she did not answer her, she thought the creature was desperate
enough to force her way into his room. So she spoke--

"He has slept well: he is better."

"Oh! my God, I thank thee," murmured Ruth, sinking back against
the wall. It was too much to hear this wretched girl thanking God
for her son's life; as if, in fact, she had any lot or part in
him. And to dare to speak to the Almighty on her son's behalf!
Mrs. Bellingham looked at her with cold, contemptuous eyes, whose
glances were like ice-bolts, and made Ruth shiver up away from
them.

"Young woman, if you have any propriety or decency left, I trust
that you will not dare to force yourself into his room."

She stood for a moment as if awaiting an answer, and half
expecting it to be a defiance. But she did not understand Ruth.
She did not imagine the faithful trustfulness of her heart. Ruth
believed that, if Mr. Bellingham was alive and likely to live,
all was well. When he wanted her, he would send for her, ask for
her, yearn for her, till every one would yield before his
steadfast will. At present she imagined that he was probably too
weak to care or know who was about him; and though it would have
been an infinite delight to her to hover and brood around him,
yet it was of him she thought and not of herself. She gently drew
herself on one side to make way for Mrs. Bellingham to pass.

By and by Mrs. Morgan came up. Ruth was still near the door, from
which it seemed as if she could not tear herself away.