She regretted her rash promise to Mr Bellingham, of attending to the little boy's welfare; all that she could do was done by means of Mrs Mason's servant, through whom she made inquiries, and sent the necessary help.
The subject of Jenny's illness was the prominent one in the house.
Ruth told of her own adventure, to be sure; but when she was at the very crisis of the boy's fall into the river, the more fresh and vivid interest of some tidings of Jenny was brought into the room, and Ruth ceased, almost blaming herself for caring for anything besides the question of life or death to be decided in that very house.
Then a pale, gentle-looking woman was seen moving softly about; and it was whispered that this was the mother come to nurse her child.
Everybody liked her, she was so sweet-looking, and gave so little trouble, and seemed so patient, and so thankful for any inquiries about her daughter, whose illness, it was understood, although its severity was mitigated, was likely to be long and tedious.

While all the feelings and thoughts relating to Jenny were predominant, Sunday arrived.

Mrs Mason went the accustomed visit to her father's, making some little show of apology to Mrs Wood for leaving her and her daughter; the apprentices dispersed to the various friends with whom they were in the habit of spending the day; and Ruth went to St Nicholas', with a sorrowful heart, depressed on account of Jenny, and self-reproachful at having rashly undertaken what she had been unable to perform.
As she came out of church, she was joined by Mr Bellingham.

She had half hoped that he might have forgotten the arrangement, and yet she wished to relieve herself of her responsibility.

She knew his step behind her, and the contending feelings made her heart beat hard, and she longed to run away.
"Miss Hilton, I believe," said he, overtaking her, and bowing forward, so as to catch a sight of her rose-red face.