ng, I suppose. Look!
he wants her to go without a word to the old man; but she is none so
changed as that, I reckon."

Not Ruth, indeed! She never perceived the dissatisfied expression of
Mr Bellingham's countenance, visible to the old man's keen eye; but
came running up to Thomas to send her love to his wife, and to shake
him many times by the hand.

"Tell Mary I'll make her such a fine gown, as soon as ever I set up
for myself; it shall be all in the fashion, big gigot sleeves, that
she shall not know herself in them! Mind you tell her that, Thomas,
will you?"

"Aye, that I will, lass; and I reckon she'll be pleased to hear thou
hast not forgotten thy old merry ways. The Lord bless thee--the Lord
lift up the light of His countenance upon thee."

Ruth was half-way towards the impatient Mr Bellingham when her old
friend called her back. He longed to give her a warning of the
danger that he thought she was in, and yet he did not know how. When
she came up, all he could think of to say was a text; indeed, the
language of the Bible was the language in which he thought, whenever
his ideas went beyond practical everyday life into expressions of
emotion or feeling. "My dear, remember the devil goeth about as a
roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour; remember that, Ruth."

The words fell on her ear, but gave no definite idea. The utmost they
suggested was the remembrance of the dread she felt as a child when
this verse came into her mind, and how she used to imagine a lion's
head with glaring eyes peering out of the bushes in a dark shady part
of the wood, which, for this reason, she had always avoided, and even
now could hardly think of without a shudder. She never imagined that
the grim warning related to the handsome young man who awaited her
with a countenance beaming with love, and tenderly drew her hand
within his arm.

The old man sighed as he watched them away. "The Lord may help her
to guide her steps aright. He may. But I'm afeard she's treading
in perilous places. I'll put my missis up to going to the town and
getting speech of her, and telling her a bit of her danger. An old
motherly woman like our Mary will set about it better nor a stupid
fellow like me."

The poor old labourer prayed long and earnestly that night for Ruth.
He called it "wrestling for her soul;" and I think his prayers were
heard, for "God judgeth not as man judgeth."

Ruth went on her way, all unconscious of the dark phantoms of the