This passion of feeling, which combined so many elements of unrest, was thrown into abeyance when Ruth got home; for, looking up, with her hand on the gate, she saw her father sitting at the chamber-window waiting for her. It was the first time he had crossed the floor since his illness. The thought that he had made the dangerous attempt alone struck her with dismay.
"Oh, father, how could you?" was her first anxious question as she entered the room. "Have I been gone so long that you got impatient?"
"No, no! I felt better, and took a longing to look on the garden. I never was so many days without seeing it before," said the old man. "I think it has done me good, child."
"I hope so. I hope so, father!"
"See how well I walk. Never fear, lass. The old father will soon be about again."
The gardener got up from his chair with some difficulty and walked across the room, waving Ruth aside when she offered to support him.
"Nay, nay, let me try it alone," he said, with feeble triumph. "To-morrow I shall be getting down-stairs. I only hope the young master is as strong."
"Oh, father, he is better; I saw him on the terrace this morning."
"Ah, that is brave. But how did he look? Thin, like me?"
"No, not like you, father. He was always more slender, you know; but I think he was pale."