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.