For here was a new, pure, beautiful, innocent life, which she
fondly imagined, in that early passion of maternal love, she could
guard from every touch of corrupting sin by ever watchful and most
tender care. And _her_ mother had thought the same, most probably;
and thousands of others think the same, and pray to God to purify and
cleanse their souls, that they may be fit guardians for their little
children. Oh, how Ruth prayed, even while she was yet too weak to
speak; and how she felt the beauty and significance of the words,
"Our Father!"

She was roused from this holy abstraction by the sound of Miss
Benson's voice. It was very much as if she had been crying.

"Look, Ruth!" it said, softly, "my brother sends you these. They are
the first snowdrops in the garden." And she put them on the pillow by
Ruth; the baby lay on the opposite side.

"Won't you look at him?" said Ruth; "he is so pretty!"

Miss Benson had a strange reluctance to see him. To Ruth, in spite
of all that had come and gone, she was reconciled--nay, more, she
was deeply attached; but over the baby there hung a cloud of shame
and disgrace. Poor little creature! her heart was closed against
it--firmly, as she thought. But she could not resist Ruth's low faint
voice, nor her pleading eyes, and she went round to peep at him as he
lay in his mother's arm, as yet his shield and guard.

"Sally says he will have black hair, she thinks," said Ruth. "His
little hand is quite a man's, already. Just feel how firmly he closes
it;" and with her own weak fingers she opened his little red fist,
and taking Miss Benson's reluctant hand, placed one of her fingers
in his grasp. That baby-touch called out her love; the doors of her
heart were thrown open wide for the little infant to go in and take
possession.

"Ah, my darling!" said Ruth, falling back weak and weary. "If God
will but spare you to me, never mother did more than I will. I have
done you a grievous wrong--but, if I may but live, I will spend my
life in serving you!"

"And in serving God!" said Miss Benson, with tears in her eyes. "You
must not make him into an idol, or God will, perhaps, punish you
through him."

A pang of affright shot through Ruth's heart at these words; had
she already sinned and made her child into an idol, and was there
punishment already in store for her through him? But then the
internal voice whispered that God was "Our Father," and that He knew
our frame, and knew how nat