"I was afeared," she whispered, "never to see Ishmael again. And God helped me. The poor lad 'ud fret so if he never saw me again; and it 'll be easier to die here than all alone at home yonder."
"Some of us ought to have thought of you," said the schoolmistress.
"It's best here," she whispered near Ishmael. "God's been very good to me all my life; and He's very good to me now I'm dying. I'd rather wait here for him to come back than be anywhere else in the world. Only I shall miss seein' Humphrey, and he was a good husband to me once."
"Ruth Medway," said the squire, speaking slowly and distinctly, that she might hear him, "don't you be troubled about your son. I will see after him, and make a man of him; I promise you solemnly."
Ruth looked up inquiringly into the squire's face; an unfamiliar face, looking blurred and misty to her failing eyes.
"Who is it?" she asked.
"The squire," said the schoolmistress, gently.
"I thank you humbly, sir," she said, making a great effort, "but it's too late now, I'm afeared. He's goin' away to a country where there's a better chance for him as soon as I'm gone. He won't leave me, sir, not as long as I live, if he starves for it. But he'll go as soon as I'm dead."
"I'll make it worth his while to stay at home," said the squire.
"There won't be no home when I'm gone," murmured Ruth; "he's never had a home these five years; like Him that had no place to lay His head."