Anxieties and distress of mind began to affect her health, and the old people noticing her pale face and haggard look, besought her not to overwork herself by her constant labours among the poor. Talking of these labours the name of Gertie Heckett came up one morning at breakfast.
Ruth, with a blush of shame, confessed she had not seen the child for a fortnight.
Mr. Adrian was astonished.
‘Why, my dear,’ he said kindly, ‘I thought little Gertie was your favourite pupil.’
‘So she was, papa; but I—I haven’t been well enough to go there lately.’
Ruth stammered and blushed, for the fact had dawned upon her that she was neglecting Gertie, and leaving the child alone and exposed to the pernicious influences of her old surroundings.
‘I have put my hand to the plough and turned back,’ she thought. Already the influence of Marston was asserting itself. To her dread of meeting him she had sacrificed the little friendless child whose future so much depended on her constant care.
‘I will hesitate no longer,’ said Ruth to herself. ‘It is the Lord who has flung this man across the pathway of my life again. With God’s help it shall be for good and not for evil.’
Later in the day, as Gertie sat upstairs talking to Lion of the good lady that never came now, Ruth Adrian pushed the door open and walked in quietly.
Gertie, with a cry of delight, jumped up and ran to her, lifting her little face to Ruth, and Lion, leaping up, placed his huge forepaws on her shoulder, and gave a deep bark of welcome.