There, however, was no one to whom she could turn. Ernie was out of the question, while Madame had retired, as always at this season of the year, to the sister-hotel at Brussels.
Indeed in all Beachbourne with its hundred thousand inhabitants, its temples and tabernacles at every street corner, its innumerable white-collared priests and ministers, its sacrament-taking women, and reform-talking men, was there one soul to whom she could look in her distress?
Ruth prayed as she had never prayed before. Alone in the darkness on her knees, redeeming herself and mankind by her tears, she asked that the punishment for the mother's sin might not fall upon the child.
"On my head, O Lord, not hers," was the cry of her anguished heart.
Light came to her darkness.
There was one man in Beachbourne in whom she had detected, so she believed, the spirit of Love.
That man was Mr. Trupp, who had attended her Miss Caryll till she died.
Taking her courage in her hands one dark January evening, when she realized that her time at the Hotel was short, she stood on the steps of the Manor-house and rang.
"Why, you're quite a stranger, Ruth!" said the smiling maid.
"Could I see Mr. Trupp?" asked the girl.