Here Ruth paused a moment, to be gratified over her own advance in goodness. At least she could speak freely, and in praise of Susan. Then she said:
“Do you want anything, father, that Susan can get for you?”
He unclosed his eyes, and looked at her with a full, meaning smile, as he said, slowly:
“I was not thinking of that Susan, my dear; I meant my wife. You may call her, if you will; I feel somewhat tired, and she knows just how to fix me for rest.”
Imagine Ruth Erskine going down the hall, down the stairs, through the library, out through the back hall, away to the linen-closet, and saying, to Mrs. Judge Erskine, in a low tone:
“Father wants you, ma’am!”
“Bless his heart!” said Mrs. Erskine, dropping the pile of fresh linen she was fumbling in. “I hope he hasn’t been fretty ’cause I staid so long!”
Then she fled up the stairs.
Well, you are not very well versed in the knowledge of the depths of the human heart, if you need to be told that this last experience was the bitterest drop in Ruth’s cup of trouble. Hitherto it had been her father and herself, bearing together a common trial. Now she felt that, someway, she had lost her father, and gained nothing—rather, lost—that she had sunken in her own estimation, and that she was alone!