“Rest, rest, and sleep!” said Israel.
“Ah, yes, I know,” said Ruth. “How foolish of me! You are her father, and you love her also. Yet promise me—promise—”
“For love and tending she shall never lack,” said Israel. “And now lie you still, my dearest; lie still and sleep.”
She stretched out her hand to him. “Yes, that was what I meant,” she said, and smiled. Then a shadow crossed her face in the gloom. “But when I am gone,” she said, “will Naomi ever know that her mother who is dead had wronged her?”
“You have never wronged her,” said Israel. “Have done, oh, have done!”
“God punished us for our prayer, my husband,” said Ruth.
“Peace, peace!” said Israel.
“But God is good,” said Ruth, “and surely He will not afflict our child much longer.”
“Hush! Hush! You will awaken her,” said Israel, not thinking what he said. “Now lie still and sleep, dearest. You are tired also.”
She lay quiet for a time, gazing, while the light remained, into the face of the sleeping child, and listening, when the light failed, to her gentle breathing. Then she babbled and crooned over her with a childish joy. “Yes, yes, father is right, and mother must lie quiet—very quiet, and so her little Naomi will sleep long—very long, and wake happy and well in the morning. How bonny she will look! How fresh and rosy!”