to-morrow, as if feather-beds
and Mr Jones was not good enough. Why, she won't let a soul of us
into the room; there's no chance for you!"

Ruth sighed. "How is he?" she inquired, after a pause.

"How can I tell indeed, when I'm not allowed to go near him? Mr Jones
said to-night was a turning point; but I doubt it, for it is four
days since he was taken ill, and who ever heard of a sick person
taking a turn on an even number of days; it's always on the third, or
the fifth, or seventh, or so on. He'll not turn till to-morrow night,
take my word for it, and their fine London doctor will get all the
credit, and honest Mr Jones will be thrown aside. I don't think he
will get better myself, though--Gelert does not howl for nothing. My
patience! what's the matter with the girl?--lord, child, you're never
going to faint, and be ill on my hands?" Her sharp voice recalled
Ruth from the sick unconsciousness that had been creeping over her
as she listened to the latter part of this speech. She sat down
and could not speak--the room whirled round and round--her white
feebleness touched Mrs Morgan's heart.

"You've had no tea, I guess. Indeed, and the girls are very
careless." She rang the bell with energy, and seconded her pull
by going to the door and shouting out sharp directions, in Welsh,
to Nest and Gwen, and three or four other rough, kind, slatternly
servants.

They brought her tea, which was comfortable, according to the idea of
comfort prevalent in that rude, hospitable place; there was plenty to
eat, too much, indeed, for it revolted the appetite it was intended
to provoke. But the heartiness with which the kind, rosy waiter
pressed her to eat, and the scolding Mrs Morgan gave her when she
found the buttered toast untouched (toast on which she had herself
desired that the butter might not be spared), did Ruth more good than
the tea. She began to hope, and to long for the morning when hope
might have become certainty. It was all in vain that she was told
that the room she had been in all day was at her service; she did not
say a word, but she was not going to bed that night, of all nights in
the year, when life or death hung trembling in the balance. She went
into the bedroom till the bustling house was still, and heard busy
feet passing to and fro in the room she might not enter; and voices,
imperious, though hushed down to a whisper, ask for innumerable
things. Then there was silence; and when she thought that all w