Ruth | Page 9

and they were walking briskly
through the frosty air; the free motion was so inspiriting that Ruth
almost danced along, and quite forgot all about shabby gowns and
grumbling guardians. The shire-hall was even more striking than she
had expected. The sides of the staircase were painted with figures that
showed ghostly in the dim light, for only their faces looked out of the
dark, dingy canvas, with a strange fixed stare of expression.
The young milliners had to arrange their wares on tables in the
ante-room, and make all ready before they could venture to peep into
the hall-room, where the musicians were already tuning their
instruments, and where one or two charwomen (strange contrast, with
their dirty, loose attire, and their incessant chatter, to the grand echoes
of the vaulted room!) were completing the dusting of benches and
chairs.
They quitted the place as Ruth and her companions entered. They had
talked lightly and merrily in the ante-room, but now their voices were
hushed, awed by the old magnificence of the vast apartment. It was so
large that objects showed dim at the further end, as through a mist.
Full-length figures of county worthies hung around, in all varieties of
costume, from the days of Holbein to the present time. The lofty roof
was indistinct, for the lamps were not fully lighted yet; while through
the richly-painted Gothic window at one end the moonbeams fell,
many-tinted, on the floor, and mocked with their vividness the
struggles of the artificial light to illuminate its little sphere.
High above sounded the musicians, fitfully trying some strain of which
they were not certain. Then they stopped playing, and talked, and their
voices sounded goblin-like in their dark recess, where candles were
carried about in an uncertain wavering manner, reminding Ruth of the
flickering zig-zag motion of the will-o'-the-wisp.
Suddenly the room sprang into the full blaze of light, and Ruth felt less
impressed with its appearance, and more willing to obey Mrs. Mason's
sharp summons to her wandering flock, than she had been when it was

dim and mysterious. They had presently enough to do in rendering
offices of assistance to the ladies who thronged in, and whose voices
drowned all the muffled sound of the band Ruth had longed so much to
hear. Still, if one pleasure was less, another was greater than she had
anticipated.
"On condition" of such a number of little observances that Ruth thought
Mrs. Mason would never have ended enumerating them, they were
allowed during the dances to stand at a side-door and watch. And what
a beautiful sight it was! Floating away to that bounding music--now far
away, like garlands of fairies, now near, and showing as lovely women,
with every ornament of graceful dress--the elite of the county danced
on, little caring whose eyes gazed and were dazzled. Outside all was
cold, and colourless, and uniform,--one coating of snow over all. But
inside it was warm, and glowing, and vivid; flowers scented the air, and
wreathed the head, and rested on the bosom, as if it were midsummer.
Bright colours flashed on the eye and were gone, and succeeded by
others as lovely in the rapid movement of the dance. Smiles dimpled
every face, and low tones of happiness murmured indistinctly through
the room in every pause of the music.
Ruth did not care to separate figures that formed a joyous and brilliant
whole; it was enough to gaze, and dream of the happy smoothness of
the lives in which such music, and such profusion of flowers, of jewels,
elegance of every description, and beauty of all shapes and hues, were
everyday things. She did not want to know who the people were;
although to hear a catalogue of names seemed to be the great delight of
most of her companions.
In fact, the enumeration rather disturbed her; and, to avoid the shock of
too rapid a descent into the commonplace world of Miss Smiths and Mr.
Thomsons, she returned to her post in the ante-room. There she stood,
thinking or dreaming. She was startled back to actual life by a voice
close to her. One of the dancing young ladies had met with a
misfortune. Her dress, of some gossamer material, had been looped up
by nosegays of flowers, and one of these had fallen off in the dance,
leaving her gown to trail. To repair this, she had begged her partner to

bring her to the room where the assistants should have been. None were
there but Ruth.
"Shall I leave you?" asked the gentleman. "Is my absence necessary?"
"Oh, no!" replied the lady; "a few stitches will set all to rights. Besides,
I dare not enter that room by myself." So far she spoke sweetly and
prettily. But now she addressed Ruth.