she went again to the post office to see if there were no letter. How long the clerk made her wait! Yes, there _was_ a letter for her, and in her brother's hand-writing too. Oh, how long since she had seen it! Ruth heeded neither the jostling of office-boys, porters, or draymen, as she held out her eager hand for the letter. Thrusting it hastily in her pocket, she hurried in breathless haste back to her lodgings. The contents were as follows: "I have looked over the pieces you sent me, Ruth. It is very evident that writing never can be _your_ forte; you have no talent that way. You may possibly be employed by some inferior newspapers, but be assured your articles never will be heard of out of your own little provincial city. For myself I have plenty of contributors, nor do I know of any of my literary acquaintances who would employ you. I would advise you, therefore, to seek some _unobtrusive_ employment. Your brother, "HYACINTH ELLET." A bitter smile struggled with the hot tear that fell upon Ruth's cheek. "I have tried the unobtrusive employment," said Ruth; "the wages are six cents a day, Hyacinth;" and again the bitter smile disfigured her gentle lip. "No talent!" "At another tribunal than his will I appeal." "Never be heard of out of my own little provincial city!" The cold, contemptuous tone stung her. "But they shall be heard of;" and Ruth leaped to her feet. "Sooner than he dreams of, too. I _can_ do it, I _feel_ it, I _will_ do it," and she closed her lips firmly; "but there will be a desperate struggle first," and she clasped her hands over her heart as if it had already commenced; "there will be scant meals, and sleepless nights, and weary days, and a throbbing brow, and an aching heart; there will be the chilling tone, the rude repulse; there will be ten backward steps to one forward. _Pride_ must sleep! but--" and Ruth glanced at her children--"it shall be _done_. They shall be proud of their mother. _Hyacinth shall yet be proud to claim his sister._" "What is it, mamma?" asked Katy, looking wonderingly at the strange expression of her mother's face.