The Complete Works (Illustrated Edition). Elizabeth Gaskell
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reproachful. He told her the story as well as he could; and, as he felt it deeply, he told it with heart's eloquence; and, as he ended and looked at her, there were tears in the eyes of both.
"And what does the doctor say?" asked she, after a pause.
"He insists upon quiet; he orders medicines and strong broth. I cannot tell you all; Mrs Hughes can. She has been so truly good. 'Doing good, hoping for nothing again.'"
"She looks very sweet and gentle. I shall sit up to-night and watch her myself; and I shall send you and Mrs Hughes early to bed, for you have both a worn look about you I don't like. Are you sure the effect of that fall has gone off? Do you feel anything of it in your back still? After all, I owe her something for turning back to your help. Are you sure she was going to drown herself?"
"I cannot be sure, for I have not questioned her. She has not been in a state to be questioned; but I have no doubt whatever about it. But you must not think of sitting up after your journey, Faith."
"Answer me, Thurstan. Do you feel any bad effect from that fall?"
"No, hardly any. Don't sit up, Faith, to-night!"
"Thurstan, it's no use talking, for I shall; and, if you go on opposing me, I dare say I shall attack your back, and put a blister on it. Do tell me what that 'hardly any' means. Besides, to set you quite at ease, you know I have never seen mountains before, and they fill me and oppress me so much that I could not sleep; I must keep awake this first night, and see that they don't fall on the earth and overwhelm it. And now answer my questions about yourself."
Miss Benson had the power, which some people have, of carrying her wishes through to their fulfilment; her will was strong, her sense was excellent, and people yielded to her—they did not know why. Before ten o'clock she reigned sole power and potentate in Ruth's little chamber. Nothing could have been better devised for giving her an interest in the invalid. The very dependence of one so helpless upon her care inclined her heart towards her. She thought she perceived a slight improvement in the symptoms during the night, and she was a little pleased that this progress should have been made while she reigned monarch of the sick-room. Yes, certainly there was an improvement. There was more consciousness in the look of the eyes, although the whole countenance still retained its painful traces of acute suffering, manifested in an anxious, startled, uneasy aspect. It was broad morning light, though barely five o'clock, when Miss Benson caught the sight of Ruth's lips moving, as if in speech. Miss Benson stooped down to listen.
"Who are you?" asked Ruth, in the faintest of whispers.
"Miss Benson—Mr Benson's sister," she replied.
The words conveyed no knowledge to Ruth; on the contrary, weak as a babe in mind and body as she was, her lips began to quiver, and her eyes to show a terror similar to that of any little child who wakens in the presence of a stranger, and sees no dear, familiar face of mother or nurse to reassure its trembling heart.
Miss Benson took her hand in hers, and began to stroke it caressingly.
"Don't be afraid, dear; I'm a friend come to take care of you. Would you like some tea now, my love?"
The very utterance of these gentle words was unlocking Miss Benson's heart. Her brother was surprised to see her so full of interest, when he came to inquire later on in the morning. It required Mrs Hughes's persuasions, as well as his own, to induce her to go to bed for an hour or two after breakfast; and, before she went, she made them promise that she should be called when the doctor came. He did not come until late in the afternoon. The invalid was rallying fast, though rallying to a consciousness of sorrow, as was evinced by the tears which came slowly rolling down her pale sad cheeks—tears which she had not the power to wipe away.
Mr Benson had remained in the house all day to hear the doctor's opinion; and now that he was relieved from the charge of Ruth by his sister's presence, he had the more time to dwell upon the circumstances of her case—so far as they were known to him. He remembered his first sight of her; her little figure swaying to and fro as she balanced herself on the slippery stones, half smiling at her own dilemma, with a bright, happy light in the eyes that seemed like a reflection from the glancing waters sparkling below. Then he recalled the changed, affrighted look of those eyes as they met his, after the child's rebuff of her advances;—how that little incident filled up the tale at which Mrs Hughes had hinted, in a kind of sorrowful way, as if loath (as a Christian should be) to believe evil. Then that fearful evening, when he had only just saved her from committing suicide, and that nightmare sleep! And now, lost, forsaken, and but just delivered from the jaws of death, she lay dependent for everything on his sister and him,—utter strangers a few weeks ago. Where was her lover? Could he be easy and happy? Could he grow into perfect health, with these great sins pressing on his conscience with a strong and hard pain? Or had he a conscience?
Into whole labyrinths of social ethics Mr Benson's thoughts wandered, when his sister entered suddenly and abruptly.
"What does the doctor say? Is she better?"
"Oh, yes! she's better," answered Miss Benson, sharp and short. Her brother looked at her in dismay. She bumped down into a chair in a cross, disconcerted manner. They were both silent for a few minutes; only Miss Benson whistled and clucked alternately.
"What is the matter, Faith? You say she is better."
"Why, Thurstan, there is something so shocking the matter, that I cannot tell you."
Mr Benson changed colour with affright. All things possible and impossible crossed his mind but the right one. I said, "all things possible;" I made a mistake. He never believed Ruth to be more guilty than she seemed.
"Faith, I wish you would tell me, and not bewilder me with those noises of yours," said he, nervously.
"I beg your pardon; but something so shocking has just been discovered—I don't know how to word it—She will have a child. The doctor says so."
She was allowed to make noises unnoticed for a few minutes. Her brother did not speak. At last she wanted his sympathy.
"Isn't it shocking, Thurstan? You might have knocked me down with a straw when he told me."
"Does she know?"
"Yes; and I am not sure that that isn't the worst part of all."
"How?—what do you mean?"
"Oh! I was just beginning to have a good opinion of her, but I'm afraid she is very depraved. After the doctor was gone, she pulled the bed-curtain aside, and looked as if she wanted to speak to me. (I can't think how she heard, for we were close to the window, and spoke very low.) Well, I went to her, though I really had taken quite a turn against her. And she whispered, quite eagerly, 'Did he say I should have a baby?' Of course, I could not keep it from her; but I thought it my duty to look as cold and severe as I could. She did not seem to understand how it ought to be viewed, but took it just as if she had a right to have a baby. She said, 'Oh, my God, I thank Thee! Oh! I will be so good!' I had no patience with her then, so I left the room."
"Who is with her?"
"Mrs Hughes. She is not seeing the thing in a moral light, as I should have expected."
Mr Benson was silent again. After some time he began:
"Faith, I don't see this affair quite as you do. I believe I am right."
"You surprise me, brother! I don't understand you."
"Wait awhile! I want to make my feelings very clear to you, but I don't know where to begin, or how to express myself."
"It is, indeed, an extraordinary subject for us to have to talk about; but if once I get clear of this girl, I'll wash my hands of all such cases again."
Her brother was not attending to her; he was reducing his own ideas to form.
"Faith, do you know I rejoice in this child's advent?"
"May God forgive you, Thurstan!—if you know what you are saying. But, surely, it is a temptation, dear Thurstan."
"I do not think it is a delusion. The sin appears to me