CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE SICK MAN WRITES A LETTER.

William Jessup seemed to be getting better rapidly after those few words with Ruth, that had lifted a mountain of pain from his heart, pain deeper and keener than the biting anguish of his wound, or the fever which preyed upon him continually, though he scarcely felt it, now that the anguish of mind was gone.

"I shall be better, I shall be quite well, only let me get one word to him. He is so rash. Ah, when that is done, I can rest a little," he kept thinking to himself, for the subject seemed so distasteful to Ruth that he shrunk from naming it to her. "If the old man Storms would but come, I might trust him; but he always sends that lad, who frightens Ruth. Poor child, poor child!"

Ruth was sitting by her father's bed when these thoughts possessed him, and broke out in a tremulous exclamation, his eyes fastened tenderly on her.

"What is it, father? What are you thinking of? Nothing ails me. I must not be pitied at all while you are ill, or only because of that. What are you thinking about?"

"Only this, Ruthy. Don't let it bother you, though. Only, if I could get a word to the young master--"

Ruth shrunk visibly from the anxious eyes bent upon her, but forced herself to answer, calmly, "If I could see him one minute, alone. Oh, if I could," she said, clasping the hands in her lap till the blood fled from them, "but it would be of no use trying."

All at once Jessup rose from his pillow, but leaned back again, gasping for breath.

"Put another pillow under my head, and prop me up a bit. I will write a line with my own hand. I wonder we never thought of it before. Bring me a pen, and the ink-bottle. The big Bible, too, from yon table. It will be all the better for that."

Ruth obeyed him at once. Why had she never thought of this? Surely a letter could be got to that sick-chamber without danger. That, at least, would relieve her father's anxiety, and remind Hurst of her.

Why had she never thought of it before? That was not strange; Jessup was no letter writer, and, save a few figures, now and then, Ruth had not seen him use a pen half a dozen times in her life. It seemed a marvel to her even then that he should undertake so unusual a task.

The girl had a pretty desk of her own, otherwise a supply of ink and paper might have been wanting. As it was, she brought both to her father's bed, and arranged the great Bible before him, that he might use them at once.

At any time it would have been a severe task that the gardener had undertaken; but now his weak fingers shook so fearfully that he was compelled to lay the pen down at every word, almost in despair. But the great heart gave his hand both strength and skill. After many pauses for rest, and struggles for breath, a few lines were written, and this was what they said:

MY DEAR YOUNG MASTER :--Have no fear about me. I have sworn, in soul, before Almighty God, to keep all that is within me a secret forever. No law and no blame shall ever reach you through me. Oh, that my eyes had been struck blind before they saw your face that night, when you shot me down! I would have groped in darkness to my grave, rather than have seen what I did. Sometimes I think it must have been all a dream. But it haunts me so--it haunts me so. Your father saved my life once. Maybe I am saving his now. I hope so. Do not fear about me. I shall not be more silent in death than I am in life. WILLIAM JESSUP

Many a misspelt word did this short epistle contain. Many an uncouth letter that linked sentences running riot with each other; but the spirit of a high resolve was there, and the good man exhausted the little strength left to him in writing it.

"You will seal this," he whispered, hoarsely, giving her the paper to fold and direct. "Some one will take it to him."

"Yes, I will go. He shall get it. How, I do not know; but if he is well enough to read it, the paper shall reach him."

"And no one else. Remember that."

"I will remember. Oh, father, what is this terrible thing?"

"Be silent, Ruth. I will not have you question me."

"Forgive me, father."

"Yes, yes."

The poor man spoke in painful gasps. The old Bible seemed to bear him down; he struggled under the weight, but could not remove it.

Ruth lifted the book in her arms, settled the pillows under her father's head, and would have stayed by him, but he motioned her away.

Oh, how precious, yet how perilous that paper seemed to the poor girl! He would touch it. His eyes would follow the jagged lines. They would bring assurance of safety to him. He might even guess that she had been the messenger through whom it had reached him. She did not understand the meaning of this important scrawl. With regard to that, her mind was swayed by vague uncertainties, but she knew that it was pacific, and intended for good.

Ruth tied on her bonnet, and set forth for "The Rest" at once, with the precious letter in her bosom, over which she folded her scarlet sacque with additional caution.

"Perhaps--perhaps I shall see him. It might have meant nothing, after all. He could not be so false. Lady Rose is like a sister to him, that is all! I am so foolish to care; so very, very foolish. But, then, how can I help it?"

The day was so beautiful, that such hopeful thoughts came to Ruth with the very atmosphere she breathed. The birds were singing all around her, and a thousand summer insects filled the air with music. Coming, as she did, from the close seclusion of a sick-room, all these things thrilled her with fresh vigor. Her step was light as she walked. The breath melted like wine on her red lips. Once or twice she paused to snatch a handful of violets from the grass, and drank up their perfume thirstily.

At last she came out into the luxurious beauty of the pleasure-grounds close to "The Rest," and from thence, looked up to the window where her young husband lay, all unconscious of her coming. Perhaps she had hoped that he might be well enough to sit up. Certainly, when she saw no one at the window, her heart sunk, and a deep sigh escaped her. It would not do to be found there by any of the household. She felt that, and bent her steps towards the servants' entrance, heavy-hearted and irresolute.