That baby-touch called out her love; the doors of her heart were thrown open wide for the little infant to go in and take possession.
"Ah, my darling!" said Ruth, falling back weak and weary.

"If God will but spare you to me, never mother did more than I will.

I have done you a grievous wrong--but, if I may but live, I will spend my life in serving you!" "And in serving God!" said Miss Benson, with tears in her eyes.

"You must not make him into an idol, or God will, perhaps, punish you through him." A pang of affright shot through Ruth's heart at these words; had she already sinned and made her child into an idol, and was there punishment already in store for her through him?
But then the internal voice whispered that God was "Our Father," and that He knew our frame, and knew how natural was the first outburst of a mother's love; so, although she treasured up the warning, she ceased to affright herself for what had already gushed forth.
"Now go to sleep, Ruth," said Miss Benson, kissing her, and darkening the room.

But Ruth could not sleep; if her heavy eyes closed, she opened them again with a start, for sleep seemed to be an enemy stealing from her the consciousness of being a mother.