"No, no! godmother! He is patient as a lamb," cried Ruth. "Don't blame him for my fault."
"Fault! What fault is there? Just as if a poor child can't speak once in a while, without being blamed for it. I never knew anything so unreasonable as men are—magnifying mole-hills into mountains. There now, go and sit by the window while I bring your exasperating father to something like reason. No one shall make you cry again, if I know it."
Ruth went to the window, rather bewildered by the suddenness with which the good housekeeper had shifted the point of her resentment to the invalid on the bed. But Mrs. Mason seemed to have entirely forgotten that she had been sharply dealt with. Seating herself on the bed, which creaked complainingly under her weight, and settling her black dress with a great rustle of silk, she dropped into the most cordial relations with the invalid at once.
"Better and getting up bravely. I can see that. Sir Noel will be more than glad to hear it. As for the young master, I know the thought of you is never out of his mind. 'When shall I be well enough to walk out?' he says, each day, to the surgeon. 'There was another hurt at the same time with me, and I want to know how he is getting on.'"
"Did he say that, did he?" questioned Jessup, with tears in his eyes; for sickness had made him weak as a child, and at such times tear-drops come to the strongest eyes tenderly as dew falls. "Did he mention me in that way?"
"He did, indeed. Often and often."
"God bless the lad. How could I ever think—"
Jessup broke off, and looked keenly at the housekeeper, as if fearful of having said too much. But she had heard the blessing, without regard to the half-uttered conclusion, and echoed it heartily.
"So say I. God bless the young gentleman! For a braver or a brighter never reigned at 'The Rest,' since its first wall was laid. Well, well! what is it now?" she added, addressing Ruth, who had left the window, and was stealing an arm around her neck.
"Nothing, godmother, only I love to hear you talk."