George Eliot, writing of _Ruth_ just after it was published,
said, “Of course, you have read _Ruth_ by this time. Its style
was a great refreshment to me from its finish and fullness. How
pretty and graphic are the touches of description.… That little
attic in the minister’s vestry, for example, which, with its
pure white dimity bed-curtains, its bright green walls, and
the rich brown of its stained floor, reminded me of a snowdrop
springing out of the soil.”—_Life of George Eliot._
After tea Miss Benson took her upstairs to her room. The white dimity
bed, and the walls, stained green, had something of the colouring and
purity of effect of a snowdrop; while the floor, rubbed with a mixture
that turned it into a rich dark brown, suggested the idea of the
garden-mould out of which the snowdrop grows. As Miss Benson helped the
pale Ruth to undress, her voice became less full-toned and hurried; the
hush of approaching night subdued her into a softened, solemn kind of
tenderness, and the murmured blessing sounded like granted prayer.
* * * * *
In the Bensons’ house there was the same unconsciousness of individual
merit, the same absence of introspection and analysis of motive, as
there had been in her mother; but it seemed that their lives were pure
and good, not merely from a lovely and beautiful nature, but from some
law, the obedience to which was, of itself, harmonious peace, and which
governed them almost implicitly, and with as little questioning on their
part, as the glorious stars which haste not, rest not, in their eternal
obedience. This household had many failings: they were but human, and,
with all their loving desire to bring their lives into harmony with the
will of God, they often erred and fell short; but, somehow, the very
errors and faults of one individual served to call out higher excellences
in another, and so they re-acted upon each other, and the result of short
discords was exceeding harmony and peace. But they had themselves no idea
of the real state of things; they did not trouble themselves with marking
their progress by self-examination; if Mr. Benson did sometimes, in hours
of sick incapacity for exertion, turn inwards, it was to cry aloud with
almost morbid despair, “God be merciful to me a sinner!” But he strove to
leave his life in the hands of God, and to forget himself.
Ruth sat still and quiet through the long first day. She was languid and
weary from her journey; she was uncertain what help she might offer to
give in the household duties, and what she might not. And, in her languor
and in her uncertainty, it was pleasant to watch the new ways of the
people among whom she was placed. After breakfast, Mr. Benson withdrew
to his study, Miss Benson took away the cups and saucers, and, leaving
the kitchen door open, talked sometimes to Ruth, sometimes to Sally,
while she washed them up. Sally had upstairs duties to perform, for which
Ruth was thankful, as she kept receiving rather angry glances for her
unpunctuality as long as Sally remained downstairs. Miss Benson assisted
in the preparation for the early dinner, and brought some kidney-beans to
shred into a basin of bright, pure spring-water, which caught and danced
in the sunbeams as she sat near the open casement of the parlour, talking
to Ruth of things and people which as yet the latter did not understand,
and could not arrange and comprehend. She was like a child who gets a few
pieces of a dissected map, and is confused until a glimpse of the whole
unity is shown him.