Immediately there arose a clamour of tongues, each with some tale of his mother’s gentle doings, till Leonard grew dizzy with the beatings of his glad, proud heart.  Few were aware how much Ruth had done; she never spoke of it, shrinking with sweet shyness from over-much allusion to her own work at all times.  Her left hand truly knew not what her right hand did; and Leonard was overwhelmed now to hear of the love and the reverence with which the poor and outcast had surrounded her.  It was irrepressible.  He stepped forward with a proud bearing, and, touching the old man’s arm who had first spoken, Leonard tried to speak; but for an instant he could not, his heart was too full:  tears came before words, but at length he managed to say—­

“Sir, I am her son!”

“Thou! thou her bairn!  God bless you, lad,” said an old woman, pushing through the crowd.  “It was but last night she kept my child quiet with singing psalms the night through.  Low and sweet, low and sweet, they tell me—­till many poor things were hushed, though they were out of their minds, and had not heard psalms this many a year.  God in heaven bless you, lad!”

Many other wild, woe-begone creatures pressed forward with blessings on Ruth’s son, while he could only repeat—­

“She is my mother.”

From that day forward Leonard walked erect in the streets of Eccleston, where “many arose and called her blessed.”

After some weeks the virulence of the fever abated; and the general panic subsided—­indeed, a kind of fool-hardiness succeeded.  To be sure, in some instances the panic still held possession of individuals to an exaggerated extent.  But the number of patients in the hospital was rapidly diminishing, and, for money, those were to be found who could supply Ruth’s place.  But to her it was owing that the overwrought fear of the town was subdued; it was she who had gone voluntarily, and, with no thought of greed or gain, right into the very jaws of the fierce disease.  She bade the inmates of the hospital farewell, and after carefully submitting herself to the purification recommended by Mr. Davis, the principal surgeon of the place, who had always attended Leonard, she returned to Mr. Benson’s just at gloaming time.

They each vied with the other in the tenderest cares.  They hastened tea; they wheeled the sofa to the fire; they made her lie down; and to all she submitted with the docility of a child; and, when the candles came, even Mr. Benson’s anxious eye could see no change in her looks, but that she seemed a little paler.  The eyes were as full of spiritual light, the gently parted lips as rosy, and the smile, if more rare, yet as sweet as ever.

CHAPTER XXXIV

“I must go and nurse Mr. Bellingham”

The next morning Miss Benson would insist upon making Ruth lie down on the sofa.  Ruth longed to do many things; to be much more active; but she submitted, when she found that it would gratify Miss Faith if she remained as quiet as if she were really an invalid.