CONTENTS

I. The Dressmaker's Apprentice at Work
II. Ruth Goes to the Shire-Hall
III. Sunday at Mrs Mason's
IV. Treading in Perilous Places
V. In North Wales
VI. Troubles Gather About Ruth
VII. The Crisis--Watching and Waiting
VIII. Mrs Bellingham "Does the Thing Handsomely"
IX. The Storm-Spirit Subdued
X. A Note and the Answer
XI. Thurstan and Faith Benson
XII. Losing Sight of the Welsh Mountains
XIII. The Dissenting Minister's Household
XIV. Ruth's First Sunday at Eccleston
XV. Mother and Child
XVI. Sally Tells of Her Sweethearts, and Discourses
on the Duties of Life
XVII. Leonard's Christening
XVIII. Ruth Becomes a Governess in Mr Bradshaw's Family
XIX. After Five Years
XX. Jemima Refuses to Be Managed
XXI. Mr Farquhar's Attentions Transferred
XXII. The Liberal Candidate and His Precursor
XXIII. Recognition
XXIV. The Meeting on the Sands
XXV. Jemima Makes a Discovery
XXVI. Mr Bradshaw's Virtuous Indignation
XXVII. Preparing to Stand on the Truth
XXVIII. An Understanding Between Lovers
XXIX. Sally Takes Her Money Out of the Bank
XXX. The Forged Deed
XXXI. An Accident to the Dover Coach
XXXII. The Bradshaw Pew Again Occupied
XXXIII. A Mother to Be Proud Of
XXXIV. "I Must Go and Nurse Mr Bellingham"
XXXV. Out of Darkness into Light
XXXVI. The End




Drop, drop, slow tears!
And bathe those beauteous feet,
Which brought from heaven
The news and Prince of peace.
Cease not, wet eyes,
For mercy to entreat:
To cry for vengeance
Sin doth never cease.
In your deep floods
Drown all my faults and fears;
Nor let His eye
See sin, but through my tears.

_Phineas Fletcher_




CHAPTER I

The Dressmaker's Apprentice at Work


There is an assize-town in one of the eastern counties which was much
distinguished by the Tudor sovereigns, and, in consequence of their
favour and protection, attained a degree of importance that surprises
the modern traveller.

A hundred years ago its appearance was that of picturesque grandeur.
The old houses, which were the temporary residences of such of the
county-families as contented themselves with the gaieties of a
provincial town, crowded the streets and gave them the irregular but
noble appearance yet to be seen in the cities of Belgium. The sides
of the streets had a quaint richness, from the effect of the gables,
and the stacks of chimneys which cut against the blue sky above;
while, if the eye fell lower down, the attention was arrested by all
kinds of projections in the shape of balcony and oriel; and it was
amusing to see the infinite variety of windows that had been crammed
into the walls long before Mr Pitt's days of taxation. The streets
below suffered from all these projections and advanced stories above;
they were dark, and ill-paved with large, round, jolting pebbles, and
with no side-path protected by kerb-stones; there were no lamp-posts
for long winter nights; and no regard was paid to the wants of the
middle class, who neither drove about in coaches of their own, nor
were carried by their own men in their own sedans into the very
halls of their friends. The professional men and their wives, the
shopkeepers and their spouses, and all such people, walked about at
considerable peril both night and day. The broad unwieldy carriages
hemmed them up against the houses in the narrow streets. The
inhospitable houses projected their flights of steps almost into the
carriage-way, forcing pedestrians again into the danger they had
avoided for twenty or thirty paces. Then, at night, the only light
was derived from the glaring, flaring oil-lamps hung above the doors
of the more aristocratic mansions; just allowing space for the
passers-by to become visible, before they again disappeared into the
darkness, where it was no uncommon thing for robbers to be in waiting
for their prey.

The traditions of those bygone times, even to the smallest social
particular, enable one to understand more clearly the circumstances
which contributed to the formation of character. The daily life
into which people are born, and into which they are absorbed before
they are well aware, forms chains which only one in a hundred has
moral strength enough to despise, and to break when the right time
comes--when an inward necessity for independent individual action
arises, which is superior to all outward conventionalities.