gaily than ever.

The cold grey dawn was drearily lighting up the streets when Mrs.
Mason and her company returned home. The lamps were extinguished,
yet the shutters of the shops and dwelling-houses were not
opened. All sounds had an echo unheard by day. One or two
houseless beggars sat on doorsteps, and shivering, slept with
heads bowed on their knees, or resting against the cold hard
support afforded by the wall.

Ruth felt as if a dream had melted away, and she were once more
in the actual world. How long it would be, even in the most
favourable chance, before she should again enter the shire-hall,
or hear a band of music, or even see again those bright, happy
people--as much without any semblance of care or woe as if they
belonged to another race of beings! Had they ever to deny
themselves a wish, much less a want? Literally and figuratively
their lives seemed to wander through flowery pleasure-paths. Here
was cold, biting, mid-winter for her, and such as her--for those
poor beggars almost a season of death; but to Miss Duncombe and
her companions, a happy, merry time--when flowers still bloomed,
and fires crackled, and comforts and luxuries were piled around
them like fairy gifts. What did they know of the meaning of the
word, so terrific to the poor? What was winter to them? But Ruth
fancied that Mr. Bellingham looked as if he could understand the
feelings of those removed from him by circumstance and station.
He had drawn up the windows of his carriage, it is true, with a
shudder.

Ruth, then, had been watching him.