Rachel at first had listened with dismay, And nothing found to answer to Ruth's words, Whose words indeed flowed on and made no pause For answer, as if she in truest truth Sought not the answer that she seemed to seek, Would fain postpone it rather, or avert. But when at length the utterance of Ruth's thought From converse passed into soliloquy And the deep secret of her soul revealed, Then Rachel caught a welcome gleam of hope. A sign of grace she saw or seemed to see At work for Ruth within her heart of grief, Transmuting human sorrow to divine Repentance, and for pain preparing peace. "Let us go in together," Rachel said, For they by this were nigh to Ruth's abode, "Let us go in where we may be withdrawn From note of such as here might mark our speech Or action; I have word from him to thee." Then they went in, and Ruth bestirred herself To make a cheer of welcome for her guest. That momentary truce to troubled thought For Ruth, and interspace of quietness From her own words which could not choose but flow With helpless importunity till then, Gave Rachel needed chance to speak. She said: "O Ruth, thy husband fell asleep last night, And slept a sweeter sleep than thine or mine, A deep sweet sleep, a happy sleep, a blest. Thou wouldst not wake him thence for worlds on worlds. He felt before he slept that he should sleep, And me, whom God our Father let be nigh, Stephen bade bear a last good-night to thee. He did not think the night was very long Before him for his sleeping, and his wish Was thou shouldst meet him presently to say Good-morning. This was his true message, Ruth." The ineffably serene steadfast regard Of Rachel's eyes, that, out of liquid depths Unsounded, looked angelic love and truth, With pity mingled, equal measure--tears Orbing them large, shot through and through with light Of heavenly hope for Ruth--but, more than all A subtly sweet insinuating tone, Most musical, of softness in the voice, That gently wound into the listener's heart-- These, with what else, who knows? of help from Heaven, Wrought a bright miracle of change in Ruth. She had been hard and dry, a desert rock; The rock was smitten now with Moses' rod. Ruth gushed in gracious tears, she veiled herself With weeping, as sometimes a precipice Veils itself dim with mist of cataract. And Rachel wept with Ruth, until Ruth said: "But where is Stephen, Rachel? It might be They, meaning death, yet did not compass death. Such things have been; haste, let us go and see. Monstrous it were, if he should need me--I The while here sitting weeping idle tears!"