University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

Introduoed by Ruth to the Benningtons, Henry
soon became intimate with them. He created quite
a stir in the town, and appeared willing, nay, solicitous
of extending his acquaintance in it. Dr. Cake
and Miss Judson were soon also numbered among
his familiars, and those who had known Henry in
other scenes, would have wondered by what kind
of alchymy he took to those worthies—perhaps it
was for want of excitement, and for something to
amuse him. After William Bennington's explanation
of the affair of Dr. Cake's letter to Miss Judson,
that lady had expressed herself sorry of the mistake
under which she had acted, and hoped that Mr.
Bennington would say so to Dr. Cake. On hearing
this, and burning for a triumph over Wickelmous,
who had circulated through Perryville that the Judson
family had, in extremity, when himself was away,
sent for Cake, and discarded him almost instantly for
want of skill, and moved, maybe, by other motives,
in which the virtues and person of the amiable Elizabeth
were more concerned, the Doctor immediately
concluded a truce with her, and an intercourse
was soon established between them of the
most amicable nature. In truth, having once been

slightly feverish since the affair of the letter, Miss
Judson had sent for Doctor Cake, and he had been
so fortunate as to administer a cooling medicine
to her, which produced an almost instantaneous
happy effect. None of the Judson household had
been indisposed since that time, and it was shrewdly
suspected by the Perryville gossips, that if any
should be thereafter, Doctor Wickelmous would not
be the physician called in. Dr. Cake, though he
was prudent enough not to display it, bore no goodwill
to the Lormans; perhaps from the impression
that there might have been some trickery in the
matter of the letter on Ruth's part, or from the natural
feeling that we like not those who even innocently
have been the cause of casting ridicule upon us. It
certainly could not have been, in the Doctor's case,
a proof of the maxim that love rejected turns to
hate. Be that as it may, the result was the same,
and we will not stop to inquire whether it was sympathy
or not, but merely mention the fact, that Dr.
Cake's dislike of the Lormans was largely shared by
Miss Elizabeth Judson. These two were the only
ones in Perryville who did not bear the Lormans the
kindliest feelings, and they were restrained by their
popularity, from saying aught against them.

Very soon Henry's visits grew less frequent to
Lorman's, and in proportion as they decreased there,
they increased at Mr. Bennington's. He and William
Bennington became inseparables. Miss Bennington
staid more at home, not that she was less

cordial with Ruth when they met, but Miss Catharine's
household duties appeared to be more urgent.
William Bennington still visited Ruth as often as
formerly, but oftener went unaccompanied by his
sister, and his attentions were evidently more marked.

Thus weeks wore away, and Henry's popularity
was increasing in the town of Perryville. Mr. Lorman,
in the meantime, had gone down the river with
his brother, the Captain, in some speculation or other,
and Ruth was consequently much confined to the
house, there being nobody about it but herself,
to take charge of the family and direct the servants.
For the two last weeks she had not been to
Perryville, not even to attend the church on Sunday.
She wondered why for the last four or five days she
had not seen Miss Bennington or her brother, but
she reflected that the autumnal rains had set in,
which might have prevented their visits; in fact,
Miss Bennington had so sent her word.

Sometimes, when Ruth was sitting alone with
William Bennington, it would occur to her there
might be something serious in his attentions, but not
having anything like even a just estimate of her own
attractions, she would discharge such a passing
thought from her bosom, with a self-reproof for
having had it. And she blushed when she remembered
her own vanity, and reflected that the rains
had kept William Bennington away. Ruth was not
the least of a coquette, and it would have given her
real pain to think she must inflict it on another. Her

affections were wholly and solely given to Ralph.
Absence had, if possible, increased their intensity,
and the greatest pleasure she had in the world
was in reading Ralph's letters, and in looking over
the many little tokens of his regard which he had
given her. She slept with his letters under her pillow,
and the last thing at night, just before she commended
her spirit to the Father of all mercies, and
the first thing in the morning, after she had expressed
her thankfulness that she was permitted to see another
day, was to read and re-read them.

Ralph was still at college; he had even spent his
first vacation there, and as the life he lead was a
monotonous one, his letters to Ruth contained few
incidents, but they breathed and burned with deep,
strong and devoted expressions of affection. They
might be said to be a history of the heart's emotions
under the tenderest passion. By a finesse, which
lovers at least will pardon, Ralph's letters to Ruth
came enclosed in those of Helen Murray, to whom
Ralph sent them, for knowing that Mr. Lorman did
not like him after what his father had said to that
gentleman of him, he was fearful to arouse against
himself the father's influence over the daughter's
mind. To this arrangement Ruth, not without
many compunctions of filial duty, consented, and her
letters were conveyed to Ralph through the same
channel. This prevented the lovers from hearing
from each other as often as under a direct communication
they would have done, but they consoled

themselves by believing that to them the long intervals
that elapsed in their correspondence, was in
some measure made up by its interrupted security.
Ruth repeatedly in her letters to Ralph expressed the
wish that their communications might be direct, as
she thought their present mode of interchanging their
sentiments involved duplicity, but she was always
overruled by Ralph, who implored her, by the love
between them, to write to him through the same
channel as formerly. He said, that not only might
Miss Murray feel offended if her friendly aid, after
being resorted to so long, was rejected, but that he
feared the prejudices of her father against himself
might give her uneasiness, and that her father would,
in all probability, write to his father on the subject.
This would be very much to his injury, as his
father would not only be harsh to him on that account,
but might be induced to stop what little supplies
he might otherwise be disposed to send him,
and also combine with her father to prevent their
marriage. These arguments prevailed with Ruth.

Not having been to church for the last two weeks,
nor even into town, as we have said, Ruth, on the
coming Sabbath, resolved to be present at divine
worship. Attended by a servant girl, she took her
way to church, and entered it just as the preacher
was ascending the sacred desk. When the service
was over, as Ruth passed out of the front door, it
occurred to her that many of the congregation gazed
at her very hard. Miss Judson, who used to be the

very first to greet her, when they met, with gross
compliments, brushed directly by her so rudely as
almost to push her from the path. Then turning,
Miss Elizabeth looked Ruth full in the face—tossed
off her head with a disdainful air—but without
deigning otherwise to notice her. While Ruth was
wondering upon this conduct, Dr. Cake passed by
her also without the least recognition. On turning
round, Ruth beheld Henry looking at her with so
evil an eye that it made her start. At this moment
little Billy came up to his sister, sobbing, with his
Sunday clothes all torn, and his face and hands all
covered with blood.

“Billy! Billy! what has happened to you!” said
Ruth, “you have been a bad boy! Why did you
not wait and come to church with me?”

“'Cause I did wait,” said Billy. “I was playing
by the barn when you come away.”

“What's the matter with you, Billy? What have
you been doing?”

“Why,” said Billy, through his tears, “that Sam
Ferret that stays in Mr. Judson's store, said that you
were bad before you left home, and that people here
wouldn't come to see you. And I jumped on him
and beat him, though he is a bigger boy 'an me.
Yes,” continued little Billy, facing Henry, and
shaking his little fist at him, “and when I'm a man
I'll beat you, too; for you are always bringing harm
on sister Ruth: and Jim Ferret says you told Miss
Judson this, and it's a story.”

Henry looked as if he wished the earth would
open and swallow him.

A deep sense that she had been calumniated and
injured so pressed upon Ruth that she could scarcely
control her emotions. Her father and uncle were
both away, and she felt like one forlorn. At this
moment, Miss Bennington and her brother, who had
seen and heard all that passed, amidst many others,
for there was quite a crowd about the church,
advanced and greeted her with their accustomed
kindness. Unable any longer to control her feelings,
Ruth took the proffered hand of each and burst into
tears.

A number of the young Kentuckians around cast
ominous glances at Henry, which might speedily
have turned to something more than frowns, had
not, at this very instant, our friend of other scenes,
Hearty Coil, made his appearance, wet as a river
god, and bearing in his arms a child, wet as himself,
and nearly frightened to death.

Hearty, with his “family circle,” had just arrived
at Perryville. As the steamer which bore them
rounded to at the landing, a little boy, the son of
one of the most respectable citizens of Perryville,
Mr. Moore, in attempting to get upon the boat ahead
of his companions, and while there was a considerable
space between it and the wharf, fell overboard.
At the moment the child fell in, the hands bearing
the lines leaped on shore and hauled the boat close
to it, so that the person of the child, when it arose

to the surface, was hidden from the view, so that
there was great fear that he would be drowned.
There was evidently much risk to any one, under
the circumstances, who might attempt to save it.
Hearty was standing on the guards, an eager gazer
at Perryville, when the child fell in. Calling out
there was a child overboard, and to throw him a
rope, Hearty leaped in to the rescue. He disappeared
under the side of the boat, between it and
the shore; and, after a fearful suspense, of such
duration that the crowd thought that both were
lost, Hearty appeared, like Cassius from the Tiber,
bearing the fainting child in his arms. A dozen
hands were outstretched to help him to the shore,
and a loud shout welcomed him. Cassius was not
prouder of his burden that was Coil of his. Many
of the bystanders knew the boy, and exclaimed it
was Mr. Moore's.

“Then, by the Powers,” said Hearty, “show me
the way, till I take him to his bereaved parents,—
no, by Jingoes, they're not bereaved yet, for the
little fellow is alive and kicking.”

“This way, this way,” exclaimed many of the
crowd, and several of them led the way to Mr.
Moore's house, which was a few doors beyond the
church. The rest of the crowd followed after
Hearty, while Mrs. Coil and the family circle
brought up the rear. The mother of the child was
just leaving the church; and the little fellow, who

had entirely recovered his senses ere they reached
it, exclaimed, on beholding her,

“O! there's my mother! there's my mother!—
take me to her.”

The mother, hearing the accents of her child and
seeing his condition, sprang towards him, and Hearty
placed him in her arms.

“Are you hearty, Madam?” said Coil. “The
little fellow's wet, Madam, but that's all.”

A few words served to explain the event, to the
agitated parent, and she clasped her child to her
bosom, and overwhelmed his preserver with thanks.

As Coil looked round on the crowd, he beheld
Ruth.

“By the Powers,” he exclaimed, “if this a'n't
Miss Ruth!” and then making his best bow, he continued,
“and are you hearty?—O, but I am glad to
see you.”

Ruth shook Hearty cordially by the hand, and
welcomed his wife and family, who, by this time,
had pushed their way through the throng that were
gazing on and wondering. When Henry saw Hearty
he stepped aside, but not before the quick eye of the
latter discovered him.

“Ah, by the Powers!” exclaimed Hearty, “there's
Mister Henry, `Master Henry,' as Miss Murray—
a'n't she a witty lady and beautiful—calls him. Who
the devil expected to see him here?”

Hearty was so excited at seeing Ruth, and with
the rescue of the child, that he talked on, though

among strangers, with even more than his usual
want of caution, notwithstanding Ruth, who felt
very awkwardly, tried to check him by telling him
that he must come to see her, and giving him the
direction.

“Did you bring me no letters?” she asked.

“To be sure I did,” replied he; “bless your soul
and body, to be sure I did, Miss Ruth. You'll see
the news there, all about this Mr. Beckford too. He
beat a poor girl in the theatre, by the Powers—she
was once a respectable woman, and it's his fault if
she is not respectable now—he beat her, I tell you,
in the theatre, and she just out pistol and shot him.
He's skulking about here, I suppose, for some evil;
you know he liked to have killed me one day, when
I was on my own side of the road—and he has
never paid for the carryall from that day to this;
old Miser Beckford nearly pestered me to death
about it. You see it's all truth what I tell you. I've
got it in black and white in the newspapers, and
Miss Murray has writ whole letters of the transaction
to you. I knew the poor girl well when she
was respectable,” continued Hearty, glancing quickly
at Mrs. Coil, for she was given to jealousy, and
thought Hearty irresistible with the sex.

It was in vain Ruth tried to stop Hearty; for he
was so fond of hearing himself talk, and of addressing
his fellow-citizens, as he had been a candidate
for office, that when he once got a-going he considered
any question put to him apart from the main

matter, as a stump speaker would an interruption
from the crowd—an artifice to snap the thread of
his discourse. He therefore went on and spoke out
his speech, his rescue of the child having added no
small degree to his self-consequence among strangers,
as he felt it made him a marked man; and the
sight of Henry Beckford had raised his bile—for
Hearty never could forgive him the awful cast he
got from the carryall by his wilful transgression of
the law, together with the rent in his inexpressibles,
which he never thought of without shame.

“Yes,” said Hearty, “what I tell you is a known
and printed fact; and, by the Powers, if he had fell
into the water—being he is so fond of proverbs, as
Miss Murray says,—and I had been by, I would ha'
left him to the proverb to save him.”

Ruth had, while Hearty continued speaking with
his eye cast rather on Henry than herself, partly
got through the crowd. Miss Bennington and her
brother, who had recovered somewhat from the bewilderment
of the scene, pressed Ruth to go home
and dine with them; but she was obliged to decline
in consequence of there being no one but the servants
with the children.

“Then allow me to be your escort,” said William,
and Ruth, anxious to escape from the crowd,
took his arm and passed on, telling Hearty and his
wife they must come as soon as possible and see her,
and that as soon as she got home, she would send a

black boy down to the boat to show them the way,
and help them with their baggage.

William and Ruth walked on in silence for some
distance, when William asked—

“Miss Ruth, then it was no joke what you told me
to tell Dr. Cake?”

“What I told you to tell Dr. Cake!” said Ruth,
surprised.

“Yes, you remember, when I took the letter he
addressed to you, I told you I would say to him you
were engaged?”

Ruth blushed, “O! yes, I remember,” she said.

“Is it true?” said William in a subdued voice.
“Excuse me, it is not idle curiosity, Miss Lorman.
If it is a fact, I would know it, for it will prevent me
from involving my feelings hopelessly.”

“Mr. Bennington,” said Ruth, looking up into William's
face confidingly, but blushing deeply, “I am
most grateful for what you have said, most grateful!
doubly so from what has transpired to-day, for I
now feel if I have enemies here, I have friends also.
But I believe it is true.”

William, after a few moments' silence, in which he
seemed to be struggling with his feelings, asked Ruth
who Hearty was, and, to turn the conversation, she
gave him a long account of that worthy.