Everything was ready at last, and the whole family started for the pier, where they were to meet their friends. Such a crowd of people surrounded them upon their arrival, that Ruth, who merely knew a few of them slightly, felt quite over-whelmed, and wished that her usual companion, Ernest, had been beside her.

The steamer which had been chartered for the occasion now came alongside the pier, and every one was occupied with the business of embarking.

When all the party were safely on board, Ruth found herself amongst a number of strangers, far away from Julia, who had evidently quite forgotten her, and was laughing and chatting with a little group of girls at the other end of the vessel. Her aunt was entertaining the ladies, and her uncle walking up and down the deck in earnest conversation with two gentlemen; Rupert was trying to get on the paddle-box, and there was no one near her but Gerald, the facetious leader of a knot of young men. Ruth felt very lonely and rather sorrowful; she had been eagerly antic.i.p.ating this picnic, and now she seemed to be quite neglected, while every one else was gay and happy.

She had not the courage to make her way through the visitors to reach Julia at the other end of the boat, for she had an undefined feeling that if she went she would not be welcomed there. Her thoughts flew back to the one spot of earth where she was always wanted and ever welcomed, and she heaved a little sigh.

"What is the matter, my fair coz?" asked Gerald, who was standing near and heard the sigh. "Are the Fates very unpropitious?"

"No, Cousin Gerald," she answered shyly.

She could not understand the young man who patronized her, and talked to her as if she were a little child, and she fancied that he was making fun of her.

"Then why do you sigh?" he inquired.

"I have nothing else to do," she said, smiling.

"Has Julia left you without any introduction? Well, we will soon remedy that," he said as he led her towards a very fair young girl, dressed in blue and white, and having introduced the two girls he left them talking, and strolled off with a friend.

Ruth's companion was by no means shy, she had a great deal to say, and began by making remarks upon the people on board, and telling little sc.r.a.ps of their personal histories.

"You see that old gentleman walking with Mr. Woburn. That is Mr. Ama.s.s, the banker. They say that he is awfully rich, but I am sure that he is a terrible screw. Only look at his wife, and see how shabbily she dresses.

Don't you see her over there with the daisies in her bonnet? And that is her niece, Miss Game, flirting with Mr. Trim. Ah! he is walking away now; he prefers a chat with Edith Thorpe. How amused they look! I suppose he is telling her what Miss Game has been saying. Yes, I am sure they are laughing at her!"

"But surely," said Ruth, looking rather shocked, "he would not be so rude as to talk to a young lady, and then go away and laugh at her!"

"My dear child," replied the other, laughing, "every one does it, more or less."

"But are none of them _friends_? Do none of them care for each other sufficiently to refrain from laughing?" asked Ruth earnestly.

"Very few persons care enough for their friends to be quiet about their follies and weaknesses," replied this worldly-wise young lady, and then she continued her running commentary upon the visitors until the steamer arrived at its destination, a beautiful little bay where the water was so clear that one could see the sea-weeds growing underneath. Tall trees grew not far from the sh.o.r.e, and upon a slight eminence was situated an old castle, not possessing many historical a.s.sociations, but in a fairly good state of preservation, and much frequented by pleasure parties from Stonegate.

The older ladies at once made their way to a shady nook under the trees, and the rest of the party strolled about the grounds in twos and threes until a tempting repast had been spread, not upon the gra.s.s, but upon long wooden tables in the castle yard.

Ruth was utterly astonished. Her ideas of a picnic were gathered from the simple and joyous little parties held in the woods near her home, when the hamper, filled with cold meat, tartlets, and milk or lemonade, was sent on in the milk cart or one of the farm wagons, a white cloth was spread under the shade of a tree, and the whole party sat on the gra.s.s round it, and were merry and lively, regarding the little accidents which would occasionally happen as so much cause for mirth.

But this sumptuous collation, with its garnished dishes of poultry and joints, salads, tarts, jellies, blancmange, ices and champagne, with various fruits, all tastefully arranged, and the accessories of gla.s.s and flowers, silver forks and spoons, and long seats, with waiters hurrying about, made a picnic quite a different affair, and--Ruth was unfashionable enough to think--took away all the fun of it. She could see that her aunt was somewhat anxious, and was quite as vexed at any slight accident which occurred as if she had been giving a party in her own house.

Of course there were several toasts and a good deal of speech-making, and a considerable quant.i.ty of champagne was drunk before the guests left the tables and dispersed, some to the tennis court, others to explore the castle, and a few to take a country walk in the green lanes.

The afternoon was very warm, but the hush of the summer's stillness was broken by the merry voices of the girls as they made their way through the old castle and peeped out of the windows at their friends in the tennis court below. There was a continual flutter of light dresses through the low doorways and up the dingy stairs, and merry sounds of laughter echoed through the empty chambers. It was the first castle that romantic little Ruth had ever seen; and although she could not gather much of its history from the little books sold at the gate, she tried to imagine the scenes that had been enacted there, to people it with knights in armour, and to fancy that the girlish faces which peeped through the windows were those of "fayre ladyes" of bygone days.

She was aroused from her day-dream by a scream from one of the girls, and saw Gerald, looking white and scared, hurrying towards a small door leading to the keep. The tennis players ceased their game, all eyes were turned in one direction, and a frightened whisper ran through the crowd as Mr. Woburn hastened across the ground. On the very edge of a broken tottering wall projecting from the side of the keep sat Rupert--ever an adventurous little fellow--his face white and his legs dangling. He had crept up into the keep alone, and climbed as high as he could, just to give them all a fright. And he had succeeded, but not without risk to himself, for the shriek of terror which some one gave upon seeing him had awakened him to a sense of his danger, and looking down upon the terrified faces below he grew frightened and almost lost the power to keep his seat. It was a terrible moment, and every one paused in horror-stricken silence.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"That's right, Ruey, sit still!" cried a clear, ringing voice. "Shall I come up to keep you company? But you must get to the other end of the wall. Don't try to crawl; push yourself along like this," cried Ruth, sitting on a low fence and propelling herself sideways, clutching it with her hands on either side, quite regardless of the notice she was attracting. It was the best thing she could have done, for the boy, hearing her cheery tones and seeing that the faces below were no longer upturned in terror, began to regain his courage, and imitated his cousin's movements, thus getting farther and farther from the dangerous corner and nearer to the firmer masonry of the keep, through which the young men were hurrying to his rescue. Slowly and awkwardly he shuffled along, and reached the end of the wall just as Ruth reached the end of her fence, for she had kept on all the time for the sake of example.

"Thank G.o.d he is safe!" cried Mr. Woburn, as Gerald caught the little fellow in his arms and disappeared within the walls of the building.

"And this young lady has saved him," said a gentleman who had just appeared upon the scene. He had been taking a country ramble, had seen the boy's danger from a considerable distance, and arrived, almost breathless, in the castle yard just as Rupert was lifted from his perilous position.

"If he had fainted or turned giddy he must have fallen, and that wall would not have borne another person. Indeed, if the boy had not been a very light weight, I am afraid it would have given way;" and as if to verify his words a small piece of stone, which had probably been loosened by the boy's movements, came crashing down from the wall.

Ruth was now the universal object of attention, and she felt dreadfully bashful and awkward as one after another gathered round her and praised "her wonderful presence of mind," and "her remarkable courage." "So fearless, too," said one young dandy, who would not on any account have risked his dainty limbs. "I really thought she was going to climb up and fetch him down."

"I should not have been surprised if she had done so," said a young lady near him.

The poor girl blushed, and began to wonder if she had done rightly in calling out so loudly and drawing every one's attention to herself, for her mother had always told her that a young girl should seek to avoid notice.

"And yet," she thought, "it cannot be wrong. I only wanted to cheer little Ru, and I could not stop to think of any other way."

CHAPTER X.

BUSYBOROUGH.

The appearance of little Rupert in the castle yard diverted attention from his blushing cousin, while friends and relatives crowded round him to scold, applaud, or pet, as they deemed fit. His mother, overcome by the anxiety and suspense of those terrible moments, fainted directly he was brought down to her, but was soon restored, and grew very anxious that the affair should not interfere with the happiness of her guests.

Some, indeed, proposed returning at once to Stonegate, but they were overruled by the younger members of the party, who were anxious to remain until the moon had risen, and also by Mrs. Woburn's desire not to curtail their enjoyment; and it was finally settled that the steamer should not return until ten o'clock.

Tea, coffee, and other refreshments were handed round, and the interrupted games were resumed and carried on until the summer evening grew chilly. The dew began to fall, and gave warning that it was too late for out-of-door sports, and drove them into the shelter of the old castle, where the young people proposed a dance. There was a s.p.a.cious room in the lower part of the building which had been often used for such a purpose, and after hunting up a village musician and pressing him into their service, hats and wraps were thrown aside and the dancing commenced. Ruth did not understand the steps, but sat down near the married ladies and looked on at what, to her unaccustomed eyes, was a gay and lively scene. Yet she could not enter into it as she had entered into the pleasures of the preceding days. She could not forget the alarm of the afternoon; she was sure that her aunt was feeling ill and weary, and she felt that the gaiety around was rather ill-timed and out of harmony with the feelings of the hostess. The hours pa.s.sed slowly to those who were merely looking on, but at ten the dancing ceased, the old fiddler was dismissed, and amidst a great deal of laughter and chatter the gay party left the castle and made their way to the steamer.

The moon was shining brilliantly, and the walls of the old castle gleamed in its light or were hidden in dense shadow by the surrounding trees. The steamer lay in the little bay just below, every inch of her visible in the moonlight, and all agreed that it was a perfect night for a water trip.

Ruth longed for a little quiet, and strove to escape from her lively companions, whose mirth did not accord with her feelings. She sat in a sheltered corner, and looked at the vast expanse of water and at the quiet stars keeping watch overhead. Nothing so much reminded her of home as the stars, which shone upon her just as they had shone at home, and with the thought of home came a remembrance of the Heavenly Father of whom she had thought so little lately, but who had watched over her unceasingly and had helped her that day to save her little cousin from a horrible fate.

Mr. Woburn and Gerald returned to Busyborough a few days after the picnic, and the remaining weeks of the sea-side holiday pa.s.sed all too quickly for Ruth, who was never tired of the delights of sea and sh.o.r.e and all the varied amus.e.m.e.nts that Stonegate afforded.

Still, she was anxious to commence her studies at the young ladies'

college her cousin attended, and spent many an hour thinking of it and trying to imagine what the school, the governesses, and the pupils would be like. It was of little use to question Julia, who always declared that she "didn't want to be bothered about school in the holidays," and that Ruth would soon find out "how horrid it was."

It was in September that they bade farewell to Stonegate and left for Busyborough. The days were growing shorter and colder, and as the railway journey occupied two or three hours it was late in the day when they reached their destination, and the street lamps and shop windows were all aglow with gas-light.

What a large noisy place it seemed to country-bred Ruth, as their cab rattled through street after street brilliantly lighted, down long roads, past handsome houses and gardens, until it stopped before a large many-windowed house, with a long flight of stone steps and a small garden, enclosed by ma.s.sive iron railings.

Rupert and Julia ran up the steps and disappeared, and Ruth followed her aunt into the tile-paved hall, where two servants were waiting to receive them. It was a home-coming to all the others, but to the country cousin it was quite strange and new.

"It is good to be at home again," said Mrs. Woburn. "Come, Ruth, I will show you your room."

She led the way upstairs and opened the door of a pleasant little room, furnished tastefully with every requisite for a young girl's apartment.

Everything was so pretty, and the bright fire burning in the grate gave the room such a cosy look, that Ruth was delighted, and tried to express her grateful thanks, but was simply bidden to make herself at home and to be very happy.

Left alone in the room which was to be her own, she began to look around her and to admire the pretty French bedstead, the light modern furniture, and the pictures, bookshelves, and brackets upon the walls.

How much larger and more elegant it was than the tiny room which had been hers at Cressleigh! She felt that she was indeed growing farther away from the old life every day. "If it were not for Julia, and the fact that I am so far from home, I could be perfectly happy here," was her mental comment.

They were two large "if's," and Julia was the one which occupied the princ.i.p.al share of her thoughts. She did not "take to" her cousin, neither did she try to make the best of the very apparent fact that their tastes were dissimilar. Instead of seeking for points on which they could agree, she allowed her mind to dwell continually upon their diversity, and was beginning to return her cousin's ill-concealed contempt for her rustic and unfashionable notions by a growing scorn and proud dislike, which though at first secretly cherished could not fail to show themselves in time.