these were the simple means she used to please them. And that these simple means prevailed, and she did please them, let the still darkened chamber, and its long-deferred illumination witness!
The candles came at last, and it was time for moving homeward. Cutting paper carefully, and rolling it about the stalks of these same flowers, occasioned some delay; but even this was done in time, and Ruth was ready.
"Good night!" said Tom. "A memorable and delightful visit, John! Good night!"
John thought he would walk with them.
"No, no. Don't!" said Tom. "What nonsense! We can get home very well alone, I couldn't think of taking you out."
But John said he would rather.
"Are you sure you would rather?" said Tom. "I am afraid you only say so out of politeness."
John being quite sure, gave his arm to Ruth, and led her out. Fiery-face, who was again in attendance, acknowledged her departure with so cold a curtsey that it was hardly visible; and cut Tom, dead.
Their host was bent on walking the whole distance, and would not listen to Tom's dissuasions. Happy time, happy walk, happy parting, happy dreams! But there are some sweet day-dreams, so there are, that put the visions of the night to shame.
Busily the Temple fountain murmured in the moonlight, while Ruth lay sleeping with her flowers beside her, and John Westlock sketched a portrait—whose?—from memory.
CHAPTER XLVI.
IN WHICH MISS PECKSNIFF MAKES LOVE, MR. JONAS MAKES WRATH, MRS. GAMP MAKES TEA, AND MR. CHUFFEY MAKES BUSINESS.
On the next day's official duties coming to a close, Tom hurried home without losing any time by the way; and, after dinner and a short rest, sallied out again, accompanied by Ruth, to pay his projected visit to Todgers's. Tom took Ruth with him, not only because it was a great pleasure to him to have her for his companion whenever he could, but because he wished her to cherish and comfort poor Merry; which she, for her own part (having heard the wretched history of that young wife from Tom), was all eagerness to do.
"She was so glad to see me," said Tom, "that I am sure she will be glad to see you. Your sympathy is certain to be much more delicate and acceptable than mine."
"I am very far from being certain of that, Tom," she replied; "and indeed you do yourself an injustice. Indeed you do. But I hope she may like me, Tom."
"Oh, she is sure to do that!" cried Tom, confidently.
"What a number of friends I should have, if everybody was of your
