oubt the business will go well--so many men have come forward
and offered to support me if I could keep going. This will be the best
possible medicine for your mother, and for us all. It will give us
heart to work, and we shall have to work hard to pay off the loan."

Ruth set her lips in a determined fashion, which gave a new expression
to her face. She was thankful beyond words for help in this time of
need, but the fact that it had come from Donald Maclure, of all people,
made the debt difficult to bear. He had already offered much, and had
been rejected. She felt oppressed by his very generosity.

That night when she went to bed, Ruth unfolded the little bundle of
letters which she had received from Raby since her return home, and read
them over with lingering attention. No word from Uncle Bernard, though
both girls had written to him more than once, telling him of their
mother's illness and progress towards recovery. Not a line from Victor,
though he must have known of the added trouble. A short, manly letter
of sympathy from Jack Melland, who had heard of the bad news through
Mrs Thornton--a letter addressed to Ruth, with "kindest regards to her
sister"; three long, underlined epistles from that lady herself, and one
sheet covered with a beautiful, distinctive handwriting, and signed
"Margot Blount." Ruth opened this last letter first of all, and passed
hurriedly over expressions of condolence to the more practical part of
the message.

"And now, Ruth, you must not think because Fate has separated us in this
hurried manner that you have seen the last of me. I want to be your
friend now and always, and hope to see a great deal of you in the
future. Mrs Thornton says that you wish to find some work. I am
neither rich nor clever, but I know a great many people, and I have some
little influence, so I can certainly help you there. Write, dear, and
tell me if you have any special vocation in view, or if you are willing
to take the best chance that offers. I have a rich and gouty relation
whose companion is shortly to be married. I could recommend you for the
post, when you would be well paid, and live in luxury; but I know you
would feel prisoned, and long to throw cushions at her occasionally. I
should! There are numerous societies and guilds also to which I belong,
and to one of which you might be appointed as secretary or treasurer.
Then you would be your own mistress, and free; but is freedom worth