, and yet dreading to
tighten it, lest she should defy restraint, and once more rush away.

They went slowly into the little parlour behind the shop. The
bonny-looking hostess, Mrs Hughes by name, made haste to light the
candle, and then they saw each other, face to face. The deformed
gentleman looked very pale, but Ruth looked as if the shadow of death
was upon her.

CHAPTER IX

The Storm-Spirit Subdued

Mrs Hughes bustled about with many a sympathetic exclamation, now in
pretty broken English, now in more fluent Welsh, which sounded as
soft as Russian or Italian, in her musical voice. Mr Benson, for that
was the name of the hunchback, lay on the sofa, thinking; while the
tender Mrs Hughes made every arrangement for his relief from pain.
He had lodged with her for three successive years, and she knew and
loved him.

Ruth stood in the little bow-window, looking out. Across the moon,
and over the deep blue heavens, large, torn, irregular-shaped clouds
went hurrying, as if summoned by some storm-spirit. The work they
were commanded to do was not here; the mighty gathering-place lay
eastward, immeasurable leagues, and on they went, chasing each other
over the silent earth, now black, now silver-white at one transparent
edge, now with the moon shining like Hope through their darkest
centre, now again with a silver lining; and now, utterly black,
they sailed lower in the lift, and disappeared behind the immovable
mountains; they were rushing in the very direction in which Ruth
had striven and struggled to go that afternoon; they, in their wild
career, would soon pass over the very spot where he (her world's he)
was lying sleeping, or perhaps not sleeping, perhaps thinking of her.
The storm was in her mind, and rent and tore her purposes into forms
as wild and irregular as the heavenly shapes she was looking at. If,
like them, she could pass the barrier horizon in the night, she might
overtake him.

Mr Benson saw her look, and read it partially. He saw her longing
gaze outwards upon the free, broad world, and thought that the syren
waters, whose deadly music yet rang in her ears, were again tempting
her. He called her to him, praying that his feeble voice might have
power.

"My dear young lady, I have much to say to you; and God has taken
my strength from me now when I most need it.--Oh, I sin to speak
so--but, for His sake, I implore you to be patient here, if only till
to-morrow morning." He looked at her