"Mrs. Morgan," she said, sitting down in the little parlour appropriated to the landlady, for she felt her strength suddenly desert her--"Mrs. Morgan, I'm afraid Mr. Bellingham is very ill;"--here she burst into tears, but instantly checking herself, "Oh, what must I do?" continued she; "I don't think he has known anything all through the night, and he looks so strange and wild this morning."

She gazed up into Mrs. Morgan's face, as if reading an oracle.

"Indeed, miss, ma'am, and it's a very awkward thing. But don't cry, that can do no good; 'deed it can't. I'll go and see the poor young man myself, and then I can judge if a doctor is wanting."

Ruth followed Mrs. Morgan upstairs. When they entered the sick-room Mr. Bellingham was sitting up in bed, looking wildly about him, and as he saw them, he exclaimed--

"Ruth! Ruth! come here; I won't be left alone!" and then he fell down exhausted on the pillow. Mrs. Morgan went up and spoke to him, but he did not answer or take any notice.

"I'll send for Mr. Jones, my dear, 'deed and I will; we'll have him here in a couple of hours, please God."

"Oh, can't he come sooner?" asked Ruth, wild with terror.

"'Deed no! he lives at Llanglas when he's at home, and that's seven mile away, and he may be gone a round eight or nine mile on the other side Llanglas; but I'll send a boy on the pony directly."