ring here and there, had
peeped through the hedge, and through the gate, and now they gathered
from all the four corners of the hamlet, and crowded round the gate;
and one more adventurous than the rest had run into the field to
cry, "Gi' me a halfpenny," which set the example to every little one,
emulous of his boldness; and there, where she sat, low on the ground,
and longing for the sure hiding-place earth gives to the weary, the
children kept running in, and pushing one another forwards, and
laughing. Poor things; their time had not come for understanding what
sorrow is. Ruth would have begged them to leave her alone, and not
madden her utterly; but they knew no English save the one eternal
"Gi' me a halfpenny." She felt in her heart that there was no pity
anywhere. Suddenly, while she thus doubted God, a shadow fell across
her garments, on which her miserable eyes were bent. She looked up.
The deformed gentleman she had twice before seen, stood there. He had
been attracted by the noisy little crowd, and had questioned them in
Welsh, but not understanding enough of the language to comprehend
their answers, he had obeyed their signs, and entered the gate to
which they pointed. There he saw the young girl whom he had noticed
at first for her innocent beauty, and the second time for the idea he
had gained respecting her situation; there he saw her, crouched up
like some hunted creature, with a wild, scared look of despair, which
almost made her lovely face seem fierce; he saw her dress soiled and
dim, her bonnet crushed and battered with her tossings to and fro on
the moorland bed; he saw the poor, lost wanderer, and when he saw
her, he had compassion on her.

There was some look of heavenly pity in his eyes, as gravely and
sadly they met her upturned gaze, which touched her stony heart.
Still looking at him, as if drawing some good influence from him,
she said low and mournfully, "He has left me, sir!--sir, he has
indeed--he has gone and left me!"

Before he could speak a word to comfort her, she had burst into the
wildest, dreariest crying ever mortal cried. The settled form of the
event, when put into words, went sharp to her heart; her moans and
sobs wrung his soul; but as no speech of his could be heard, if he
had been able to decide what best to say, he stood by her in apparent
calmness, while she, wretched, wailed and uttered her woe. But when
she lay worn out, and stupefied into silence, she heard him say to