latent suspicion in Jemima’s jealous mind that Ruth had purposely done aught—­looked a look—­uttered a word—­modulated a tone—­for the sake of attracting.  As Jemima recalled all the passages of their intercourse, she slowly confessed to herself how pure and simple had been all Ruth’s ways in relation to Mr. Farquhar.  It was not merely that there had been no coquetting, but there had been simple unconsciousness on Ruth’s part, for so long a time after Jemima bad discovered Mr. Farquhar’s inclination for her; and, when at length she had slowly awakened to some perception of the state of his feelings, there had been a modest, shrinking dignity of manner, not startled, or emotional, or even timid, but pure, grave, and quiet; and this conduct of Ruth’s Jemima instinctively acknowledged to be of necessity transparent and sincere.  Now, and here, there was no hypocrisy; but some time, somewhere, on the part of somebody, what hypocrisy, what lies must have been acted, if not absolutely spoken, before Ruth could have been received by them all as the sweet, gentle, girlish widow, which she remembered they had all believed Mrs. Denbigh to be when first she came among them!  Could Mr. and Miss Benson know?  Could they be a party to the deceit?  Not sufficiently acquainted with the world to understand how strong had been the temptation to play the part they did, if they wished to give Ruth a chance, Jemima could not believe them guilty of such deceit as the knowledge of Mrs. Denbigh’s previous conduct would imply; and yet how it darkened the latter into a treacherous hypocrite, with a black secret shut up in her soul for years—­living in apparent confidence, and daily household familiarity with the Bensons for years, yet never telling the remorse that ought to be corroding her heart!  Who was true?  Who was not?  Who was good and pure?  Who was not?  The very foundations of Jemima’s belief in her mind were shaken.

Could it be false?  Could there be two Ruth Hiltons?  She went over every morsel of evidence.  It could not be.  She knew that Mrs. Denbigh’s former name had been Hilton.  She had heard her speak casually, but charily, of having lived in Fordham.  She knew she had been in Wales but a short time before she made her appearance in Eccleston.  There was no doubt of the identity.  Into the middle of Jemima’s pain and horror at the afternoon’s discovery, there came a sense of the power which the knowledge of this secret gave her over Ruth; but this was no relief, only an aggravation of the regret with which Jemima looked back on her state of ignorance.  It was no wonder that when she arrived at home, she was so oppressed with headache that she had to go to bed directly.

“Quiet, mother! quiet, dear, dear mother” (for she clung to the known and tried goodness of her mother more than ever now), “that is all I want.”  And she was left to the stillness of her darkened room, the blinds idly flapping to and fro in the soft evening breeze, and letting in the rustling sound of the branches which waved close to her window, and the thrush’s gurgling warble, and the distant hum of the busy town.