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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:46 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:46 -0700 |
| commit | 9fb19019e487f3bf3984a1bdd670373a9e6e6204 (patch) | |
| tree | fc5d485b692652b9df2e94da66515cd2432d7227 /1266-h | |
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diff --git a/1266-h/1266-h.htm b/1266-h/1266-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f827559 --- /dev/null +++ b/1266-h/1266-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7709 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Lavender and Old Lace, by Myrtle Reed + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1266 ***</div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + LAVENDER AND OLD LACE + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Myrtle Reed + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + 1902 + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I. The Light in the Window </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II. The Attic </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III. Miss Ainslie </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV. A Guest </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V. The Rumours of the Valley </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI. The Garden </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VII. The Man Who Hesitates </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VIII. Summer Days </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> IX. By Humble Means </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> X. Love Letters </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> XI. The Rose of all the World </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XII. Bride and Groom </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XIII. Plans </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIV. “For Remembrance” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XV. The Secret and the Dream </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XVI. Some One Who Loved Her </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVII. Dawn </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + I. The Light in the Window + </h2> + <p> + A rickety carriage was slowly ascending the hill, and from the place of + honour on the back seat, the single passenger surveyed the country with + interest and admiration. The driver of that ancient chariot was an awkward + young fellow, possibly twenty-five years of age, with sharp knees, large, + red hands, high cheek-bones, and abundant hair of a shade verging upon + orange. He was not unpleasant to look upon, however, for he had a certain + evident honesty, and he was disposed to be friendly to every one. + </p> + <p> + “Be you comfortable, Miss?” he asked, with apparent solicitude. + </p> + <p> + “Very comfortable, thank you,” was the quiet response. He urged his + venerable steeds to a gait of about two miles an hour, then turned + sideways. + </p> + <p> + “Be you goin' to stay long, Miss?” + </p> + <p> + “All Summer, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Do tell!” + </p> + <p> + The young woman smiled in listless amusement, but Joe took it for + conversational encouragement. “City folks is dretful bashful when they's + away from home,” he said to himself. He clucked again to his unheeding + horses, shifted his quid, and was casting about for a new topic when a + light broke in upon him. + </p> + <p> + “I guess, now, that you're Miss Hathaway's niece, what's come to stay in + her house while she goes gallivantin' and travellin' in furrin parts, be + n't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am Miss Hathaway's niece, and I have never been here before. Where does + she live?” + </p> + <p> + “Up yander.” + </p> + <p> + He flourished the discarded fish-pole which served as a whip, and pointed + out a small white house on the brow of the hill. Reflection brought him + the conviction that his remark concerning Miss Hathaway was a social + mistake, since his passenger sat very straight, and asked no more + questions. + </p> + <p> + The weary wheels creaked, but the collapse which Miss Thorne momentarily + expected was mercifully postponed. Being gifted with imagination, she + experienced the emotion of a wreck without bodily harm. As in a + photograph, she beheld herself suddenly projected into space, followed by + her suit case, felt her new hat wrenched from her head, and saw hopeless + gravel stains upon the tailored gown which was the pride of her heart. She + thought a sprained ankle would be the inevitable outcome of the fall, but + was spared the pain of it, for the inability to realise an actual hurt is + the redeeming feature of imagination. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly there was a snort of terror from one of the horses, and the + carriage stopped abruptly. Ruth clutched her suit case and umbrella, + instantly prepared for the worst; but Joe reassured her. + </p> + <p> + “Now don't you go and get skeered, Miss,” he said, kindly; “'taint nothin' + in the world but a rabbit. Mamie can't never get used to rabbits, + someways.” He indicated one of the horses—a high, raw-boned animal, + sketched on a generous plan, whose ribs and joints protruded, and whose + rough white coat had been weather-worn to grey. + </p> + <p> + “Hush now, Mamie,” he said; “'taint nothin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Mamie” looked around inquiringly, with one ear erect and the other at an + angle. A cataract partially concealed one eye, but in the other was a + world of wickedness and knowledge, modified by a certain lady-like + reserve. + </p> + <p> + “G' long, Mamie!” + </p> + <p> + Ruth laughed as the horse resumed motion in mincing, maidenly steps. + “What's the other one's name?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Him? His name's Alfred. Mamie's his mother.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Thorne endeavoured to conceal her amusement and Joe was pleased + because the ice was broken. “I change their names every once in a while,” + he said, “'cause it makes some variety, but now I've named'em about all + the names I know.” + </p> + <p> + The road wound upward in its own lazy fashion, and there were trees at the + left, though only one or two shaded the hill itself. As they approached + the summit, a girl in a blue gingham dress and a neat white apron came out + to meet them. + </p> + <p> + “Come right in, Miss Thorne,” she said, “and I'll explain it to you.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth descended, inwardly vowing that she would ride no more in Joe's + carriage, and after giving some directions about her trunk, followed her + guide indoors. + </p> + <p> + The storm-beaten house was certainly entitled to the respect accorded to + age. It was substantial, but unpretentious in outline, and had not been + painted for a long time. The faded green shutters blended harmoniously + with the greyish white background, and the piazza, which was evidently an + unhappy afterthought of the architect, had two or three new shingles on + its roof. + </p> + <p> + “You see it's this way, Miss Thorne,” the maid began, volubly; “Miss + Hathaway, she went earlier than she laid out to, on account of the folks + decidin' to take a steamer that sailed beforehand—before the other + one, I mean. She went in sech a hurry that she didn't have time to send + you word and get an answer, but she's left a letter here for you, for she + trusted to your comin'.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Thorne laid her hat and jacket aside and settled herself comfortably + in a rocker. The maid returned presently with a letter which Miss Hathaway + had sealed with half an ounce of red wax, presumably in a laudable effort + to remove temptation from the path of the red-cheeked, wholesome, farmer's + daughter who stood near by with her hands on her hips. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Ruth Thorne,” the letter began, + </p> + <p> + “Dear Niece: + </p> + <p> + “I am writing this in a hurry, as we are going a week before we expected + to. I think you will find everything all right. Hepsey will attend to the + house-keeping, for I don't suppose you know much about it, coming from the + city. She's a good-hearted girl, but she's set in her ways, and you'll + have to kinder give in to her, but any time when you can't, just speak to + her sharp and she'll do as you tell her. + </p> + <p> + “I have left money enough for the expenses until I come back, in a little + box on the top shelf of the closet in the front room, under a pile of + blankets and comfortables. The key that unlocks it is hung on a nail + driven into the back of the old bureau in the attic. I believe Hepsey is + honest and reliable, but I don't believe in tempting folks. + </p> + <p> + “When I get anywhere where I can, I will write and send you my address, + and then you can tell me how things are going at home. The catnip is + hanging from the rafters in the attic, in case you should want some tea, + and the sassafras is in the little drawer in the bureau that's got the key + hanging behind it. + </p> + <p> + “If there's anything else you should want, I reckon Hepsey will know where + to find it. Hoping that this will find you enjoying the great blessing of + good health, I remain, + </p> + <p> + “Your Affectionate Aunt, + </p> + <p> + “JANE HATHAWAY. + </p> + <p> + “P. S. You have to keep a lamp burning every night in the east window of + the attic. Be careful that nothing catches afire.” + </p> + <p> + The maid was waiting, in fear and trembling, for she did not know what + directions her eccentric mistress might have left. + </p> + <p> + “Everything is all right, Hepsey,” said Miss Thorne, pleasantly, “and I + think you and I will get along nicely. Did Miss Hathaway tell you what + room I was to have?” + </p> + <p> + “No'm. She told me you was to make yourself at home. She said you could + sleep where you pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I will go up and see for myself. I would like my tea at six + o'clock.” She still held the letter in her hand, greatly to the chagrin of + Hepsey, who was interested in everything and had counted upon a peep at + it. It was not Miss Hathaway's custom to guard her letters and she was + both surprised and disappointed. + </p> + <p> + As Ruth climbed the narrow stairway, the quiet, old-fashioned house + brought balm to her tired soul. It was exquisitely clean, redolent of + sweet herbs, and in its atmosphere was a subtle, Puritan restraint. + </p> + <p> + Have not our houses, mute as they are, their own way of conveying an + impression? One may go into a house which has been empty for a long time, + and yet feel, instinctively, what sort of people were last sheltered + there. The silent walls breathe a message to each visitor, and as the + footfalls echo in the bare cheerless rooms, one discovers where Sorrow and + Trouble had their abode, and where the light, careless laughter of gay + Bohemia lingered until dawn. At night, who has not heard ghostly steps + upon the stairs, the soft closing of unseen doors, the tapping on a + window, and, perchance, a sigh or the sound of tears? Timid souls may + shudder and be afraid, but wiser folk smile, with reminiscent tenderness, + when the old house dreams. + </p> + <p> + As she wandered through the tiny, spotless rooms on the second floor of + Miss Hathaway's house, Ruth had a sense of security and peace which she + had never known before. There were two front rooms, of equal size, looking + to the west, and she chose the one on the left, because of its two south + windows. There was but one other room, aside from the small one at the end + of the hall, which, as she supposed, was Hepsey's. + </p> + <p> + One of the closets was empty, but on a shelf in the other was a great pile + of bedding. She dragged a chair inside, burrowed under the blankets, and + found a small wooden box, the contents clinking softly as she drew it + toward her. + </p> + <p> + Holding it under her arm, she ascended the narrow, spiral stairs which led + to the attic. At one end, under the eaves, stood an old mahogany dresser. + The casters were gone and she moved it with difficulty, but the slanting + sunbeams of late afternoon revealed the key, which hung, as her aunt had + written, on a nail driven into the back of it. + </p> + <p> + She knew, without trying, that it would fit the box, but idly turned the + lock. As she opened it, a bit of paper fluttered out, and, picking it up, + she read in her aunt's cramped, But distinct hand: “Hepsey gets a dollar + and a half every week. Don't you pay her no more.” + </p> + <p> + As the house was set some distance back, the east window in the attic was + the only one which commanded a view of the sea. A small table, with its + legs sawed off, came exactly to the sill, and here stood a lamp, which was + a lamp simply, without adornment, and held about a pint of oil. + </p> + <p> + She read the letter again and, having mastered its contents, tore it into + small pieces, with that urban caution which does not come amiss in the + rural districts. She understood that every night of her stay she was to + light this lamp with her own hands, but why? The varnish on the table, + which had once been glaring, was scratched with innumerable rings, where + the rough glass had left its mark. Ruth wondered if she were face to face + with a mystery. + </p> + <p> + The seaward side of the hill was a rocky cliff, and between the vegetable + garden at the back of the house and the edge of the precipice were a few + stumps, well-nigh covered with moss. From her vantage point, she could see + the woods which began at the base of the hill, on the north side, and + seemed to end at the sea. On the south, there were a few trees near the + cliff, but others near them had been cut down. + </p> + <p> + Still farther south and below the hill was a grassy plain, through which a + glistening river wound slowly to the ocean. Willows grew along its margin, + tipped with silvery green, and with masses of purple twilight tangled in + the bare branches below. + </p> + <p> + Ruth opened the window and drew a long breath. Her senses had been dulled + by the years in the city, but childhood, hidden though not forgotten, came + back as if by magic, with that first scent of sea and Spring. + </p> + <p> + As yet, she had not fully realised how grateful she was for this little + time away from her desk and typewriter. The managing editor had promised + her the same position, whenever she chose to go back, and there was a + little hoard in the savings-bank, which she would not need to touch, owing + to the kindness of this eccentric aunt, whom she had never seen. + </p> + <p> + The large room was a typical attic, with its spinning-wheel and discarded + furniture—colonial mahogany that would make many a city matron + envious, and for which its owner cared little or nothing. There were + chests of drawers, two or three battered trunks, a cedar chest, and + countless boxes, of various sizes. Bunches of sweet herbs hung from the + rafters, but there were no cobwebs, because of Miss Hathaway's perfect + housekeeping. + </p> + <p> + Ruth regretted the cobwebs and decided not to interfere, should the tiny + spinners take advantage of Aunt Jane's absence. She found an old chair + which was unsteady on its rockers but not yet depraved enough to betray + one's confidence. Moving it to the window, she sat down and looked out at + the sea, where the slow boom of the surf came softly from the shore, + mingled with the liquid melody of returning breakers. + </p> + <p> + The first grey of twilight had come upon the world before she thought of + going downstairs. A match-safe hung upon the window casing, newly filled, + and, mindful of her trust, she lighted the lamp and closed the window. + Then a sudden scream from the floor below startled her. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Thorne! Miss Thorne!” cried a shrill voice. “Come here! Quick!” + </p> + <p> + White as a sheet, Ruth flew downstairs and met Hepsey in the hall. “What + on earth is the matter!” she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Joe's come with your trunk,” responded that volcanic young woman, + amiably; “where'd you want it put?” + </p> + <p> + “In the south front room,” she answered, still frightened, but glad + nothing more serious had happened. “You mustn't scream like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Supper's ready,” resumed Hepsey, nonchalantly, and Ruth followed her down + to the little dining-room. + </p> + <p> + As she ate, she plied the maid with questions. “Does Miss Hathaway light + that lamp in the attic every night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm. She cleans it and fills it herself, and she puts it out every + morning. She don't never let me touch it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why does she keep it there?” + </p> + <p> + “D' know. She d' know, neither.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Hepsey, what do you mean? Why does she do it if she doesn't know why + she does it?” + </p> + <p> + “D'know.'Cause she wants to, I reckon.” + </p> + <p> + “She's been gone a week, hasn't she?” + </p> + <p> + “No'm. Only six days. It'll be a week to-morrer.” + </p> + <p> + Hepsey's remarks were short and jerky, as a rule, and had a certain + explosive force. + </p> + <p> + “Hasn't the lamp been lighted since she went away?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm. I was to do it till you come, and after you got here I was to ask + you every night if you'd forgot it.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth smiled because Aunt Jane's old-fashioned exactness lingered in her + wake. “Now see here, Hepsey,” she began kindly, “I don't know and you + don't know, but I'd like to have you tell me what you think about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I d' know, as you say, mum, but I think—” here she lowered her + voice—“I think it has something to do with Miss Ainslie.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Miss Ainslie?” + </p> + <p> + “She's a peculiar woman, Miss Ainslie is,” the girl explained, smoothing + her apron, “and she lives down the road a piece, in the valley as, you may + say. She don't never go nowheres, Miss Ainslie don't, but folks goes to + see her. She's got a funny house—I've been inside of it sometimes + when I've been down on errands for Miss Hathaway. She ain't got no + figgered wall paper, nor no lace curtains, and she ain't got no rag + carpets neither. Her floors is all kinder funny, and she's got heathen + things spread down onto'em. Her house is full of heathen things, and + sometimes she wears'em.” + </p> + <p> + “Wears what, Hepsey? The 'heathen things' in the house?” + </p> + <p> + “No'm. Other heathen things she's got put away somewheres. She's got + money, I guess, but she's got furniture in her parlour that's just like + what Miss Hathaway's got set away in the attic. We wouldn't use them kind + of things, nohow,” she added complacently. + </p> + <p> + “Does she live all alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm. Joe, he does her errands and other folks stops in sometimes, but + Miss Ainslie ain't left her front yard for I d' know how long. Some says + she's cracked, but she's the best housekeeper round here, and if she hears + of anybody that's sick or in trouble, she allers sends'em things. She + ain't never been up here, but Miss Hathaway, she goes down there + sometimes, and she'n Miss Ainslie swaps cookin' quite regler. I have to go + down there with a plate of somethin' Miss Hathaway's made, and Miss + Ainslie allers says: 'Wait just a moment, please, Hepsey, I would like to + send Miss Hathaway a jar of my preserves.'” + </p> + <p> + She relapsed unconsciously into imitation of Miss Ainslie's speech. In the + few words, softened, and betraying a quaint stateliness, Ruth caught a + glimpse of an old-fashioned gentlewoman, reserved and yet gracious. + </p> + <p> + She folded her napkin, saying: “You make the best biscuits I ever tasted, + Hepsey.” The girl smiled, but made no reply. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think Miss Ainslie has anything to do with the light?” she + inquired after a little. + </p> + <p> + “'Cause there wasn't no light in that winder when I first come—leastways, + not as I know of—and after I'd been here a week or so, Miss + Hathaway, she come back from there one day looking kinder strange. She + didn't say much; but the next mornin' she goes down to town and buys that + lamp, and she saws off them table legs herself. Every night since, that + light's been a-goin', and she puts it out herself every mornin' before she + comes downstairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she and Miss Ainslie had been talking of shipwreck, and she + thought she would have a little lighthouse of her own,” Miss Thorne + suggested, when the silence became oppressive. + </p> + <p> + “P'raps so,” rejoined Hepsey. She had become stolid again. + </p> + <p> + Ruth pushed her chair back and stood at the dining-room window a moment, + looking out into the yard. The valley was in shadow, but the last light + still lingered on the hill. “What's that, Hepsey?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “What's what?” + </p> + <p> + “That—where the evergreen is coming up out of the ground, in the + shape of a square.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the cat's grave, mum. She died jest afore Miss Hathaway went away, + and she planted the evergreen.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought something was lacking,” said Ruth, half to herself. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want a kitten, Miss Thorne?” inquired Hepsey, eagerly. “I reckon I + can get you one—Maltese or white, just as you like.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you, Hepsey; I don't believe I'll import any pets.” + </p> + <p> + “Jest as you say, mum. It's sorter lonesome, though, with no cat; and Miss + Hathaway said she didn't want no more.” + </p> + <p> + Speculating upon the departed cat's superior charms, that made + substitution seem like sacrilege to Miss Hathaway, Ruth sat down for a + time in the old-fashioned parlour, where the shabby haircloth furniture + was ornamented with “tidies” to the last degree. There was a marble-topped + centre table in the room, and a basket of wax flowers under a glass case, + Mrs. Hemans's poems, another book, called The Lady's Garland, and the + family Bible were carefully arranged upon it. + </p> + <p> + A hair wreath, also sheltered by glass, hung on the wall near another + collection of wax flowers suitably framed. There were various portraits of + people whom Miss Thorne did not know, though she was a near relative of + their owner, and two tall, white china vases, decorated with gilt, flanked + the mantel-shelf. The carpet, which was once of the speaking variety, had + faded to the listening point. Coarse lace curtains hung from brass rings + on wooden poles, and red cotton lambrequins were festooned at the top. + </p> + <p> + Hepsey came in to light the lamp that hung by chains over the table, but + Miss Thorne rose, saying: “You needn't mind, Hepsey, as I am going + upstairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Want me to help you unpack?” she asked, doubtless wishing for a view of + “city clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “I put a pitcher of water in your room, Miss Thorne. Is there anything + else you would like?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + She still lingered, irresolute, shifting from one foot to the other. “Miss + Thorne—” she began hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Be you—be you a lady detective?” Ruth's clear laughter rang out on + the evening air. “Why, no, you foolish girl; I'm a newspaper woman, and + I've earned a rest—that's all. You mustn't read books with yellow + covers.” + </p> + <p> + Hepsey withdrew, muttering vague apologies, and Ruth found her at the head + of the stairs when she went up to her room. “How long have you been with + Miss Hathaway?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Five years come next June.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Hepsey.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Miss Thorne.” + </p> + <p> + From sheer force of habit, Ruth locked her door. Her trunk was not a large + one, and it did not take her long to put her simple wardrobe into the + capacious closet and the dresser drawers. As she moved the empty trunk + into the closet, she remembered the box of money that she had left in the + attic, and went up to get it. When she returned she heard Hepsey's door + close softly. + </p> + <p> + “Silly child,” she said to herself. “I might just as well ask her if she + isn't a'lady detective.' They'll laugh about that in the office when I go + back.” + </p> + <p> + She sat down, rocking contentedly, for it was April, and she would not + have to go back until Aunt Jane came home, probably about the first of + October. She checked off the free, health-giving months on her tired + fingers, that would know the blue pencil and the typewriter no more until + Autumn, when she would be strong again and the quivering nerves quite + steady. + </p> + <p> + She blessed the legacy which had fallen into Jane Hathaway's lap and led + her, at fifty-five, to join a “personally conducted” party to the Old + World. Ruth had always had a dim yearning for foreign travel, but just now + she felt no latent injustice, such as had often rankled in her soul when + her friends went and she remained at home. + </p> + <p> + Thinking she heard Hepsey in the hall, and not caring to arouse further + suspicion, she put out her light and sat by the window, with the shutters + wide open. + </p> + <p> + Far down the hill, where the road became level again, and on the left as + she looked toward the village, was the white house, surrounded by a garden + and a hedge, which she supposed was Miss Ainslie's. A timid chirp came + from the grass, and the faint, sweet smell of growing things floated in + through the open window at the other end of the room. + </p> + <p> + A train from the city sounded a warning whistle as it approached the + station, and then a light shone on the grass in front of Miss Ainslie's + house. It was a little gleam, evidently from a candle. + </p> + <p> + “So she's keeping a lighthouse, too,” thought Ruth. The train pulled out + of the station and half an hour afterward the light disappeared. + </p> + <p> + She meditated upon the general subject of illumination while she got ready + for bed, but as soon as her head touched the pillow she lost consciousness + and knew no more until the morning light crept into her room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. The Attic + </h2> + <p> + The maid sat in the kitchen, wondering why Miss Thorne did not come down. + It was almost seven o'clock, and Miss Hathaway's breakfast hour was half + past six. Hepsey did not frame the thought, but she had a vague impression + that the guest was lazy. + </p> + <p> + Yet she was grateful for the new interest which had come into her + monotonous life. Affairs moved like clock work at Miss Hathaway's—breakfast + at half past six, dinner at one, and supper at half past five. Each day + was also set apart by its regular duties, from the washing on Monday to + the baking on Saturday. + </p> + <p> + Now it was possible that there might be a change. Miss Thorne seemed fully + capable of setting the house topsy-turvy—and Miss Hathaway's last + injunction had been: “Now, Hepsey, you mind Miss Thorne. If I hear that + you don't, you'll lose your place.” + </p> + <p> + The young woman who slumbered peacefully upstairs, while the rest of the + world was awake, had, from the beginning, aroused admiration in Hepsey's + breast. It was a reluctant, rebellious feeling, mingled with an indefinite + fear, but it was admiration none the less. + </p> + <p> + During the greater part of a wondering, wakeful night, the excited Hepsey + had seen Miss Thorne as plainly as when she first entered the house. The + tall, straight, graceful figure was familiar by this time, and the subdued + silken rustle of her skirts was a wonted sound. Ruth's face, naturally + mobile, had been schooled into a certain reserve, but her deep, dark eyes + were eloquent, and always would be. Hepsey wondered at the opaque + whiteness of her skin and the baffling arrangement of her hair. The young + women of the village had rosy cheeks, but Miss Thorne's face was + colourless, except for her lips. + </p> + <p> + It was very strange, Hepsey thought, for Miss Hathaway to sail before her + niece came, if, indeed, Miss Thorne was her niece. There was a mystery in + the house on the hilltop, which she had tried in vain to fathom. Foreign + letters came frequently, no two of them from the same person, and the lamp + in the attic window had burned steadily every night for five years. + Otherwise, everything was explainable and sane. + </p> + <p> + Still, Miss Thorne did not seem even remotely related to her aunt, and + Hepsey had her doubts. Moreover, the guest had an uncanny gift which + amounted to second sight. How did she know that all of Hepsey's books had + yellow covers? Miss Hathaway could not have told her in the letter, for + the mistress was not awire of her maid's literary tendencies. + </p> + <p> + It was half past seven, but no sound came from upstairs. She replenished + the fire and resumed meditation. Whatever Miss Thorne might prove to be, + she was decidedly interesting. It wis pleasant to watch her, to feel the + subtle refinement of all her belongings, and to wonder what was going to + happen next. Perhaps Miss Thorne would take her back to the city, as her + maid, when Miss Hathaway came home, for, in the books, such things + frequently happened. Would she go? Hepsey was trying to decide, when there + was a light, rapid step on the stairs, a moment's hesitation in the hall, + and Miss Thorne came into the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Hepsey,” she said, cheerily; “am I late?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm. It's goin' on eight, and Miss Hathaway allers has breakfast at + half past six.” + </p> + <p> + “How ghastly,” Ruth thought. “I should have told you,” she said, “I will + have mine at eight.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm,” replied Hepsey, apparently unmoved. “What time do you want + dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “At six o'clock—luncheon at half past one.” + </p> + <p> + Hepsey was puzzled, but in a few moments she understood that dinner was to + be served at night and supper at midday. Breakfast had already been moved + forward an hour and a half, and stranger things might happen at any + minute. + </p> + <p> + Ruth had several other reforms in mind, but deemed it best to wait. After + breakfast, she remembered the lamp in the window and went up to put it + out. + </p> + <p> + It was still burning when she reached it, though the oil was almost gone, + and, placing it by the stairway, that she might not forget to have it + filled, she determined to explore the attic to her heart's content. + </p> + <p> + The sunlight streamed through the east window and searched the farthest + corners of the room. The floor was bare and worn, but carefully swept, and + the things that were stored there were huddled together far back under the + eaves, as if to make room for others. + </p> + <p> + It was not idle curiosity, but delicate sentiment, that made Ruth eager to + open the trunks and dresser drawers, and to turn over the contents of the + boxes that were piled together and covered with dust. The interest of the + lower part of the house paled in comparison with the first real attic she + had ever been in. + </p> + <p> + After all, why not? Miss Hathaway was her aunt,—her mother's only + sister,—and the house was in her care. There was no earthly reason + why she should not amuse herself in her own way. Ruth's instincts were + against it, but Reason triumphed. + </p> + <p> + The bunches of dried herbs, hanging from the rafters and swaying back and + forth in ghostly fashion, gave out a wholesome fragrance, and when she + opened trunks whose lids creaked on their rusty hinges, dried rosemary, + lavender, and sweet clover filled the room with that long-stored sweetness + which is the gracious handmaiden of Memory. + </p> + <p> + Miss Hathaway was a thrifty soul, but she never stored discarded clothing + that might be of use to any one, and so Ruth found no moth-eaten garments + of bygone pattern, but only things which seemed to be kept for the sake of + their tender associations. + </p> + <p> + There were letters, on whose yellowed pages the words had long since + faded, a dogeared primer, and several well worn schoolbooks, each having + on its fly-leaf: “Jane Hathaway, Her Book”; scraps of lace, brocade ard + rustling taffeta, quilt patterns, needlebooks, and all of the eloquent + treasures that a well stored attic can yield. + </p> + <p> + As she replaced them, singing softly to herself, a folded newspaper + slipped to the floor. It was yellow and worn, like the letters, and she + unfolded it carefully. It was over thirty years old, and around a + paragraph on the last page a faint line still lingered. It was an + announcement of the marriage of Charles G. Winfield, captain of the + schooner Mary, to Miss Abigail Weatherby. + </p> + <p> + “Abigail Weatherby,” she said aloud. The name had a sweet, old-fashioned + sound. “They must have been Aunt Jane's friends.” She closed the trunk and + pushed it back to its place, under the eaves. + </p> + <p> + In a distant corner was the old cedar chest, heavily carved. She pulled it + out into the light, her cheeks glowing with quiet happiness, and sat down + on the floor beside it. It was evidently Miss Hathaway's treasure box, put + away in the attic when spinsterhood was confirmed by the fleeting years. + </p> + <p> + On top, folded carefully in a sheet, was a gown of white brocade, + short-waisted and quaint, trimmed with pearl passementerie. The neck was + square, cut modestly low, and filled in with lace of a delicate, frosty + pattern—Point d'Alencon. Underneath the gown lay piles of lingerie, + all of the finest linen, daintily made by hand. Some of it was trimmed + with real lace, some with crocheted edging, and the rest with hemstitched + ruffles and feather-stitching. + </p> + <p> + There was another gown, much worn, of soft blue cashmere, some sea-shells, + a necklace of uncut turquoises, the colour changed to green, a + prayer-book, a little hymnal, and a bundle of letters, tied with a faded + blue ribbon, which she did not touch. There was but one picture—an + ambrotype, in an ornate case, of a handsome young man, with that dashing, + dare-devil look in his eyes which has ever been attractive to women. + </p> + <p> + Ruth smiled as she put the treasures away, thinking that, had Fate thrown + the dice another way, the young man might have been her esteemed and + respected uncle. Then, all at once, it came to her that she had + unthinkingly stumbled upon her aunt's romance. + </p> + <p> + She was not a woman to pry into others' secrets, and felt guilty as she + fled from the attic, taking the lamp with her. Afterward, as she sat on + the narrow piazza, basking in the warm Spring sunshine, she pieced out the + love affair of Jane Hathaway's early girlhood after her own fashion. + </p> + <p> + She could see it all plainly. Aunt Jane had expected to be married to the + dashing young man and had had her trousseau in readiness, when something + happened. The folded paper would indicate that he was Charles Winfield, + who had married some one else, but whether Aunt Jane had broken her + engagement, or the possible Uncle Charles had simply taken a mate without + any such formality, was a subject of conjecture. + </p> + <p> + Still, if the recreant lover had married another, would Aunt Jane have + kept her treasure chest and her wedding gown? Ruth knew that she herself + would not, but she understood that aunts were in a class by themselves. It + was possible that Charles Winfield was an earlier lover, and she had kept + the paper without any special motive, or, perhaps, for “auld lang syne.” + </p> + <p> + Probably the letters would have disclosed the mystery, and the newspaper + instinct, on the trail of a “story,” was struggling with her sense of + honour, but not for the world, now that she knew, would Ruth have read the + yellowed pages, which doubtless held faded roses pressed between them. + </p> + <p> + The strings of sea-shells, and the larger ones, which could have come only + from foreign shores, together with the light in the window, gave her a + sudden clew. Aunt Jane was waiting for her lover and the lamp was a + signal. If his name was Charles Winfield, the other woman was dead, and if + not, the marriage notice was that of a friend or an earlier lover. + </p> + <p> + The explanation was reasonable, clear, and concise—what woman could + ask for more? Yet there was something beyond it which was out of Miss + Thorne's grasp—a tantalising something, which would not be allayed. + Then she reflected that the Summer was before tier, and, in reality, now + that she was off the paper, she had no business with other people's + affairs. + </p> + <p> + The sun was hidden by gathering clouds and the air was damp before Ruth + missed the bright warmth on the piazza, and began to walk back and forth + by way of keeping warm. A gravelled path led to the gate and on either + side was a row of lilac bushes, the bare stalks tipped with green. A white + picket fence surrounded the yard, except at the back, where the edge of + the precipice made it useless. The place was small and well kept, but + there were no flower beds except at the front of the house, and there were + only two or three trees. + </p> + <p> + She walked around the vegetable garden at the back of the house, where a + portion of her Summer sustenance was planted, and discovered an unused + gate at the side, which swung back and forth, idly, without latching. She + was looking over the fence and down the steep hillside, when a sharp voice + at her elbow made her jump. + </p> + <p> + “Sech as wants dinner can come in and get it,” announced Hepsey, sourly. + “I've yelled and yelled till I've most bust my throat and I ain't a-goin' + to yell no more.” + </p> + <p> + She returned to the house, a picture of offended dignity, but carefully + left the door ajar for Ruth, who discovered, upon this rude awakening from + her reverie, that she was very hungry. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon, the chill fog made it impossible to go out, for the wind + had risen from the sea and driven the salt mist inland. Miss Hathaway's + library was meagre and uninteresting, Hepsey was busy in the kitchen, and + Ruth was frankly bored. Reduced at last to the desperate strait of putting + all her belongings in irreproachable order, she found herself, at four + o'clock, without occupation. The temptation in the attic wrestled strongly + with her, but she would not go. + </p> + <p> + It seemed an age until six o'clock. “This won't do,” she said to herself; + “I'll have to learn how to sew, or crochet, or make tatting. At last, I am + to be domesticated. I used to wonder how women had time for the endless + fancy work, but I see, now.” + </p> + <p> + She was accustomed to self analysis and introspection, and began to + consider what she could get out of the next six months in the way of gain. + Physical strength, certainly, but what else? The prospect was gloomy just + then. + </p> + <p> + “It's goin' to rain, Miss Thorne,” said Hepsey, at the door. “Is all the + winders shut?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think so,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Supper's ready any time you want it.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I will come now.” + </p> + <p> + When she sat down in the parlour, after doing scant justice to Hepsey's + cooking, it was with a grim resignation, of the Puritan sort which, + supposedly, went with the house. There was but one place in all the world + where she would like to be, and she was afraid to trust herself in the + attic. + </p> + <p> + By an elaborate mental process, she convinced herself that the cedar chest + and the old trunks did not concern her in the least, and tried to develop + a feminine fear of mice, which was not natural to her. She had just placed + herself loftily above all mundane things, when Hepsey marched into the + room, and placed the attic lamp, newly filled, upon the marble table. + </p> + <p> + Here was a manifest duty confronting a very superior person and, as she + went upstairs, she determined to come back immediately, but when she had + put the light in the seaward window, she lingered, under the spell of the + room. + </p> + <p> + The rain beat steadily upon the roof and dripped from the eaves. The light + made distorted shadows upon the wall and floor, while the bunches of + herbs, hanging from the rafters, swung lightly back and forth when the + wind rattled the windows and shook the old house. + </p> + <p> + The room seemed peopled by the previous generation, that had slept in the + massive mahogany bed, rocked in the chairs, with sewing or gossip, and + stood before the old dresser on tiptoe, peering eagerly into the mirror + which probably had hung above it. It was as if Memory sat at the + spinning-wheel, idly twisting the thread, and bringing visions of the + years gone by. + </p> + <p> + A cracked mirror hung against the wall and Ruth saw her reflection dimly, + as if she, too, belonged to the ghosts of the attic. She was not vain, but + she was satisfied with her eyes and hair, her white skin, impervious to + tan or burn, and the shape of her mouth. The saucy little upward tilt at + the end of her nose was a great cross to her, however, because it was at + variance with the dignified bearing which she chose to maintain. As she + looked, she wondered, vaguely, if she, like Aunt Jane, would grow to a + loveless old age. It seemed probable, for, at twenty-five, The Prince had + not appeared. She had her work and was happy; yet unceasingly, behind + those dark eyes, Ruth's soul kept maidenly match for its mate. + </p> + <p> + When she turned to go downstairs, a folded newspaper on the floor + attracted her attention. It was near one of the trunks which she had + opened and must have fallen out. She picked it up, to replace it, but it + proved to be another paper dated a year later than the first one. There + was no marked paragraph, but she soon discovered the death notice of + “Abigail Winfield, nee Weatherby, aged twenty-two.” She put it into the + trunk out of which she knew it must have fallen, and stood there, + thinking. Those faded letters, hidden under Aunt Jane's wedding gown, were + tempting her with their mute secret as never before. She hesitated, took + three steps toward the cedar chest, then fled ingloriously from the field. + </p> + <p> + Whoever Charles Winfeld was, he was free to love and marry again. Perhaps + there had been an estrangement and it was he for whom Aunt Jane was + waiting, since sometimes, out of bitterness, the years distil forgiveness. + She wondered at the nature which was tender enough to keep the wedding + gown and the pathetic little treasures, brave enough to keep the paper, + with its evidence of falseness, and great enough to forgive. + </p> + <p> + Yet, what right had she to suppose Aunt Jane was waiting? Had she gone + abroad to seek him and win his recreant heart again? Or was Abigail + Weatherby her girlhood friend, who had married unhappily, and then died? + </p> + <p> + Somewhere in Aunt Jane's fifty-five years there was a romance, but, after + all, it was not her niece's business. “I'm an imaginative goose,” Ruth + said to herself. “I'm asked to keep a light in the window, presumably as + an incipient lighthouse, and I've found some old clothes and two old + papers in the attic—that's all—and I've constructed a + tragedy.” + </p> + <p> + She resolutely put the whole matter aside, as she sat in her room, rocking + pensively. Her own lamp had not been filled and was burning dimly, so she + put it out and sat in the darkness, listening to the rain. + </p> + <p> + She had not closed the shutters and did not care to lean out in the storm, + and so it was that, when the whistle of the ten o'clock train sounded + hoarsely, she saw the little glimmer of light from Miss Ainslie's window, + making a faint circle in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later, as before, it was taken away. The scent of lavender + and sweet clover clung to Miss Hathaway's linen, and, insensibly soothed, + Ruth went to sleep. After hours of dreamless slumber, she thought she + heard a voice calling her and telling her not to forget the light. It was + so real that she started to her feet, half expecting to find some one + standing beside her. + </p> + <p> + The rain had ceased, and two or three stars, like timid children, were + peeping at the world from behind the threatening cloud. It was that + mystical moment which no one may place—the turning of night to day. + Far down the hill, ghostly, but not forbidding, was Miss Ainslie's house, + the garden around it lying whitely beneath the dews of dawn, and up in the + attic window the light still shone, like unfounded hope in a woman's soul, + harking across distant seas of misunderstanding and gloom, with its + pitiful “All Hail!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. Miss Ainslie + </h2> + <p> + Ruth began to feel a lively interest in her Aunt Jane, and to regret that + she had not arrived in time to make her acquaintance. She knew that Miss + Hathaway was three or four years younger than Mrs. Thorne would have been, + had she lived, and that a legacy had recently come to her from an old + friend, but that was all, aside from the discoveries in the attic. + </p> + <p> + She contemplated the crayon portraits in the parlour and hoped she was not + related to any of them. In the family album she found no woman whom she + would have liked for an aunt, but was determined to know the worst. + </p> + <p> + “Is Miss Hathaway's picture here, Hepsey?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No'm. Miss Hathaway, she wouldn't have her picter in the parlour, nohow. + Some folks does, but Miss Hathaway says't'aint modest.” + </p> + <p> + “I think she's right, Hepsey,” laughed Ruth, “though I never thought of it + in just that way. I'll have to wait until she comes home.” + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon she donned the short skirt and heavy shoes of her “office + rig,” and started down hill to explore the village. It was a day to tempt + one out of doors,—cool and bright, with that indefinable crispness + which belongs to Spring. + </p> + <p> + The hill rose sheer from the highlands, which sloped to the river on the + left, as she went down, and on the right to the forest. A side path into + the woods made her hesitate for a moment, but she went straight on. + </p> + <p> + It was the usual small town, which nestles at the foot of a hill and + eventually climbs over it, through the enterprise of its wealthier + residents, but, save for Miss Hathaway's house, the enterprise had not, as + yet, become evident. At the foot of the hill, on the left, was Miss + Ainslie's house and garden, and directly opposite, with the width of the + hill between them, was a brown house, with a lawn, but no garden except + that devoted to vegetables. + </p> + <p> + As she walked through the village, stopping to look at the display of + merchandise in the window of the single shop, which was also post-office + and grocery, she attracted a great deal of respectful attention, for, in + this community, strangers were an event. Ruth reflected that the shop had + only to grow to about fifty times its present size in order to become a + full-fledged department store and bring upon the town the rank and dignity + of a metropolis. + </p> + <p> + When she turned her face homeward, she had reached the foot of the hill + before she realised that the first long walk over country roads was hard + for one accustomed to city pavements. A broad, flat stone offered an + inviting resting-place, and she sat down, in the shadow of Miss Ainslie's + hedge, hoping Joe would pass in time to take her to the top of the hill. + The hedge was high and except for the gate the garden was secluded. + </p> + <p> + “I seem to get more tired every minute,” she thought. “I wonder if I've + got the rheumatism.” + </p> + <p> + She scanned the horizon eagerly for the dilapidated conveyance which she + had once both feared and scorned. No sound could have been more welcome + than the rumble of those creaking wheels, nor any sight more pleasing than + the conflicting expressions in “Mamie's” single useful eye. She sat there + a long time, waiting for deliverance, but it did not come. + </p> + <p> + “I'll get an alpenstock,” she said to herself, as she rose, wearily, and + tried to summon courage to start. Then the gate clicked softly and the + sweetest voice in the world said: “My dear, you are tired—won't you + come in?” + </p> + <p> + Turning, she saw Miss Ainslie, smiling graciously. In a moment she had + explained that she was Miss Hathaway's niece and that she would be very + glad to come in for a few moments. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the sweet voice again, “I know who you are. Your aunt told me + all about you and I trust we shall be friends.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth followed her up the gravelled path to the house, and into the + parlour, where a wood fire blazed cheerily upon the hearth. “It is so damp + this time of year,” she went on, “that I like to keep my fire burning.” + </p> + <p> + While they were talking, Ruth's eyes rested with pleasure upon her + hostess. She herself was tall, but Miss Ainslie towered above her. She was + a woman of poise and magnificent bearing, and she had the composure which + comes to some as a right and to others with long social training. + </p> + <p> + Her abundant hair was like spun silver—it was not merely white, but + it shone. Her skin was as fresh and fair as a girl's, and when she smiled, + one saw that her teeth were white and even; but the great charm of her + face was her eyes. They were violet, so deep in colour as to seem almost + black in certain lights, and behind them lay an indescribable something + which made Ruth love her instinctively. She might have been forty, or + seventy, but she was beautiful, with the beauty that never fades. + </p> + <p> + At intervals, not wishing to stare, Ruth glanced around the room. Having + once seen the woman, one could not fail to recognise her house, for it + suited her. The floors were hardwood, highly polished, and partly covered + with rare Oriental rugs. The walls were a soft, dark green, bearing no + disfiguring design, and the windows were draped with net, edged with + Duchesse lace. Miss Hathaway's curtains hung straight to the floor, but + Miss Ainslie's were tied back with white cord. + </p> + <p> + The furniture was colonial mahogany, unspoiled by varnish, and rubbed + until it shone. + </p> + <p> + “You have a beautiful home,” said Ruth, during a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied, “I like it.” + </p> + <p> + “You have a great many beautiful things.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered softly, “they were given to me by a—a friend.” + </p> + <p> + “She must have had a great many,” observed Ruth, admiring one of the rugs. + </p> + <p> + A delicate pink suffused Miss Ainslie's face. “My friend,” she said, with + quiet dignity, “is a seafaring gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + That explained the rugs, Ruth thought, and the vase, of finest Cloisonne, + which stood upon the mantel-shelf. It accounted also for the bertha of + Mechlin lace, which was fastened to Miss Ainslie's gown, of lavender + cashmere, by a large amethyst inlaid with gold and surrounded by baroque + pearls. + </p> + <p> + For some little time, they talked of Miss Hathaway and her travels. “I + told her she was too old to go,” said Miss Ainslie,. smiling, “but she + assured me that she could take care of herself, and I think she can. Even + if she couldn't, she is perfectly safe. These 'personally conducted' + parties are by far the best, if one goes alone, for the first time.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth knew that, but she was surprised, nevertheless. “Won't you tell me + about my aunt, Miss Ainslie?” she asked. “You know I've never seen her.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, of course I will! Where shall I begin?” + </p> + <p> + “At the beginning,” answered Ruth, with a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “The beginning is very far away, deary,” said Miss Ainslie, and Ruth + fancied she heard a sigh. “She came here long before I did, and we were + girls together. She lived in the old house at the top of the hill, with + her father and mother, and I lived here with mine. We were very intimate + for a long time, and then we had a quarrel, about something that was so + silly and foolish that I cannot even remember what it was. For five years—no, + for almost six, we passed each other like strangers, because each was too + proud and stubborn to yield. But death, and trouble, brought us together + again.” + </p> + <p> + “Who spoke first,” asked Ruth, much interested, “you or Aunt Jane?” + </p> + <p> + “It was I, of course. I don't believe she would have done it. She was + always stronger than I, and though I can't remember the cause of the + quarrel, I can feel the hurt to my pride, even at this day.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” answered Ruth, quickly, “something of the same kind once + happened to me, only it wasn't pride that held me back—it was just + plain stubbornness. Sometimes I am conscious of two selves—one of me + is a nice, polite person that I'm really fond of, and the other is so + contrary and so mulish that I'm actually afraid of her. When the two come + in conflict, the stubborn one always wins. I'm sorry, but I can't help + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think we're all like that?” asked Miss Ainslie, readily + understanding. “I do not believe any one can have strength of character + without being stubborn. To hold one's position in the face of obstacles, + and never be tempted to yield—to me, that seems the very + foundation.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but to be unable to yield when you know you should—that's + awful.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” inquired Miss Ainslie, with quiet amusement. + </p> + <p> + “Ask Aunt Jane,” returned Ruth, laughing. “I begin to perceive our + definite relationship.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie leaned forward to put another maple log on the fire. “Tell me + more about Aunt Jane,” Ruth suggested. “I'm getting to be somebody's + relative, instead of an orphan, stranded on the shore of the world.” + </p> + <p> + “She's hard to analyse,” began the older woman. “I have never been able to + reconcile her firmness with her softness. She's as hard as New England + granite, but I think she wears it like a mask. Sometimes, one sees + through. She scolds me very often, about anything that occurs to her, but + I never pay any attention to it. She says I shouldn't live here all alone, + and that I deserve to have something dreadful happen to me, but she had + all the trees cut down that stood on the hill between her window and mine, + and had a key made to my lower door, and made me promise that if I was ill + at any time, I would put a signal in my window—a red shawl in the + daytime and a light at night. I hadn't any red shawl and she gave me hers. + </p> + <p> + “One night—I shall never forget it—I had a terrible attack of + neuralgia, during the worst storm I have ever known. I didn't even know + that I put the light in the window—I was so beside myself with pain—but + she came, at two o'clock in the morning, and stayed with me until I was + all right again. She was so gentle and so tender—I shall always love + her for that.” + </p> + <p> + The sweet voice vibrated with feeling, and Ruth's thoughts flew to the + light in the attic window, but, no—it could not be seen from Miss + Ainslie's. “What does Aunt Jane look like?” she asked, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't a picture, except one that was taken a long time ago, but I'll + get that.” She went upstairs and returned, presently, putting an + old-fashioned ambrotype into Ruth's hand. + </p> + <p> + The velvet-lined case enshrined Aunt Jane in the bloom of her youth. It + was a young woman of twenty or twenty-five, seated in a straight-backed + chair, with her hands encased in black lace mitts and folded in the lap of + her striped silk gown. The forehead was high, protruding slightly, the + eyes rather small, and very dark, the nose straight, and the little chin + exceedingly firm and determined. There was an expression of maidenly + wistfulness somewhere, which Ruth could not definitely locate, but there + was no hint of it in the chin. + </p> + <p> + “Poor little Aunt Jane,” said Ruth. “Life never would be easy for her.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” returned Miss Ainslie, “but she would not let anyone know.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth strolled over to the window, thinking that she must be going, and + Miss Ainslie still held the picture in her hand. “She had a lover, didn't + she?” asked Ruth, idly. + </p> + <p> + “I-I-think so,” answered the other, unwillingly. “You remember we + quarrelled.” + </p> + <p> + A young man stopped in the middle of the road, looked at Miss Ainslie's + house, and then at the brown one across the hill. From her position in the + window, Ruth saw him plainly. He hesitated a moment, then went toward the + brown house. She noted that he was a stranger—there was no such + topcoat in the village. + </p> + <p> + “Was his name Winfield?” she asked suddenly, then instantly hated herself + for the question. + </p> + <p> + The ambrotype fell to the floor. Miss Ainslie stooped to pick it up and + Ruth did not see her face. “Perhaps,” she said, in a strange tone, “but I + never have asked a lady the name of her friend.” + </p> + <p> + Gentle as it was, Ruth felt the rebuke keenly. An apology was on her lips, + but only her flushed cheeks betrayed any emotion. Miss Ainslie's face was + pale, and there was unmistakable resentment in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I must go,” Ruth said, after an awkward silence, and in an instant Miss + Ainslie was herself again. + </p> + <p> + “No-you mustn't go, deary. You haven't seen my garden yet. I have planted + all the seeds and some of them are coming up. Isn't it beautiful to see + things grow?” + </p> + <p> + “It is indeed,” Ruth assented, forgetting the momentary awkwardness, “and + I have lived for a long time where I have seen nothing grow but car tracks + and high buildings. May I come again and see your garden?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be so glad to have you,” replied Miss Ainslie, with a quaint + stateliness. “I have enjoyed your visit so much and I hope you will come + again very soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you—I will.” + </p> + <p> + Her hostess had opened the door for her, but Ruth stood in the hall, + waiting, in obedience to some strange impulse. Then she stepped outside, + but something held her back-something that lay unspoken between them. + Those unfathomable eyes were fixed upon her, questioning, pleading, and + searching her inmost soul. + </p> + <p> + Ruth looked at her, wondering, and striving to answer the mute appeal. + Then Miss Ainslie laid her hand upon her arm. “My dear,” she asked, + earnestly, “do you light the lamp in the attic window every night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do, Miss Ainslie,” she answered, quickly. + </p> + <p> + The older woman caught her breath, as if in relief, and then the deep + crimson flooded her face. + </p> + <p> + “Hepsey told me and Aunt Jane left a letter about it,” Ruth continued, + hastily, “and I am very glad to do it. It would be dreadful to have a ship + wrecked, almost at our door.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” sighed Miss Ainslie, her colour receding, “I have often thought of + 'those who go down to the sea in ships.' It is so terrible, and sometimes, + when I hear the surf beating against the cliff, I—I am afraid.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth climbed the hill, interested, happy, yet deeply disturbed. Miss + Ainslie's beautiful, changing face seemed to follow her, and the exquisite + scent of the lavender, which had filled the rooms, clung to her senses + like a benediction. + </p> + <p> + Hepsey was right, and unquestionably Miss Ainslie had something to do with + the light; but no deep meaning lay behind it—so much was certain. + She had lived alone so long that she had grown to have a great fear of + shipwreck, possibly on account of her friend, the “seafaring gentleman,” + and had asked Miss Hathaway to put the light in the window—that was + all. + </p> + <p> + Ruth's reason was fully satisfied, but something else was not. “I'm not + going to think about it any more,” she said to herself, resolutely, and + thought she meant it. + </p> + <p> + She ate her dinner with the zest of hunger, while Hepsey noiselessly + served her. “I have been to Miss Ainslie's, Hepsey,” she said at length, + not wishing to appear unsociable. + </p> + <p> + The maid's clouded visage cleared for an instant. “Did you find out about + the lamp?” she inquired, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn't, Hepsey; but I'll tell you what I think. Miss Ainslie has + read a great deal and has lived alone so much that she has become very + much afraid of shipwreck. You know all of us have some one fear. For + instance, I am terribly afraid of green worms, though a green worm has + never harmed me. I think she asked Miss Hathaway to put the lamp in the + window, and possibly told her of something she had read which made her + feel that she should have done it before.” + </p> + <p> + Hepsey's face took on its old, impenetrable calm. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think so?” asked Miss Thorne, after a long pause. + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm.” + </p> + <p> + “It's all very reasonable, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of the seeming assent, she knew that Hepsey was not convinced; + and afterward, when she came into the room with the attic lamp and a box + of matches, the mystery returned to trouble Ruth again. + </p> + <p> + “If I don't take up tatting,” she thought, as she went upstairs, “or find + something else to do, I'll be a meddling old maid inside of six months.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. A Guest + </h2> + <p> + As the days went by, Ruth had the inevitable reaction. At first the + country brought balm to her tired nerves, and she rested luxuriously, but + she had not been at Miss Hathaway's a fortnight before she bitterly + regretted the step she had taken. + </p> + <p> + Still there was no going back, for she had given her word, and must stay + there until October. The months before her stretched out into a dreary + waste. She thought of Miss Ainslie gratefully, as a redeeming feature, but + she knew that it was impossible to spend all of her time in the house—it + the foot of the hill. + </p> + <p> + Half past six had seemed an unearthly hour for breakfast, and yet more + than once Ruth had been downstairs at five o'clock, before Hepsey was + stiring. There was no rest to be had anywhere, even after a long walk + through the woods and fields. Inaction became irritation, and each day was + filled with a thousand unbearable annoyances. She was fretful, moody, and + restless, always wishing herself back in the office, yet knowing that she + could not do good work, even if she were there. + </p> + <p> + She sat in her room one afternoon, frankly miserable, when Hepsey stalked + in, unannounced, and gave her a card. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Carl Winfield!” Ruth repeated aloud. “Some one to see me, Hepsey?” + she asked, in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm. He's a-waitin' on the piazzer.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you ask him to come in?” + </p> + <p> + “No'm. Miss Hathaway, she don't want no strangers in her house.” + </p> + <p> + “Go down immediately,” commanded Ruth, sternly, “ask him into the parlour, + and say that Miss Thorne will be down in a few moments.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm.” + </p> + <p> + Hepsey shuffled downstairs with comfortable leisure, opened the door with + aggravating slowness, then said, in a harsh tone that reached the upper + rooms distinctly: “Miss Thorne, she says that you can come in and set in + the parlour till she comes down.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” responded a masculine voice, in quiet amusement; “Miss Thorne + is kind—and generous.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth's cheeks flushed hotly. “I don't know whether Miss Thorne will go + down or not,” she said to herself. “It's probably a book-agent.” + </p> + <p> + She rocked pensively for a minute or two, wondering what would happen if + she did not go down. There was no sound from the parlour save a subdued + clearing of the throat. “He's getting ready to speak his piece,” she + thought, “and he might as well do it now as to wait for me.” + </p> + <p> + Though she loathed Mr. Carl Winfield and his errand, whatever it might + prove to be, she stopped before her mirror long enough to give a pat or + two to her rebellious hair. On the way down she determined to be + dignified, icy, and crushing. + </p> + <p> + A tall young fellow with a pleasant face rose to greet her as she entered + the room. “Miss Thorne?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—please sit down. I am very sorry that my maid should have been + so inhospitable.” It was not what she had meant to say. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's all right,” he replied, easily; “I quite enjoyed it. I must + ask your pardon for coming to you in this abrupt way, but Carlton gave me + a letter to you, and I've lost it.” Carlton was the managing editor, and + vague expectations of a summons to the office came into Ruth's mind. + </p> + <p> + “I'm on The Herald,” he went on; “that is, I was, until my eyes gave out, + and then they didn't want me any more. Newspapers can't use anybody out of + repair,” he added, grimly. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” Ruth answered, nodding. + </p> + <p> + “Of course the office isn't a sanitarium, though they need that kind of an + annex; nor yet a literary kindergarten, which I've known it to be taken + for, but—well, I won't tell you my troubles. The oculist said I must + go to the country for six months, stay outdoors, and neither read nor + write. I went to see Carlton, and he promised me a berth in the Fall—they're + going to have a morning edition, too, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Thorne did not know, but she was much interested. + </p> + <p> + “Carlton advised me to come up here,” resumed Winfield. “He said you were + here, and that you were going back in the Fall. I'm sorry I've lost his + letter.” + </p> + <p> + “What was in it?” inquired Ruth, with a touch of sarcasm. “You read it, + didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I read it—that is, I tried to. The thing looked like a + prescription, but, as nearly as I could make it out, it was principally a + description of the desolation in the office since you left it. At the end + there was a line or two commending me to your tender mercies, and here I + am.” + </p> + <p> + “Commending yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Now what in the dickens have I done?” thought Winfield. “That's it + exactly, Miss Thorne. I've lost my reference, and I'm doing my best to + create a good impression without it. I thought that as long as we were + going to be on the same paper, and were both exiles—” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and she finished the sentence for him: “that you'd come to see + me. How long have you been in town?” + </p> + <p> + “'In town' is good,” he said. “I arrived in this desolate, God-forsaken + spot just ten days ago. Until now I've hunted and fished every day, but I + didn't get anything but a cold. It was very good, of its kind—I + couldn't speak above a whisper for three days.” + </p> + <p> + She had already recognised him as the young man she saw standing in the + road the day she went to Miss Ainslie's, and mentally asked his pardon for + thinking he was a book-agent. He might become a pleasant acquaintance, for + he was tall, clean shaven, and well built. His hands were white and + shapely and he was well groomed, though not in the least foppish. The + troublesome eyes were dark brown, sheltered by a pair of tinted glasses. + His face was very expressive, responding readily to every change of mood. + </p> + <p> + They talked “shop” for a time, discovering many mutual friends, and Ruth + liked him. He spoke easily, though hurriedly, and appeared to be somewhat + cynical, but she rightly attributed it to restlessness like her own. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do on The Tribune?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Anything,” he answered, with an indefinable shrug. “'Theirs not to reason + why, theirs but to do and die.' What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “The same,” replied Ruth. “'Society,' 'Mother's Corner,' 'Under the Evening + Lamp,' and 'In the Kitchen with Aunt Jenny.'” + </p> + <p> + He laughed infectiously. “I wish Carlton could hear you say that.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't,” returned Ruth, colouring faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Why; are you afraid of him?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I am. If he speaks to me, I'm instantly stiff with terror.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he isn't so bad,” said Winfield, reassuringly, “He's naturally + abrupt, that's all; and I'll venture he doesn't suspect that he has any + influence over you. I'd never fancy that you were afraid of anybody or + anything on earth.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not afraid of anything else,” she answered, “except burglars and + green worms.” + </p> + <p> + “Carlton would enjoy the classification—really, Miss Thorne, + somebody should tell him, don't you think? So much innocent pleasure + doesn't often come into the day of a busy man.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Ruth was angry, and then, all at once, she knew Winfield as + if he had always been her friend. Conventionality, years, and the veneer + of society were lightly laid upon one who would always be a boy. Some men + are old at twenty, but Winfield would be young at seventy. + </p> + <p> + “You can tell him if you want to,” Ruth rejoined, calmly. “He'll be so + pleased that he'll double your salary on the spot.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with fun. + </p> + <p> + “I'll be pensioned, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “You're all right,” he returned, “but I guess I won't tell him. Riches + lead to temptation, and if I'm going to be on The Tribune I'd hate to have + you pensioned.” + </p> + <p> + Hepsey appeared to have a great deal of employment in the dining-room, and + was very quiet about it, with long pauses between her leisurely movements. + Winfield did not seem to notice it, but it jarred upon Ruth, and she was + relieved when he said he must go. + </p> + <p> + “You'll come again, won't you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I will, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + She stood at the window, unconsciously watching him as he went down the + hill with a long, free stride. She liked the strength in his broad + shoulders, his well modulated voice, and his clear, honest eyes; but after + all he was nothing but a boy. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Thorne,” said Hepsey, at her elbow, “is that your beau?” It was not + impertinence, but sheer friendly interest which could not be mistaken for + anything else. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered; “of course not.” + </p> + <p> + “He's real nice-lookin', ain't he? + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you got your eye on anybody else?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Miss Thorne, I don't know's you could do better.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not.” She was thinking, and spoke mechanically. From where she + stood she could still see him walking rapidly down the hill. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't you never seen him before?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Thorne turned. “Hepsey,” she said, coldly, “please go into the + kitchen and attend to your work. And the next time I have company, please + stay in the kitchen—not in the dining-room.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm,” replied Hepsey, meekly, hastening to obey. + </p> + <p> + She was not subtle, but she understood that in some way she had offended + Miss Thorne, and racked her brain vainly. She had said nothing that she + would not have said to Miss Hathaway, and had intended nothing but + friendliness. As for her being in the dining-room—why, very often, + when Miss Hathaway had company, she was called in to give her version of + some bit of village gossip. Miss Hathaway scolded her when she was + displeased, but never before had any one spoken to Hepsey in a measured, + icy tone that was at once lady-like and commanding. Tears came into her + eyes, for she was sensitive, after all. + </p> + <p> + A step sounded overhead, and Hepsey regained her self-possession. She had + heard nearly all of the conversation and could have told Miss Thorne a + great deal about the young man. For instance, he had not said that he was + boarding at Joe's, across the road from Miss Ainslie's, and that he + intended to stay all Summer. She could have told her of an uncertain + temper, peculiar tastes, and of a silver shaving-cup which Joe had + promised her a glimpse of before the visitor went back to the city; but + she decided to let Miss Thorne go on in her blind ignorance. + </p> + <p> + Ruth, meanwhile, was meditating, with an aggravated restlessness. The + momentary glimpse of the outer world had stung her into a sense of her + isolation, which she realised even more keenly than before. It was because + of this, she told herself, that she hoped Winfield liked her, for it was + not her wont to care about such trifles. He thought of her, idly, as a + nice girl, who was rather pretty when she was interested in anything; but, + with a woman's insight, influenced insensibly by Hepsey's comment, Ruth + scented possibilities. + </p> + <p> + She wanted him to like her, to stay in that miserable village as long as + she did, and keep her mind from stagnation—her thought went no + further than that. In October, when they went back, she would thank + Carlton, prettily, for sending her a friend—provided they did not + quarrel. She could see long days of intimate companionship, of that + exalted kind which is, possible only when man and woman meet on a high + plane. “We're both too old for nonsense,” she thought; and then a sudden + fear struck her, that Winfield might be several years younger than she + was. + </p> + <p> + Immediately she despised herself. “I don't care if he is,” she thought, + with her cheeks crimson; “it's nothing to me. He's a nice boy, and I want + to be amused.” + </p> + <p> + She went to her dresser, took out the large top drawer, and dumped its + contents on the bed. It was a desperate measure, for Ruth hated to put + things in order. The newspaper which had lain in the bottom of it had + fallen out also, and she shook it so violently that she tore it. + </p> + <p> + Then ribbons, handkerchiefs, stocks, gloves, and collars were + unceremoniously hustled back into the drawer, for Miss Thorne was at odds + with herself and the world. She was angry with Hepsey, she hated Winfield, + and despised herself. She picked up a scrap of paper which lay on a glove, + and caught a glimpse of unfamiliar penmanship. + </p> + <p> + It was apparently the end of a letter, and the rest of it was gone. “At + Gibraltar for some time,” she read, “keeping a shop, but will probably be + found now in some small town on the coast of Italy. Very truly yours.” The + signature had been torn off. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that isn't mine,” she thought. “It must be something of Aunt + Jane's.” Another bit of paper lay near it, and, unthinkingly, she read a + letter which was not meant for her. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“I thank you from my heart,” it began, “for understanding me. I could +not put it into words, but I believe you know. Perhaps you think it is +useless—that it is too late; but if it was, I would know. You have been +very kind, and I thank you.” + + There was neither date, address, nor signature. The message +stood alone, as absolutely as some far-off star whose light could not +be seen from the earth. Some one understood it—two understood it—the +writer and Aunt Jane. +</pre> + <p> + Ruth put it back under the paper, with the scrap of the other letter, and + closed the drawer with a bang. “I hope,” she said to herself, “that while + I stay here I'll be mercifully preserved from finding things that are none + of my business.” Then, as in a lightning flash, for an instant she saw + clearly. + </p> + <p> + Fate plays us many tricks and assumes strange forms, but Ruth knew that + some day, on that New England hill, she would come face to face with a + destiny that had been ordained from the beginning. Something waited for + her there—some great change. She trembled at the thought, but was + not afraid. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. The Rumours of the Valley + </h2> + <p> + “Miss Thorne,” said Hepsey, from the doorway of Ruth's room, “that + feller's here again.” There was an unconscious emphasis on the last word, + and Ruth herself was somewhat surprised, for she had not expected another + call so soon. + </p> + <p> + “He's a-settin' 'n in the parlour,” continued Hepsey, “when he ain't + a-walkin' around it and wearin' out the carpet. I didn't come up when he + first come, on account of my pie crust bein' all ready to put in the + oven.” + </p> + <p> + “How long has he been here?” asked Ruth, dabbing a bit of powder on her + nose and selecting a fresh collar. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, p'raps half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “That isn't right, Hepsey; when anyone comes you must tell me immediately. + Never mind the pie crust next time.” Ruth endeavoured to speak kindly, but + she was irritated at the necessity of making another apology. + </p> + <p> + When she went down, Winfield dismissed her excuses with a comprehensive + wave of the hand. “I always have to wait when I go to call on a girl,” he + said; “it's one of the most charming vagaries of the ever-feminine. I used + to think that perhaps I wasn't popular, but every fellow I know has the + same experience.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm an exception,” explained Ruth; “I never keep any one waiting. Of my + own volition, that is,” she added, hastily, feeling his unspoken comment. + </p> + <p> + “I came up this afternoon to ask a favour of you,” he began. “Won't you go + for a walk with me? It's wrong to stay indoors on a day like this.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till I get my hat,” said Ruth, rising. + </p> + <p> + “Fifteen minutes is the limit,” he called to her, as she went upstairs. + </p> + <p> + She was back again almost immediately, and Hepsey watched them in + wide-mouthed astonishment as they went down hill together, for it was not + in her code of manners that “walking out” should begin so soon. When they + approached Miss Ainslie's he pointed out the brown house across from it, + on the other side of the hill. + </p> + <p> + “Yonder palatial mansion is my present lodging,” he volunteered, “and I am + a helpless fly in the web of the 'Widder' Pendleton.” + </p> + <p> + “Pendleton,” repeated Ruth; “why, that's Joe's name.” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” returned Winfield, concisely. “He sits opposite me at the table, + and wonders at my use of a fork. It is considered merely a spear for bread + and meat at the 'Widder's.' I am observed closely at all times, and in + some respects Joe admires me enough to attempt imitation, which, as you + know, is the highest form of flattery. For instance, this morning he wore + not only a collar and tie, but a scarf pin. It was a string tie, and I've + never before seen a pin worn in one, but it's interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be.” + </p> + <p> + “He has a sweetheart,” Winfield went on, “and I expect she'll be dazzled.” + </p> + <p> + “My Hepsey is his lady love,” Ruth explained. + </p> + <p> + “What? The haughty damsel who wouldn't let me in? Do tell!” + </p> + <p> + “You're imitating now,” laughed Ruth, “but I shouldn't call it flattery.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment, there was a chilly silence. Ruth did not look at him, but + she bit her lip and then laughed, unwillingly. “'It's all true,” she said, + “I plead guilty.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, I know all about you,” he went on. “You knit your brows in deep + thought, do not hear when you are spoken to, even in a loud voice, and + your mail consists almost entirely of bulky envelopes, of a legal nature, + such as came to the 'Widder' Pendleton from the insurance people.” + </p> + <p> + “Returned manuscripts,” she interjected. + </p> + <p> + “Possibly—far be it from me to say they're not. Why, I've had 'em + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean it!” she exclaimed, ironically. + </p> + <p> + “You seek out, as if by instinct, the only crazy person in the village, + and come home greatly perturbed. You ask queer questions of your humble + serving-maid, assume a skirt which is shorter than the approved model, + speaking from the village standpoint, and unhesitatingly appear on the + public streets. You go to the attic at night and search the inmost + recesses of many old trunks.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” sighed Ruth, “I've done all that.” + </p> + <p> + “At breakfast you refuse pie, and complain because the coffee is boiled. + Did anybody ever hear of coffee that wasn't boiled? Is it eaten raw in the + city? You call supper 'dinner,' and have been known to seek nourishment at + nine o'clock at night, when all respectable people are sound asleep. In + your trunk, you have vainly attempted to conceal a large metal object, the + use of which is unknown.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my hapless chafing-dish!” groaned Ruth. + </p> + <p> + “Chafing-dish?” repeated Winfield, brightening visibly. “And I eating sole + leather and fried potatoes? From this hour I am your slave—you can't + lose me now! + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” she commanded. + </p> + <p> + “I can't—the flow of my eloquence is stopped by rapturous + anticipation. Suffice it to say that the people of this enterprising city + are well up in the ways of the wicked world, for the storekeeper takes The + New York Weekly and the 'Widder' Pendleton subscribes for The Fireside + Companion. The back numbers, which are not worn out, are the circulating + library of the village. It's no use, Miss Thorne—you might stand on + your hilltop and proclaim your innocence until you were hoarse, and it + would be utterly without effect. Your status is definitely settled.” + </p> + <p> + “How about Aunt Jane?” she inquired. “Does my relationship count for + naught?” + </p> + <p> + “Now you are rapidly approaching the centre of things,” replied the young + man. “Miss Hathaway is one woman in a thousand, though somewhat eccentric. + She is the venerated pillar of the community and a constant attendant it + church, which it seems you are not. Also, if you are really her niece, + where is the family resemblance? Why has she never spoken of you? Why have + you never been here before? Why are her letters to you sealed with red + wax, bought especially for the purpose? Why does she go away before you + come? Lady Gwendolen Hetherington,” he demanded, with melodramatic + fervour, “answer me these things if you can!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm tired,” she complained. + </p> + <p> + “Delicate compliment,” observed Winfield, apparently to himself. “Here's a + log across our path, Miss Thorne; let's sit down.” + </p> + <p> + The budded maples arched over the narrow path, and a wild canary, singing + in the sun, hopped from bough to bough. A robin's cheery chirp came from + another tree, and the clear notes of a thrush, with a mottled breast, were + answered by another in the gold-green aisles beyond. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he said, under his breath, “isn't this great!” + </p> + <p> + The exquisite peace of the forest was like that of another sphere. “Yes,” + she answered, softly, “it is beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “You're evading the original subject,” he suggested, a little later. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't had a chance to talk,” she explained. “You've done a monologue + ever since we left the house, and I listened, as becomes inferior and + subordinate woman. I have never seen my venerated kinswoman, and I don't + see how she happened to think of me. Nevertheless, when she wrote, asking + me to take charge of her house while she went to Europe, I gladly + consented, sight unseen. When I came, she was gone. I do not deny the + short skirt and heavy shoes, the criticism of boiled coffee, nor the + disdain of breakfast pie. As far is I know, Aunt Jane is my only living + relative.” + </p> + <p> + “That's good,” he said, cheerfully; “I'm shy even of an aunt. Why + shouldn't the orphans console one another?” + </p> + <p> + “They should,” admitted Ruth; “and you are doing your share nobly.” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to return the compliment. Honestly, Miss Thorne,” he continued, + seriously, “you have no idea how much I appreciate your being here. When I + first realised what it meant to be deprived of books and papers for six + months at a stretch, it seemed as if I should go mad. Still, I suppose six + months isn't as bad as forever, and I was given a choice. I don't want to + bore you, but if you will let me come occasionally, I shall be very glad. + I'm going to try to be patient, too, if you'll help me—patience + isn't my long suit.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I will help you,” answered Ruth, impulsively; “I know how hard it + must be.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not begging for your sympathy, though I assure you it is welcome.” He + polished the tinted glasses with a bit of chamois.. and his eyes filled + with the mist of weakness before he put them on again. “So you've never + seen your aunt,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No—that pleasure is still in store for me.” + </p> + <p> + “They say down at the 'Widder's' that she's a woman with a romance.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about it!” exclaimed Ruth, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Little girls mustn't ask questions,” he remarked, patronisingly, and in + his most irritating manner. “Besides, I don't know. If the 'Widder' knows, + she won't tell, so it's fair to suppose she doesn't. Your relation does + queer things in the attic, and every Spring, she has an annual weep. I + suppose it's the house cleaning, for the rest of the year she's dry-eyed + and calm.” + </p> + <p> + “I weep very frequently,” commented Ruth. + </p> + <p> + “'Tears, idle tears—I wonder what they mean.'” + </p> + <p> + “They don't mean much, in the case of a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I've never seen many of'em,” returned Winfield, “and I don't want to. + Even stage tears go against the grain with me. I know that the lady who + sobs behind the footlights is well paid for it, but all the same, it gives + me the creeps.” + </p> + <p> + “It's nothing serious—really it isn't,” she explained. “It's merely + a safety valve. If women couldn't cry, they'd explode.” + </p> + <p> + “I always supposed tears were signs of sorrow,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Far from it,” laughed Ruth. “When I get very angry, I cry, and then I got + angrier because I'm crying and cry harder.” + </p> + <p> + “That opens up a fearful possibility. What would happen if you kept + getting angrier because you were crying and crying harder because you got + angrier?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no idea,” she answered, with her dark eyes fixed upon him, “but + it's a promising field for investigation.”' + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to see the experiment.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't worry,” said Ruth, laconically, “you won't.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence, and Winfield began to draw designs on the bare + earth with a twig. “Tell me about the lady who is considered crazy,” he + suggested. + </p> + <p> + Ruth briefly described Miss Ainslie, dwelling lovingly upon her beauty and + charm. He listened indifferently at first, but when she told him of the + rugs, the real lace which edged the curtains, and the Cloisonne vase, he + became much interested. + </p> + <p> + “Take me to see her some day, won't you,” he asked, carelessly. + </p> + <p> + Ruth's eyes met his squarely. “'T isn't a 'story,'” she said, resentfully, + forgetting her own temptation. + </p> + <p> + The dull colour flooded his face. “You forget, Miss Thorne, that I am + forbidden to read or write.” + </p> + <p> + “For six months only,” answered Ruth, sternly, “and there's always a place + for a good Sunday special.” + </p> + <p> + He changed the subject, but there were frequent awkward pauses and the + spontaniety was gone. She rose, adjusting her belt in the back, and + announced that it was time for her to go home. + </p> + <p> + On their way up the hill, she tried to be gracious enough to atone for her + rudeness, but, though he was politeness itself, there was a difference, + and she felt as if she had lost something. Distance lay between them—a + cold, immeasurable distance, yet she knew that she had done right. + </p> + <p> + He opened the gate for her, then turned to go. “Won't you come in?” she + asked, conventionally. + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you—some other time, if I may. I've had a charming + afternoon.” He smiled pleasantly, and was off down the hill. + </p> + <p> + When she remembered that it was a Winfield who had married Abigail + Weatherby, she dismissed the matter as mere coincidence, and determined, + at all costs, to shield Miss Ainslie. The vision of that gracious lady + came to her, bringing with it a certain uplift of soul. Instantly, she was + placed far above the petty concerns of earth, like one who walks upon the + heights, untroubled, while restless surges thunder at his feet. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. The Garden + </h2> + <p> + Miss Thorne wrote an apology to Winfield, and then tore it up, thereby + gaining comparative peace of mind, for, with some natures, expression is + the main thing, and direction is but secondary. She was not surprised + because he did not come; on the contrary, she had rather expected to be + left to her own devices for a time, but one afternoon she dressed with + unusual care and sat in state in the parlour, vaguely expectant. If he + intended to be friendly, it was certainly time for him to come again. + </p> + <p> + Hepsey, passing through the hall, noted the crisp white ribbon at her + throat and the bow in her hair. “Are you expectin' company, Miss Thorne?” + she asked, innocently. + </p> + <p> + “I am expecting no one,” answered Ruth, frigidly, “I am going out.” + </p> + <p> + Feeling obliged to make her word good, she took the path which led to Miss + Ainslie's. As she entered the gate, she had a glimpse of Winfield, sitting + by the front window of Mrs. Pendleton's brown house, in such a dejected + attitude that she pitied him. She considered the virtuous emotion very + praiseworthy, even though it was not deep enough for her to bestow a + cheery nod upon the gloomy person across the way. + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie was unaffectedly glad to see her, and Ruth sank into an easy + chair with something like content. The atmosphere of the place was + insensibly soothing and she instantly felt a subtle change. Miss Ainslie, + as always, wore a lavender gown, with real lace at the throat and wrists. + Her white hair was waved softly and on the third finger of her left hand + was a ring of Roman gold, set with an amethyst and two large pearls. + </p> + <p> + There was a beautiful serenity about her, evident in every line of her + face and figure. Time had dealt gently with her, and except on her queenly + head had left no trace of his passing. The delicate scent of the lavender + floated from her gown and her laces, almost as if it were a part of her, + and brought visions of an old-time garden, whose gentle mistress was ever + tranquil and content. As she sat there, smiling, she might have been Peace + grown old. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Ainslie,” said Ruth, suddenly, “have you ever had any trouble?” + </p> + <p> + A shadow crossed her face, and then she answered, patiently, “Why, yes—I've + had my share.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mean to be personal,” Ruth explained, “I was just thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said the other, gently. Then, after a little, she spoke + again: + </p> + <p> + “We all have trouble, deary—it's part of life; but I believe that we + all share equally in the joy of the world. Allowing for temperament, I + mean. Sorrows that would crush some are lightly borne by others, and some + have the gift of finding great happiness in little things. + </p> + <p> + “Then, too, we never have any more than we can bear—nothing that has + not been borne before, and bravely at that. There isn't a new sorrow in + the world—they're all old ones—but we can all find new + happiness if we look in the right way.” + </p> + <p> + The voice had a full music, instinct with tenderness, and gradually Ruth's + troubled spirit was eased. “I don't know what's the matter with me,” she + said, meditatively, “for I'm not morbid, and I don't have the blues very + often, but almost ever since I've been at Aunt Jane's, I've been restless + and disturbed. I know there's no reason for it, but I can't help it.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think that it's because you have nothing to do? You've always + been so busy, and you aren't used to idleness.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps so. I miss my work, but at the same time, I haven't sense enough + to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor child, you're tired—too tired to rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am tired,” answered Ruth, the tears of nervous weakness coming + into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Come out into the garden.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie drew a fleecy shawl over her shoulders and led her guest + outdoors. Though she kept pace with the world in many other ways, it was + an old-fashioned garden, with a sun-dial and an arbour, and little paths, + nicely kept, that led to the flower beds and circled around them. There + were no flowers as yet, except in a bed of wild violets under a bay + window, but tiny sprigs of green were everywhere eloquent with promise, + and the lilacs were budded. + </p> + <p> + “That's a snowball bush over there,” said Miss Ainslie, “and all that + corner of the garden will be full of roses in June. They're old-fashioned + roses, that I expect you wouldn't care for-blush and cinnamon and sweet + briar—but I love them all. That long row is half peonies and half + bleeding-hearts, and I have a bed of columbines under a window on the + other side of the house. The mignonette and forget-me-nots have a place to + themselves, for I think they belong together—sweetness and memory. + </p> + <p> + “There's going to be lady-slippers over there,” Miss Ainslie went on, “and + sweet william. The porch is always covered with morning-glories—I + think they're beautiful and in that large bed I've planted poppies, + snap-dragon, and marigolds. This round one is full of larkspur and + bachelor's buttons. I have phlox and petunias, too—did you ever see + a petunia seed?” + </p> + <p> + Ruth shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “It's the tiniest thing, smaller than a grain of sand. When I plant them, + I always wonder how those great, feathery petunias are coming out of those + little, baby seeds, but they come. Over there are things that won't + blossom till late—asters, tiger-lilies and prince's feather. It's + going to be a beautiful garden, deary. Down by the gate are my sweet herbs + and simples—marjoram, sweet thyme, rosemary, and lavender. I love + the lavender, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do,” replied Ruth, “but I've never seen it growing.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a little bush, with lavender flowers that yield honey, and it's all + sweet—flowers, leaves, and all. I expect you'll laugh at me, but + I've planted sunflowers and four-o'clocks and foxglove.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't laugh—-I think it's lovely. What do you like best, Miss + Ainslie?” + </p> + <p> + “I love them all,” she said, with a smile on her lips and her deep, + unfathomable eyes fixed upon Ruth, “but I think the lavender comes first. + It's so sweet, and then it has associations—” + </p> + <p> + She paused, in confusion, and Ruth went on, quickly: “I think they all + have associations, and that's why we love them. I can't bear red geraniums + because a cross old woman I knew when I was a child had her yard full of + them, and I shall always love the lavender,” she added, softly, “because + it makes me think of you.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie's checks flushed and her eyes shone. “Now we'll go into the + house,” she said, “and we'll have tea.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't stay any longer,” murmured Ruth, following her, “I've been + here so long now.” + </p> + <p> + “'T isn't long,” contradicted Miss Ainslie, sweetly, “it's been only a + very few minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Every moment, the house and its owner took on new beauty and charm. Miss + Ainslie spread a napkin of finest damask upon the little mahogany tea + table, then brought in a silver teapot of quaint design, and two cups of + Japanese china, dainty to the point of fragility. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Miss Ainslie,” exclaimed Ruth, in surprise, “where did you get Royal + Kaga?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie was bending over the table, and the white hand that held the + teapot trembled a little. “They were a present from—a friend,” she + answered, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “They're beautiful,” said Ruth, hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + She had been to many an elaborate affair, which was down on the social + calendar as a “tea,” sometimes as reporter and often as guest, but she had + found no hostess like Miss Ainslie, no china so exquisitely fine, nor any + tea like the clear, fragrant amber which was poured into her cup. + </p> + <p> + “It came from China,” said Miss Ainslie, feeling the unspoken question. “I + had a whole chest of it, but it's almost all gone.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth was turning her cup and consulting the oracle. “Here's two people, a + man and a woman, from a great distance, and, yes, here's money, too. What + is there in yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, deary, and besides, it doesn't come true.” + </p> + <p> + When Ruth finally aroused herself to go home, the old restlessness, for + the moment, was gone. “There's a charm about you,” she said, “for I feel + as if I could sleep a whole week and never wake at all.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the tea,” smiled Miss Ainslie, “for I'm a very commonplace body.” + </p> + <p> + “You, commonplace?” repeated Ruth; “why, there's nobody like you!” + </p> + <p> + They stood at the door a few moments, talking aimlessly, but Ruth was + watching Miss Ainslie's face, as the sunset light lay caressingly upon it. + “I've had a lovely time,” she said, taking another step toward the gate. + </p> + <p> + “So have I—you'll come again, won't you?” The sweet voice was + pleading now, and Ruth answered it in her inmost soul. Impulsively, she + came back, threw her arms around Miss Ainslie's neck, and kissed her. “I + love you,” she said, “don't you know I do?” + </p> + <p> + The quick tears filled Miss Ainslie's eyes and she smiled through the + mist. “Thank you, deary,” she whispered, “it's a long time since any one + has kissed me—a long time!” + </p> + <p> + Ruth turned back at the gate, to wave her hand, and even at that distance, + saw that Miss Ainslie was very pale. + </p> + <p> + Winfield was waiting for her, just outside the hedge, but his presence + jarred upon her strangely, and her salutation was not cordial. + </p> + <p> + “Is the lady a friend of yours?” he inquired, indifferently. + </p> + <p> + “She is,” returned Ruth; “I don't go to see my enemies—do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether I do or not,” he said, looking at her significantly. + </p> + <p> + Her colour rose, but she replied, sharply: “For the sake of peace, let us + assume that you do not.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Thorne,” he began, as they climbed the hill, “I don't see why you + don't apply something cooling to your feverish temper. You have to live + with yourself all the time, you know, and, occasionally, it must be very + difficult. A rag, now, wet in cold water, and tied around your neck—have + you ever tried that? It's said to be very good.” + </p> + <p> + “I have one on now,” she answered, with apparent seriousness, “only you + can't see it under my ribbon. It's getting dry and I think I'd better + hurry home to wet it again, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + Winfield laughed joyously. “You'll do,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Before they were half up the hill, they were on good terms again. “I don't + want to go home, do you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Home? I have no home—I'm only a poor working girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what would this be with music! I can see it now! Ladies and + gentlemen, with your kind permission, I will endeavour to give you a + little song of my own composition, entitled: 'Why Has the Working Girl No + Home!'” + </p> + <p> + “You haven't my permission, and you're a wretch.” + </p> + <p> + “I am,” he admitted, cheerfully, “moreover, I'm a worm in the dust.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like worms.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you'll have to learn.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth resented his calm assumption of mastery. “You're dreadfully young,” + she said; “do you think you'll ever grow up?” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” returned Winfield, boyishly, “I'm most thirty.” + </p> + <p> + “Really? I shouldn't have thought you were of age.” + </p> + <p> + “Here's a side path, Miss Thorne,” he said, abruptly, “that seems to go + down into the woods. Shall we explore? It won't be dark for an hour yet.” + </p> + <p> + They descended with some difficulty, since the way was not cleat, and came + into the woods at a point not far from the log across the path. “We + mustn't sit there any more,” he observed, “or we'll fight. That's where we + were the other day, when you attempted to assassinate me.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't!” exclaimed Ruth indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “That rag does seem to be pretty dry,” he said, apparently to himself. + “Perhaps, when we get to the sad sea, we can wet it, and so insure + comparative calm.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed, reluctantly. The path led around the hill and down from the + highlands to a narrow ledge of beach that lay under the cliff. “Do you + want to drown me?” she asked. “It looks very much as if you intended to, + for this ledge is covered at high tide.” + </p> + <p> + “You wrong me, Miss Thorne; I have never drowned anything.” + </p> + <p> + His answer was lost upon her, for she stood on the beach, under the cliff, + looking at the water. The shimmering turquoise blue was slowly changing to + grey, and a single sea gull circled overhead. + </p> + <p> + He made two or three observations, to which Ruth paid no attention. “My + Lady Disdain,” he said, with assumed anxiety, “don't you think we'd better + go on? I don't know what time the tide comes in, and I never could look + your aunt in the face if I had drowned her only relative.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” she replied carelessly, “let's go around the other way.” + </p> + <p> + They followed the beach until they came to the other side of the hill, but + found no path leading back to civilisation, though the ascent could easily + be made. + </p> + <p> + “People have been here before,” he said; “here are some initials cut into + this stone. What are they? I can't see.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth stooped to look at the granite boulder he indicated. “J. H.,” she + answered, “and J. B.” + </p> + <p> + “It's incomplete,” he objected; “there should be a heart with an arrow run + through it.” + </p> + <p> + “You can fix it to suit yourself,” Ruth returned, coolly, “I don't think + anybody will mind.” She did not hear his reply, for it suddenly dawned + upon her that “J. H.” meant Jane Hathaway. + </p> + <p> + They stood there in the twilight for some little time, watching the + changing colours on the horizon and then there was a faint glow on the + water from the cliff above. Ruth went out far enough to see that Hepsey + had placed the lamp in the attic window. + </p> + <p> + “It's time to go,” she said, “inasmuch as we have to go back the way we + came.” + </p> + <p> + They crossed to the other side and went back through the woods. It was + dusk, and they walked rapidly until they came to the log across the path. + </p> + <p> + “So your friend isn't crazy,” he said tentatively, as he tried to assist + her over it. + </p> + <p> + “That depends,” she replied, drawing away from him; “you're indefinite.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgot to wet the rag, didn't we?” he asked. “I will gladly assume the + implication, however, if I may be your friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Kind, I'm sure,” she answered, with distant politeness. + </p> + <p> + The path widened, and he walked by her side. “Have you noticed, Miss + Thorne, that we have trouble every time we approach that seemingly + innocent barrier? I think it would be better to keep away from it, don't + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “What initials were those on the boulder? J. H. and—” + </p> + <p> + “J. B.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so. 'J. B.' must have had a lot of spare time at his disposal, + for his initials are cut into the 'Widder' Pendleton's gate post on the + inner side, and into an apple tree in the back yard.” + </p> + <p> + “How interesting!” + </p> + <p> + “Did you know Joe and Hepsey were going out to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn't—they're not my intimate friends.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see how Joe expects to marry on the income derived from the + village chariot.” + </p> + <p> + “Have they got that far?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” replied Winfield, with the air of one imparting a + confidence. “You see, though I have been in this peaceful village for some + little time, I have not yet arrived at the fine distinction between + 'walking out, 'settin' up,' and 'stiddy comp'ny.' I should infer that + 'walking out' came first, for 'settin' up' must take a great deal more + courage, but even 1, with my vast intellect, cannot at present understand + 'stiddy comp'ny.'” + </p> + <p> + “Joe takes her out every Sunday in the carriage,” volunteered Ruth, when + the silence became awkward. + </p> + <p> + “In the what?” + </p> + <p> + “Carriage—haven't you ridden in it?” + </p> + <p> + “I have ridden in them, but not in it. I walked to the 'Widder's,' but if + it is the conveyance used by travellers, they are both 'walking out' and + 'settin' up.'” + </p> + <p> + They paused at the gate. “Thank you for a pleasant afternoon,” said + Winfield. “I don't have many of them.” + </p> + <p> + “You're welcome,” returned Ruth, conveying the impression of great + distance. + </p> + <p> + Winfield sighed, then made a last desperate attempt. “Miss Thorne,” he + said, pleadingly, “please don't be unkind to me. You have my reason in + your hands. I can see myself now, sitting on the floor, at one end of the + dangerous ward. They'll smear my fingers with molasses and give me half a + dozen feathers to play with. You'll come to visit the asylum, sometime, + when you're looking for a special, and at first, you won't recognise me. + Then I'll say: 'Woman, behold your work,' and you'll be miserable all the + rest of your life.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed heartily at the distressing picture, and the plaintive tone of + his voice pierced her armour. “What's the matter with you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know—I suppose it's my eyes. I'm horribly restless and + discontented, and it isn't my way.” + </p> + <p> + Then Ruth remembered her own restless weeks, which seemed so long ago, and + her heart stirred with womanly sympathy. “I know,” she said, in a + different tone, “I've felt the same way myself, almost ever since I've + been here, until this very afternoon. You're tired and nervous, and you + haven't anything to do, but you'll get over it.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you're right. I've been getting Joe to read the papers to me, at a + quarter a sitting, but his pronunciation is so unfamiliar that it's hard + to get the drift, and the whole thing exasperated me so that I had to give + it up.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me read the papers to you,” she said, impulsively, “I haven't seen + one for a month.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. “I don't want to impose upon you,” he answered—“no, + you mustn't do it.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth saw a stubborn pride that shrank from the slightest dependence, a + self-reliance that would not falter, but would steadfastly hold aloof, and + she knew that in one thing, at least, they were kindred. + </p> + <p> + “Let me,” she cried, eagerly; “I'll give you my eyes for a little while!” + </p> + <p> + Winfield caught her hand and held it for a moment, fully understanding. + Ruth's eyes looked up into his—deep, dark, dangerously appealing, + and alight with generous desire. + </p> + <p> + His fingers unclasped slowly. “Yes, I will,” he said, strangely moved. + “It's a beautiful gift—in more ways than one. You are very kind—thank + you—good night!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. The Man Who Hesitates + </h2> + <p> + “Isn't fair',” said Winfield to himself, miserably, “no sir, 't isn't + fair!” + </p> + <p> + He sat on the narrow piazza which belonged to Mrs. Pendleton's brown + house, and took stern account of his inner self. The morning paper lay + beside him, unopened, though his fingers itched to tear the wrapper, and + his hat was pulled far down over his eyes, to shade them from the sun. + </p> + <p> + “If I go up there I'm going to fall in love with her, and I know it!” + </p> + <p> + That moment of revelation the night before, when soul stood face to face + with soul, had troubled him strangely. He knew himself for a + sentimentalist where women were concerned, but until they stood at the + gate together, he had thought himself safe. Like many another man, on the + sunny side of thirty, he had his ideal woman safely enshrined in his inner + consciousness. + </p> + <p> + She was a pretty little thing, this dream maiden—a blonde, with deep + blue eyes, a rosy complexion, and a mouth like Cupid's bow. Mentally, she + was of the clinging sort, for Winfield did not know that in this he was + out of fashion. She had a dainty, bird-like air about her and a high, + sweet voice—a most adorable little woman, truly, for a man to dream + of when business was not too pressing. + </p> + <p> + In almost every possible way, Miss Thorne was different. She was dark, and + nearly as tall as he was; dignified, self-possessed, and calm, except for + flashes of temper and that one impulsive moment. He had liked her, found + her interesting in a tantalising sort of way, and looked upon her as an + oasis in a social desert, but that was all. + </p> + <p> + Of course, he might leave the village, but he made a wry face upon + discovering, through laboured analysis, that he didn't want to go away. It + was really a charming spot—hunting and fishing to be had for the + asking, fine accommodations at Mrs. Pendleton's, beautiful scenery, + bracing air—in every way it was just what he needed. Should he let + himself be frightened out of it by a newspaper woman who lived at the top + of the hill? Hardly! + </p> + <p> + None the less, he realised that a man might firmly believe in Affinity, + and, through a chain of unfortunate circumstances, become the victim of + Propinquity. He had known of such instances and was now face to face with + the dilemma. + </p> + <p> + Then his face flooded with dull colour. “Darn it,” he said to himself, + savagely, “what an unmitigated cad I am! All this is on the assumption + that she's likely to fall on my neck at any minute! Lord!” + </p> + <p> + Yet there was a certain comfort in the knowledge that he was safe, even if + he should fall in love with Miss Thorne. That disdainful young woman would + save him from himself, undoubtedly, when he reached the danger point, if + not before. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder how a fellow would go about it anyway,” he thought. “He couldn't + make any sentimental remarks, without being instantly frozen. She's like + the Boston girls we read about in the funny papers. He couldn't give her + things, either, except flowers or books, or sweets, or music. She has more + books than she wants, because she reviews'em for the paper, and I don't + think she's musical. She doesn't look like the candy fiends, and I imagine + she'd pitch a box of chocolates into the sad sea, or give it to Hepsey. + There's nothing left but flowers—and I suppose she wouldn't + notice'em. + </p> + <p> + “A man would have to teach her to like him, and, on my soul, I don't know + how he'd do that. Constant devotion wouldn't have any effect—I doubt + if she'd permit it; and a fellow might stay away from her for six months, + without a sign from her. I guess she's cold—no, she isn't, either—eyes + and temper like hers don't go with the icebergs. + </p> + <p> + “I—that is, he couldn't take her out, because there's no place to + go. It's different in the city, of course, but if he happened to meet her + in the country, as I've done— + </p> + <p> + “Might ask her to drive, possibly, if I could rent Alfred and Mamie for a + few hours—no, we'd have to have the day, for anything over two + miles, and that wouldn't be good form, without a chaperone. Not that she + needs one—she's equal to any emergency, I fancy. Besides, she + wouldn't go. If I could get those two plugs up the hill, without pushing + 'em, gravity would take'em back, but I couldn't ask her to walk up the + hill after the pleasure excursion was over. I don't believe a drive would + entertain her. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she'd like to fish—no, she wouldn't, for she said she + didn't like worms. Might sail on the briny deep, except that there's no + harbour within ten miles, and she wouldn't trust her fair young life to + me. She'd be afraid I'd drown her. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose the main idea is to cultivate a clinging dependence, but I'd + like to see the man who could woo any dependence from Miss Thorne. She + holds her head like a thoroughbred touched with the lash. She said she was + afraid of Carlton, but I guess she was just trying to be pleasant. I'll + tell him about it—no, I won't, for I said I wouldn't. + </p> + <p> + “I wish there was some other girl here for me to talk to, but I'll be + lucky if I can get along peaceably with the one already here. I'll have to + discover all her pet prejudices and be careful not to walk on any of 'em. + There's that crazy woman, for instance—I mustn't allude to her, even + respectfully, if I'm to have any softening feminine influence about me + before I go back to town. She didn't seem to believe I had any letter from + Carlton—that's what comes of being careless. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't have told her that people said she had large feet and wore + men's shoes. She's got a pretty foot; I noticed it particularly before I + spoke—I suppose she didn't like that—most girls wouldn't, I + guess, but she took it as a hunter takes a fence. Even after that, she + said she'd help me be patient, and last night, when she said she'd read + the papers to me—she was awfully sweet to me then. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she likes me a little bit—I hope so. She'd never care very + much for anybody, though—she's too independent. She wouldn't even + let me help her up the hill; I don't know whether it was independence, or + whether she didn't want me to touch her. If we ever come to a place where + she has to be helped, I suppose I'll have to put gloves on, or let her + hold one end of a stick while I hang on to the other. + </p> + <p> + “Still she didn't take her hand away last night, when I grabbed it. + Probably she was thinking about something else, and didn't notice. It's a + particularly nice hand to hold, but I'll never have another chance, I + guess. + </p> + <p> + “Carlton said she'd take the conceit out of me, if I had any. I'm glad he + didn't put that in the letter, still it doesn't matter, since I've lost + it. I wish I hadn't, for what he said about me was really very nice. + Carlton is a good fellow. + </p> + <p> + “How she lit on me when I thought the crazy person might make a good + special! Jerusalem! I felt like the dust under her feet. I'd be glad to + have anybody stand up for me, like that, but nobody ever will. She's + mighty pretty when she's angry, but I'd rather she wouldn't get huffy at + me. She's a tremendously nice girl—there's no doubt of that.” + </p> + <p> + At this juncture, Joe came out on the porch, hat in hand. “Mornin', Mr. + Winfield.” + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Joe; how are your troubles this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “They're ill right, I guess,” he replied, pleased with the air of + comradeship. “Want me to read the paper to yer?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you, Joe, not this morning.” + </p> + <p> + The tone was a dismissal, but Joe lingered, shifting from one foot to the + other. “Ain't I done it to suit yer?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” returned Winfield, serenely. + </p> + <p> + “I don't mind doin' it,” Joe continued, after a long silence. “I won't + charge yer nothin'.” + </p> + <p> + “You're very kind, Joe, but I don't care about it to-day.” Winfield rose + and walked to the other end of the porch. The apple trees were in bloom, + and every wandering wind was laden with sweetness. Even the gnarled old + tree in Miss Hathaway's yard, that had been out of bearing for many a + year, had put forth a bough of fragrant blossoms. He saw it from where he + stood; a mass of pink and white against the turquoise sky, and thought + that Miss Thorne would make a charming picture if she stood beneath the + tree with the blown petals drifting around her. + </p> + <p> + He lingered upon the vision till Joe spoke again. “Be you goin' up to Miss + Hathaway's this mornin'?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don't know,” Winfield answered somewhat resentfully, “why?” + </p> + <p> + “'Cause I wouldn't go—not if I was in your place.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he demanded, facing him. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Hathaway's niece, she's sick.” + </p> + <p> + “Sick!” repeated Winfield, in sudden fear, “what's the matter!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, 't ain't nothin' serious, I reckon, cause she's up and around. I've + just come from there, and Hepsey said that all night Miss Thorne was + a-cryin', and that this mornin' she wouldn't eat no breakfast. She don't + never eat much, but this mornin' she wouldn't eat nothin', and she + wouldn't say what was wrong with her.” + </p> + <p> + Winfield's face plainly showed his concern. + </p> + <p> + “She wouldn't eat nothin' last night, neither,” Joe went on. “Hepsey told + me this mornin' that she thought p'raps you and her had fit. She's your + girl, ain't she?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Winfield, “she isn't my girl, and we haven't 'fit.' I'm + sorry she isn't well.” + </p> + <p> + He paced back and forth moodily, while Joe watched him in silence. “Well,” + he said, at length, “I reckon I'll be movin' along. I just thought I'd + tell yer.” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer, and Joe slammed the gate in disgust. “I wonder what's + the matter,” thought Winfield. “'T isn't a letter, for to-day's mail + hasn't come and she was all right last night. Perhaps she isn't ill—she + said she cried when she was angry. Great Heavens! I hope she isn't angry + at me! + </p> + <p> + “She was awfully sweet to me just before I left her,” he continued, + mentally, “so I'm not to blame. I wonder if she's angry at herself because + she offered to read the papers to me?” + </p> + <p> + All unknowingly he had arrived at the cause of Miss Thorne's unhappiness. + During a wakeful, miserable night, she had wished a thousand times that + she might take back those few impulsive words. + </p> + <p> + “That must be it,” he thought, and then his face grew tender. “Bless her + sweet heart,” he muttered, apropos of nothing, “I'm not going to make her + unhappy. It's only her generous impulse, and I won't let her think it's + any more.” + </p> + <p> + The little maiden of his dreams was but a faint image just then, as he sat + down to plan a course of action which would assuage Miss Thorne's tears. A + grey squirrel appeared on the gate post, and sat there, calmly, cracking a + nut. + </p> + <p> + He watched the little creature, absently, and then strolled toward the + gate. The squirrel seemed tame and did not move until he was almost near + enough to touch it, and then it scampered only a little way. + </p> + <p> + “I'll catch it,” Winfield said to himself, “and take it up to Miss Thorne. + Perhaps she'll be pleased.” + </p> + <p> + It was simple enough, apparently, for the desired gift was always close at + hand. He followed it across the hill, and bent a score of times to pick it + up, but it was a guileful squirrel and escaped with great regularity. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, with a flaunt of its bushy tail and a daring, backward glance, + it scampered under the gate into Miss Ainslie's garden and Winfield + laughed aloud. He had not known he was so near the other house and was + about to retreat when something stopped him. + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie stood in the path just behind the gate, with her face ghastly + white and her eyes wide with terror, trembling like a leaf. There was a + troubled silence, then she said, thickly, “Go!” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” he answered, hurriedly, “I did not mean to frighten + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Go!” she said again, her lips scarcely moving, “Go!” + </p> + <p> + “Now what in the mischief have I done;” he thought, as he crept away, + feeling like a thief. “I understood that this was a quiet place and yet + the strenuous life seems to have struck the village in good earnest. + </p> + <p> + “What am I, that I should scare the aged and make the young weep? I've + always been considered harmless, till now. That must be Miss Thorne's + friend, whom I met so unfortunately just now. She's crazy, surely, or she + wouldn't have been afraid of me. Poor thing, perhaps I startled her.” + </p> + <p> + He remembered that she had carried a basket and worn a pair of gardening + gloves. Even though her face was so changed, for an instant he had seen + its beauty—the deep violet eyes, fair skin, and regular features, + surmounted by that wonderful crown of silvered hair. + </p> + <p> + Conflicting emotions swayed him as he wended his way to the top of the + hill, with the morning paper in his pocket as an excuse, if he should need + one. When he approached the gate, he was seized by a swift and + unexplainable fear, and would have turned back, but Miss Hathaway's door + was opened. + </p> + <p> + Then the little maiden of his dreams vanished, waving her hand in token of + eternal farewell, for as Ruth came down the path between the white and + purple plumes of lilac, with a smile of welcome upon her lips, he knew + that, in all the world, there was nothing half so fair. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. Summer Days + </h2> + <p> + The rumble of voices which came from the kitchen was not disturbing, but + when the rural lovers began to sit on the piazza, directly under Ruth's + window, she felt called upon to remonstrate. + </p> + <p> + “Hepsey,” she asked, one morning, “why don't you and Joe sit under the + trees at the side of the house? You can take your chairs out there.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Hathaway allerss let us set on the piazzer,” returned Hepsey, + unmoved. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Hathaway probably sleeps more soundly than I do. You don't want me + to hear everything you say, do you?” + </p> + <p> + Hepsey shrugged her buxom shoulders. “You can if you like, mum.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't like,” snapped Ruth. “It annoys me.” + </p> + <p> + There was an interval of silence, then Hepsey spoke again, of her own + accord. “If Joe and me was to set anywheres but in front, he might see the + light.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Hathaway, she don't want it talked of, and men folks never can keep + secrets,” Hepsey suggested. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't have to tell him, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm. Men folks has got terrible curious minds. They're all right if + they don't know there's nothin', but if they does, why they's keen.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you're right, Hepsey,” she replied, biting her lips. “Sit + anywhere you please.” + </p> + <p> + There were times when Ruth was compelled to admit that Hepsey's mental + gifts were fully equal to her own. It was unreasonable to suppose, even + for an instant, that Joe and Hepsey had not pondered long and earnestly + upon the subject of the light in the attic window, yet the argument was + unanswerable. The matter had long since lost its interest for Ruth—perhaps + because she was too happy to care. + </p> + <p> + Winfield had easily acquired the habit of bringing her his morning papers, + and, after the first embarrassment, Ruth settled down to it in a + businesslike way. Usually, she sat in Miss Hathaway's sewing chair, under + a tree a little way from the house, that she might at the same time have a + general supervision of her domain, while Winfield stretched himself upon + the grass at her feet. When the sun was bright, he wore his dark glasses, + thereby gaining an unfair advantage. + </p> + <p> + After breakfast, which was a movable feast at the “Widder's,” he went + after his mail and brought hers also. When he reached the top of the hill, + she was always waiting for him. + </p> + <p> + “This devotion is very pleasing,” he remarked, one morning. + </p> + <p> + “Some people are easily pleased,” she retorted. “I dislike to spoil your + pleasure, but my stern regard for facts compels me to say that it is not + Mr. Winfield I wait for, but the postman.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll always be your postman, for I 'do admire' to be waited for, as + they have it at the 'Widder's.' Of course, it's more or less of an expense—this + morning, for instance, I had to dig up two cents to get one of your + valuable manuscripts out of the clutches of an interested government.” + </p> + <p> + “That's nothing,” she assured him, “for I save you a quarter every day, by + taking Joe's place as reader to Your Highness, not to mention the high + tariff on the Sunday papers. Besides, the manuscripts are all in now.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to hear that,” he replied, sitting down on the piazza. “Do you + know, Miss Thorne, I think there's a great deal of joyous excitement + attached to the pursuit of literature. You send out a story, fondly + believing that it is destined to make you famous. Time goes on, and you + hear nothing from it. You can see your name 'featured' on the + advertisements of the magazine, and hear the heavy tread of the fevered + mob, on the way to buy up the edition. In the roseate glow of your fancy, + you can see not only your cheque, but the things you're going to buy with + it. Perhaps you tell your friends, cautiously, that you're writing for + such and such a magazine. Before your joy evaporates, the thing comes back + from the Dead Letter Office, because you hadn't put on enough postage, and + they wouldn't take it in. Or, perhaps they've written 'Return' on the + front page in blue pencil, and all over it are little, dark, four-fingered + prints, where the office pup has walked on it.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be speaking from experience.” + </p> + <p> + “You have guessed it, fair lady, with your usual wonderful insight. Now + let's read the paper—do you know, you read much better than Joe + does?” + </p> + <p> + “Really?” Ruth was inclined to be sarcastic, but there was a delicate + colour in her cheeks, which pleased his aesthetic sense. + </p> + <p> + At first, he had had an insatiable thirst for everything in the paper, + except the advertisements. The market reports were sacrificed inside of a + week, and the obituary notices, weather indications, and foreign + despatches soon followed. Later, the literary features were eliminated, + but the financial and local news died hard. By the end of June, however, + he was satisfied with the headlines. + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you, I don't want to hear about the murder,” he said, in answer + to Ruth's ironical question, “nor yet the Summer styles in sleeves. All + that slop on the Woman's Page, about making home happy, is not suited to + such as I, and I'll pass.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a great deal here that's very interesting,” returned Ruth, “and I + doubt if I myself could have crammed more solid knowledge into one Woman's + Page. Here's a full account of a wealthy lady's Summer home, and a + description of a poor woman's garden, and eight recipes, and half a column + on how to keep a husband at home nights, and plans for making a china + closet out of an old bookcase.” + </p> + <p> + “If there's anything that makes me dead tired,” remarked Winfield, “it's + that homemade furniture business.” + </p> + <p> + “For once, we agree,” answered Ruth. “I've read about it till I'm + completely out of patience. Shirtwaist boxes from soap boxes, dressing + tables from packing boxes, couches from cots, hall lamps from old arc + light globes, and clothes hampers from barrels—all these I endured, + but the last straw was a 'transformed kitchen.'” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about it,” begged Winfield, who was enjoying himself hugely. + </p> + <p> + “The stove was to be set into the wall,” began Ruth, “and surrounded with + marble and white tiling, or, if this was too expensive, it was to be + hidden from view by a screen of Japanese silk. A nice oak settle, hand + carved, which 'the young husband might make in his spare moments,' was to + be placed in front of it, and there were to be plate racks and shelves on + the walls, to hold the rare china. Charming kitchen!” + </p> + <p> + Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone like stars. “You're an awfully + funny girl,” said Winfield, quietly, “to fly into a passion over a + 'transformed kitchen' that you never saw. Why don't you save your temper + for real things?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him, meaningly, and he retreated in good order. “I think I'm + a tactful person,” he continued, hurriedly, “because I get on so well with + you. Most of the time, we're as contented as two kittens in a basket.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mr. Winfield,” returned Ruth, pleasantly, “you're not only + tactful, but modest. I never met a man whose temperament so nearly + approached the unassuming violet. I'm afraid you'll never be appreciated + in this world—you're too good for it. You must learn to put yourself + forward. I expect it will be a shock to your sensitive nature, but it's + got to be done.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he laughed. “I wish we were in town now, and I'd begin to put + myself forward by asking you out to dinner and afterward to the theatre.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you take me out to dinner here?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't insult you by offering you the 'Widder's' cooking. I mean a + real dinner, with striped ice cream at the end of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go,” she replied, “I can't resist the blandishments of striped ice + cream.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you again; that gives me courage to speak of something that has + lain very near my heart for a long time.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Ruth, conventionally. For the moment she was frightened. + </p> + <p> + “I've been thinking fondly of your chafing-dish, though I haven't been + allowed to see it yet, and I suppose there's nothing in the settlement to + cook in it, is there?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing much, surely.” + </p> + <p> + “We might have some stuff sent out from the city, don't you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “Canned things?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—anything that would keep.” + </p> + <p> + Aided and abetted by Winfield, she made out a list of articles which were + unknown to the simple-minded inhabitants of the village. + </p> + <p> + “I'll attend to the financial part of it,” he said, pocketing the list, + “and then, my life will be in your hands.” + </p> + <p> + After he went away, Ruth wished she knew more about the gentle art of + cooking, which, after all, is closely allied to the other one—of + making enemies. She decided to dispense with Hepsey's services, when + Winfield came up to dinner, and to do everything herself. + </p> + <p> + She found an old cook book of Aunt Jane's and turned over its pages with + new interest. It was in manuscript form, and seemed to represent the + culinary knowledge of the entire neighbourhood. Each recipe was duly + accredited to its original author, and there were many newspaper + clippings, from the despised “Woman's Page” in various journals. + </p> + <p> + Ruth thought it would be an act of kindness to paste the loose clippings + into Aunt Jane's book, and she could look them over as she fastened them + in. The work progressed rapidly, until she found a clipping which was not + a recipe. It was a perfunctory notice of the death of Charles Winfield, + dated almost eighteen years ago. + </p> + <p> + She remembered the various emotions old newspapers had given her when she + first came to Aunt Jane's. This was Abigail Weatherby's husband—he + had survived her by a dozen years. “I'm glad it's Charles Winfield instead + of Carl,” thought Ruth, as she put it aside, and went on with her work. + </p> + <p> + “Pantry's come,” announced Winfield, a few days later; “I didn't open it, + but I think everything is there. Joe's going to bring it up.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you can come to dinner Sunday,” answered Ruth, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “I'll be here,” returned Winfield promptly. “What time do we dine?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know exactly. It's better to wait, I think, until Hepsey goes + out. She always regards me with more or less suspicion, and it makes me + uncomfortable.” + </p> + <p> + Sunday afternoon, the faithful Joe drove up to the gate, and Hepsey + emerged from her small back room, like a butterfly from a chrysalis. She + was radiant in a brilliant blue silk, which was festooned at irregular + intervals with white silk lace. Her hat was bending beneath its burden of + violets and red roses, starred here and there with some unhappy buttercups + which had survived the wreck of a previous millinery triumph. Her hands + were encased in white cotton gloves, which did not fit. + </p> + <p> + With Joe's assistance, she entered the vehicle and took her place proudly + on the back seat, even while he pleaded for her to sit beside him. + </p> + <p> + “You know yourself that I can't drive nothin' from the back seat,” he + complained. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody's askin' you to drive nothin' from nowhere,” returned Hepsey, + scornfully. “If you can't take me out like a lady, I ain't a-goin'.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth was dazzled by the magnificence of the spectacle and was unable to + take her eyes away from it, even after Joe had turned around and started + down hill. She thought Winfield would see them pass his door and time his + arrival accordingly, so she was startled when he came up behind her and + said, cheerfully: + </p> + <p> + “They look like a policeman's, don't they?” + </p> + <p> + “What—who?” + </p> + <p> + “Hepsey's hands—did you think I meant yours?” + </p> + <p> + “How long have you been here?” + </p> + <p> + “Nearly thirty years.” + </p> + <p> + “That wasn't what I meant,” said Ruth, colouring. “How long have you been + at Aunt Jane's?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's different. When Joe went out to harness his fiery steeds to + his imposing chariot, I went around through the woods, across the beach, + climbed a vertical precipice, and came up this side of the hill. I had to + wait some little time, but I had a front seat during the show.” + </p> + <p> + He brought out her favourite chair, placing it under the maple tree, then + sat down near her. “I should think you'd get some clothes like Hepsey's,” + he began. “I'll wager, now, that you haven't a gown like that in your + entire wardrobe.” + </p> + <p> + “You're right—I haven't. The nearest approach to it is a tailored + gown, lined with silk, which Hepsey thinks I should wear wrong side out.” + </p> + <p> + “How long will the coast be clear?” + </p> + <p> + “Until nine o'clock, I think. They go to church in the evening.” + </p> + <p> + “It's half past three now,” he observed, glancing at his watch. “I had + fried salt pork, fried eggs, and fried potatoes for breakfast. I've + renounced coffee, for I can't seem to get used to theirs. For dinner, we + had round steak, fried, more fried potatoes, and boiled onions. Dried + apple pie for dessert—I think I'd rather have had the mince I + refused this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll feed you at five o'clock,” she said, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “That seems like a long time,” he complained. + </p> + <p> + “It won't, after you begin to entertain me.” + </p> + <p> + It was after five before either realised it. “Come on,” she said, “you can + sit in the kitchen and watch me.” + </p> + <p> + He professed great admiration while she put on one of Hepsey's white + aprons, and when she appeared with the chafing-dish, his emotion was + beyond speech. He was allowed to open the box and to cut up some button + mushrooms, while she shredded cold chicken. “I'm getting hungry every + minute,” he said, “and if there is undue postponement, I fear I shall + assimilate all the raw material in sight—including the cook.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth laughed happily. She was making a sauce with real cream, seasoned + delicately with paprika and celery salt. “Now I'll put in the chicken and + mushrooms,” she said, “and you can stir it while I make toast.” + </p> + <p> + They were seated at the table in the dining-room and the fun was at its + height, when they became aware of a presence. Hepsey stood in the door, + apparently transfixed with surprise, and with disapproval evident in every + line of her face. Before either could speak, she was gone. + </p> + <p> + Though Ruth was very much annoyed, the incident seemingly served to + accentuate Winfield's enjoyment. The sound of wheels on the gravel outside + told them that she was continuing her excursion. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to discharge her to-morrow,” Ruth said. + </p> + <p> + “You can't—she is in Miss Hathaway's service, not yours. Besides, + what has she done? She came back, probably, after something she had + forgotten. You have no reasonable ground for discharging her, and I think + you'd be more uncomfortable if she went than if she stayed.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you're right,” she admitted. + </p> + <p> + “I know how you feel about it,” he went on, “but I hope you won't let her + distress you. It doesn't make a bit of difference to me; she's only + amusing. Please don't bother about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't,” said Ruth, “that is, I'll try not to.” + </p> + <p> + They piled the dishes in the sink, “as a pleasant surprise for Hepsey,” he + said, and the hours passed as if on wings. It was almost ten o'clock + before it occurred to Winfield that his permanent abode was not Miss + Hathaway's parlour. + </p> + <p> + As they stood at the door, talking, the last train came in. “Do you know,” + said Winfield, “that every night, just as that train comes in, your friend + down there puts a candle in her front window?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” rejoined Ruth, sharply, “what of it? It's a free country, isn't + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Very. Untrammelled press and highly independent women. Good night, Miss + Thorne. I'll be up the first thing in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + She was about to speak, but slammed the door instead, and was displeased + when she heard a smothered laugh from outside. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. By Humble Means + </h2> + <p> + As lightly as a rose petal upon the shimmering surface of a stream, Summer + was drifting away, but whither, no one seemed to care. The odour of + printer's ink upon the morning paper no longer aroused vain longings in + Winfield's breast, and Ruth had all but forgotten her former connection + with the newspaper world. + </p> + <p> + By degrees, Winfield had arranged a routine which seemed admirable. Until + luncheon time, he was with Ruth and, usually, out of doors, according to + prescription. In the afternoon, he went up again, sometimes staying to + dinner, and, always, he spent his evenings there. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you ask me to have my trunk sent up here?” he asked Ruth, one + day. + </p> + <p> + “I hadn't thought of it,” she laughed. “I suppose it hasn't seemed + necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Hathaway would be pleased, wouldn't she, if she knew she had two + guests instead of one?” + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly; how could she help it?” + </p> + <p> + “When do you expect her to return?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know—I haven't heard a word from her. Sometimes I feel a + little anxious about her.” Ruth would have been much concerned for her + relative's safety, had she known that the eccentric lady had severed + herself from the excursion and gone boldly into Italy, unattended, and + with no knowledge of the language. + </p> + <p> + Hepsey inquired daily for news of Miss Hathaway, but no tidings were + forthcoming. She amused herself in her leisure moments by picturing all + sorts of disasters in which her mistress was doubtless engulfed, and in + speculating upon the tie between Miss Thorne and Mr. Winfield. + </p> + <p> + More often than not, it fell to Hepsey to light the lamp in the attic + window, though she did it at Miss Thorne's direction. “If I forget it, + Hepsey,” she had said, calmly, “you'll see to it, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + Trunks, cedar chests, old newspapers, and long hidden letters were out of + Ruth's province now. Once in two or three weeks, she went to see Miss + Ainslie, but never stayed long, though almost every day she reproached + herself for neglect. + </p> + <p> + Winfield's days were filled with peace, since he had learned how to get on + with Miss Thorne. When she showed herself stubborn and unyielding, he + retreated gracefully, and with a suggestion of amusement, as a courtier + may step aside gallantly for an angry lady to pass. Ruth felt his mental + attitude and, even though she resented it, she was ashamed. + </p> + <p> + Having found that she could have her own way, she became less anxious for + it, and several times made small concessions, which were apparently + unconscious, but amusing, nevertheless. She had none of the wiles of the + coquette; she was transparent, and her friendliness was disarming. If she + wanted Winfield to stay at home any particular morning or afternoon, she + told him so. At first he was offended, but afterward learned to like it, + for she could easily have instructed Hepsey to say that she was out. + </p> + <p> + The pitiless, unsympathetic calendar recorded the fact that July was near + its end, and Ruth sighed—then hated herself for it. + </p> + <p> + She had grown accustomed to idleness, and, under the circumstances, liked + it far too well. + </p> + <p> + One morning, when she went down to breakfast, Hepsey was evidently + perplexed about something, but Ruth took no outward note of it, knowing + that it would be revealed ere long. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Thorne,” she said, tentatively, as Ruth rose from the table. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, Miss Thorne, I reckon likely't ain't none of my business, but + is Mr. Winfield another detective, and have you found anything out yet?” + </p> + <p> + Ruth, inwardly raging, forced herself to let the speech pass unnoticed, + and sailed majestically out of the room. She was surprised to discover + that she could be made so furiously angry by so small a thing. + </p> + <p> + Winfield was coming up the hill with the mail, and she tried to cool her + hot cheeks with her hands. “Let's go down on the side of the hill,” she + said, as he gave her some letters and the paper; “it's very warm in the + sun, and I'd like the sea breeze.” + </p> + <p> + They found a comparatively level place, with two trees to lean against, + and, though they were not far from the house, they were effectually + screened by the rising ground. Ruth felt that she could not bear the sight + of Hepsey just then. + </p> + <p> + After glancing at her letters she began to read aloud, with a troubled + haste which did not escape him. “Here's a man who had a little piece of + bone taken out of the inside of his skull,” she said. “Shall I read about + that? He seems, literally, to have had something on his mind.” + </p> + <p> + “You're brilliant this morning,” answered Winfield, gravely, and she + laughed hysterically. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with you?” he asked. “You don't seem like yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't nice of you to say that,” she retorted, “considering your + previous remark.” + </p> + <p> + There was a rumble and a snort on the road and, welcoming the diversion, + he went up to reconnoitre. “Joe's coming; is there anything you want in + the village?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered, wearily, “there's nothing I want—anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “You're an exceptional woman,” returned Winfield, promptly, “and I'd + advise you to sit for your photograph. The papers would like it—'Picture + of the Only Woman Who Doesn't Want Anything'—why, that would work + off an extra in about ten minutes!” + </p> + <p> + Ruth looked at him for a moment, then turned her eyes away. He felt + vaguely uncomfortable, and was about to offer atonement when Joe's deep + bass voice called out: + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” + </p> + <p> + “Hello yourself!” came in Hepsey's highest tones, from the garden. + </p> + <p> + “Want anything to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Nope!” + </p> + <p> + There was a brief pause, and then Joe shouted again: “Hepsey!” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think they'd break their vocal cords,” said Winfield. + </p> + <p> + “I wish they would,” rejoined Ruth, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Come here!” yelled Joe. “I want to talk to yer.” + </p> + <p> + “Talk from there,” screamed Hepsey. + </p> + <p> + “Where's yer folks?” + </p> + <p> + “D'know.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, be they courtin'?” + </p> + <p> + Hepsey left her work in the garden and came toward the front of the house. + “They walk out some,” she said, when she was halfway to the gate, “and + they set up a good deal, and Miss Thorne told me she didn't know as she'd + do better, but you can't rightly say they're courtin' 'cause city ways + ain't like our'n.” + </p> + <p> + The deep colour dyed Ruth's face and her hands twitched nervously. + Winfield very much desired to talk, but could think of nothing to say. The + situation was tense. + </p> + <p> + Joe clucked to his horses. “So long,” he said. “See yer later.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth held her breath until he passed them, and then broke down. Her self + control was quite gone, and she sobbed bitterly, in grief and shame. + Winfield tucked his handkerchief into her cold hands, not knowing what + else to do. + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” he said, as if he, too, had been hurt. “Ruth, dear, don't cry!” + </p> + <p> + A new tenderness almost unmanned him, but he sat still with his hands + clenched, feeling like a brute because of her tears. + </p> + <p> + The next few minutes seemed like an hour, then Ruth raised her head and + tried to smile. “I expect you think I'm silly,” she said, hiding her tear + stained face again. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he cried, sharply; then, with a catch in his throat, he put his hand + on her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” she sobbed, turning away from him, “what—what they said—was + bad enough!” + </p> + <p> + The last words ended in a rush of tears, and, sorely distressed, he began + to walk back and forth. Then a bright idea came to him. + </p> + <p> + “I'll be back in a minute,” he said. + </p> + <p> + When he returned, he had a tin dipper, freshly filled with cold water. + “Don't cry any more,” he pleaded, gently, “I'm going to bathe your face.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth leaned back against the tree and he knelt beside her. “Oh, that feels + so good,” she said, gratefully, as she felt his cool fingers upon her + burning eyes. In a little while she was calm again, though her breast + still heaved with every fluttering breath. + </p> + <p> + “You poor little woman,” he said, tenderly, “you're just as nervous as you + can be. Don't feel so about it. Just suppose it was somebody who wasn't!” + </p> + <p> + “Who wasn't what?” asked Ruth, innocently. + </p> + <p> + Winfield crimsoned to the roots of his hair and hurled the dipper into the + distance. + </p> + <p> + “What—what—they said,” he stammered, sitting down awkwardly. + “Oh, darn it!” He kicked savagely at a root, and added, in bitterest self + accusation, “I'm a chump, I am!” + </p> + <p> + “No you're not,” returned Ruth, with sweet shyness, “you're nice. Now + we'll read some more of the paper.” + </p> + <p> + He assumed a feverish interest in the market reports, but his thoughts + were wandering. Certainly, nothing could have been worse. He felt as if a + bud, which he had been long and eagerly watching, was suddenly torn open + by a vandal hand. When he first touched Ruth's eyes with his finger tips, + he had trembled like a schoolboy, and he wondered if she knew it. + </p> + <p> + If she did, she made no sign. Her cheeks were flushed, the lids of her + downcast eyes were pink, and her voice had lost its crisp, incisive tones, + but she read rapidly, without comment or pause, until the supply of news + gave out. Then she began on the advertisements, dreading the end of her + task and vainly wishing for more papers, though in her heart there was + something sweet, which, even to herself, she dared not name. + </p> + <p> + “That'll do,” he said, abruptly, “I'm not interested in the 'midsummer + glove clearing.' I meant to tell you something when I first came—I've + got to go away.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth's heart throbbed painfully, as if some cold hand held it fast. “Yes,” + she said, politely, not recognising her own voice. + </p> + <p> + “It's only for a week—I've got to go to the oculist and see about + some other things. I'll be back before long.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall miss you,” she said, conventionally. Then she saw that he was + going away to relieve her from the embarrassment of his presence, and + blessed him accordingly. + </p> + <p> + “When are you going?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “This afternoon. I don't want to go, but it's just as well to have it over + with. Can I do anything for you in the city?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you. My wants are few and, at present, well supplied.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you want me to match something for you? I thought women always had + pieces of stuff that had to be matched immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “They made you edit the funny column, didn't they?” she asked, + irrelevantly. + </p> + <p> + “They did, Miss Thorne, and, moreover, I expect I'll have to do it again.” + </p> + <p> + After a little, they were back on the old footing, yet everything was + different, for there was an obtruding self consciousness on either side. + “What time do you go?” she asked, with assumed indifference. + </p> + <p> + “Three-fifteen, I think, and it's after one now.” + </p> + <p> + He walked back to the house with her, and, for the second time that day, + Hepsey came out to sweep the piazza. + </p> + <p> + “Good bye, Miss Thorne,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Good bye, Mr. Winfield.” + </p> + <p> + That was all, but Ruth looked up with an unspoken question and his eyes + met hers clearly, with no turning aside. She knew he would come back very + soon and she understood his answer—that he had the right. + </p> + <p> + As she entered the house, Hepsey said, pleasantly: “Has he gone away, Miss + Thorne?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, without emotion. She was about to say that she did + not care for luncheon, then decided that she must seem to care. + </p> + <p> + Still, it was impossible to escape that keen-eyed observer. “You ain't + eatin' much,” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not very hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “Be you sick, Miss Thorne?” + </p> + <p> + “No—not exactly. I've been out in the sun and my head aches,” she + replied, clutching at the straw. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want a wet rag?” + </p> + <p> + Ruth laughed, remembering an earlier suggestion of Winfield's. “No, I + don't want any wet rag, Hepsey, but I'll go up to my room for a little + while, I think. Please don't disturb me.” + </p> + <p> + She locked her door, shutting out all the world from the nameless joy that + surged in her heart. The mirror disclosed flushed, feverish cheeks and + dark eyes that shone like stars. “Ruth Thorne,” she said to herself, “I'm + ashamed of you! First you act like a fool and then like a girl of + sixteen!” + </p> + <p> + Then her senses became confused and the objects in the room circled around + her unsteadily. “I'm tired,” she murmured. Her head sank drowsily into the + lavender scented pillow and she slept too soundly to take note of the + three o'clock train leaving the station. It was almost sunset when she was + aroused by voices under her window. + </p> + <p> + “That feller's gone home,” said Joe. + </p> + <p> + “Do tell!” exclaimed Hepsey. “Did he pay his board?” + </p> + <p> + “Yep, every cent. He's a-comin' back.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “D'know. Don't she know?” The emphasis indicated Miss Thorne. + </p> + <p> + “I guess not,” answered Hepsey. “They said good bye right in front of me, + and there wa'n't nothin' said about it.” + </p> + <p> + “They ain't courtin', then,” said Joe, after a few moments of painful + thought, and Ruth, in her chamber above, laughed happily to herself. + </p> + <p> + “Mebbe not,” rejoined Hepsey. “It ain't fer sech as me to say when there's + courtin' and when there ain't, after havin' gone well nigh onto five year + with a country loafer what ain't never said nothin'.” She stalked into the + house, closed the door, and noisily bolted it. Joe stood there for a + moment, as one struck dumb, then gave a long, low whistle of astonishment + and walked slowly down the hill. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. Love Letters + </h2> + <p> + “A week!” Ruth said to herself the next morning. “Seven long days! No + letter, because he mustn't write, no telegram, because there's no office + within ten miles—nothing to do but wait!” + </p> + <p> + When she went down to breakfast, Hepsey did not seem to hear her cheery + greeting, but was twisting her apron and walking about restlessly. “Miss + Thorne,” she said, at length, “did you ever get a love letter?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, of course,” laughed Ruth. “Every girl gets love letters.” + </p> + <p> + Hepsey brightened visibly, then inquired, with great seriousness: “Can you + read writin', Miss Thorne?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends on the writing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm, it does so. I can read some writin'—I can read Miss + Hathaway's writin', and some of the furrin letters she's had, but I got + some this mornin' I can't make out, nohow.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you find 'writing' this morning? It's too early for the mail, + isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm. It was stuck under the kitchen winder.” Hepsey looked up at the + ceiling in an effort to appear careless, and sighed. Then she clutched + violently at the front of her blue gingham dress, immediately repenting of + her rashness. Ruth was inwardly amused but asked no helpful questions. + </p> + <p> + Finally, Hepsey took the plunge. “Would you mind tryin' to make out some + writin' I've got, Miss Thorne?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not—let me see it.” + </p> + <p> + Hepsey extracted a letter from the inmost recesses of her attire and stood + expectantly, with her hands on her hips. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's a love letter!” Ruth exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm. When you get through readin' it to yourself, will you read it out + loud?” + </p> + <p> + The letter, which was written on ruled note paper, bore every evidence of + care and thought. “Hepsey,” it began, and, on the line below, with a great + flourish under it, “Respected Miss” stood, in large capitals. + </p> + <p> + “Although it is now but a short interval,” Ruth read, “since my delighted + eyes first rested on your beautiful form—” + </p> + <p> + “Five year!” interjected Hepsey. + </p> + <p> + “—yet I dare to hope that you will receive graciously what I am + about to say, as I am assured you will, if you reciprocate the sentiments + which you have aroused in my bosom. + </p> + <p> + “In this short time, dear Miss, brief though it is, yet it has proved + amply sufficient for my heart to go out to you in a yearning love which I + have never before felt for one of your sex. Day by day and night by night + your glorious image has followed me.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a lie,” interrupted Hepsey, “he knows I never chased him nowheres, + not even when he took that red-headed Smith girl to the Sunday-school + picnic over to the Ridge, a year ago come August.” + </p> + <p> + “Those dark tresses have entwined my soul in their silken meshes, those + deep eyes, that have borrowed their colour from Heaven's cerulean blue, + and those soft white hands, that have never been roughened by uncongenial + toil, have been ever present in my dreams.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth paused for a moment, overcome by her task, but Hepsey's face was + radiant. “Hurry up, Miss Thorne,” she said, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “In short, Dear Miss, I consider you the most surpassingly lovely of your + kind, and it is with pride swelling in my manly bosom that I dare to ask + so peerless a jewel for her heart and hand. + </p> + <p> + “My parentage, birth, and breeding are probably known to you, but should + any points remain doubtful, I will be pleased to present references as to + my character and standing in the community. + </p> + <p> + “I await with impatience, Madam, your favourable answer to my plea. Rest + assured that if you should so honour me as to accept my proposal, I will + endeavour to stand always between you and the hard, cruel world, as your + faithful shield. I will also endeavour constantly to give you a happiness + as great as that which will immediately flood my bing upon receipt of your + blushing acceptance. + </p> + <p> + “I remain, Dear Miss, your devoted lover and humble servant, + </p> + <p> + “JOSEPH PENDLETON, ESQ.” + </p> + <p> + “My! My!” ejaculated Hepsey. “Ain't that fine writin'!” + </p> + <p> + “It certainly is,” responded Miss Thorne, keeping her face straight with + difficulty. + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind readin' it again?” + </p> + <p> + She found the second recital much easier, since she was partially + accustomed to the heavy punctuation marks and shaded flourishes. At first, + she had connected Winfield with the effusion, but second thought placed + the blame where it belonged—at the door of a “Complete Letter + Writer.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Thorne,” said Hepsey, hesitating. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I'd like my answer to be as good writin' as his'n.” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally.” + </p> + <p> + “Where d'you s'pose he got all that lovely grammar?” + </p> + <p> + “Grammar is a rare gift, Hepsey.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm, 't is so. Miss Thorne, do you guess you could write as good as + that?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd be willing to try,” returned Ruth, with due humility. + </p> + <p> + Hepsey thought painfully for a few moments. “I'd know jest what I'd better + say. Now, last night, I give Joe a hint, as you may say, but I wouldn't + want him to think I'd jest been a-waitin' for him.” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not.” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't it better to keep him in suspense, as you may say?” + </p> + <p> + “Far better, Hepsey; he'll think more of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll jest write that I'm willin' to think it over, and if you'll put + it on a piece of paper fer me, I'll write it out with ink. I've got two + sheets of paper jest like this, with nice blue lines onto it, that I've + been a-savin' fer a letter, and Miss Hathaway, she's got ink.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth sat down to compose an answer which should cast a shadow over the + “Complete Letter Writer.” Her pencil flew over the rough copy paper with + lightning speed, while Hepsey stood by in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” she said, at length, “how do you like this?” + </p> + <p> + “MR. JOSEPH PENDLETON— + </p> + <p> + “Respected Sir: Although your communication of recent date was a great + surprise to me, candour compels me to confess that it was not entirely + disagreeable. I have observed, though with true feminine delicacy, that + your affections were inclined to settle in my direction, and have not + repelled your advances. + </p> + <p> + “Still, I do not feel that as yet we are sufficiently acquainted to render + immediate matrimony either wise or desirable, and since the suddenness of + your proposal has in a measure taken my breath away, I must beg that you + will allow me a proper interval in which to consider the matter, and, in + the meantime, think of me simply as your dearest friend. + </p> + <p> + “I may add, in conclusion, that your character and standing in the + community are entirely satisfactory to me. Thanking you for the honour you + have conferred upon me, believe me, Dear Sir, + </p> + <p> + “Your sincere friend, + </p> + <p> + “HEPSEY.” + </p> + <p> + “My!” exclaimed Hepsey, with overmastering pride; “ain't that beautiful! + It's better than his'n, ain't it?” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't say that,” Ruth replied, with proper modesty, “but I think it + will do.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm. 'Twill so. Your writin' ain't nothin' like Joe's,” she continued, + scanning it closely, “but it's real pretty.” Then a bright idea + illuminated her countenance. “Miss Thorne, if you'll write it out on the + note paper with a pencil, I can go over it with the ink, and afterward, + when it's dry, I'll rub out the pencil. It'll be my writin' then, but + it'll look jest like yours.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Hepsey.” + </p> + <p> + She found it difficult to follow the lines closely, but at length achieved + a respectable result. “I'll take good care of it,” Hepsey said, wrapping + the precious missive in a newspaper, “and this afternoon, when I get my + work done up, I'll fix it. Joe'll be surprised, won't he?” + </p> + <p> + Late in the evening, when Hepsey came to Ruth, worn with the unaccustomed + labours of correspondence, and proudly displayed the nondescript epistle, + she was compelled to admit that unless Joe had superhuman qualities he + would indeed “be surprised.” + </p> + <p> + The next afternoon Ruth went down to Miss Ainslie's. “You've been + neglecting me, dear,” said that gentle soul, as she opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't meant to,” returned Ruth, conscience-stricken, as she + remembered how long it had been since the gate of the old-fashioned garden + had swung on its hinges for her. + </p> + <p> + A quiet happiness had settled down upon Ruth and the old perturbed spirit + was gone, but Miss Ainslie was subtly different. “I feel as if something + was going to happen,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Something nice?” + </p> + <p> + “I—don't know.” The sweet face was troubled and there were fine + lines about the mouth, such as Ruth had never seen there before. + </p> + <p> + “You're nervous, Miss Ainslie—it's my turn to scold now.” + </p> + <p> + “I never scolded you, did I deary?” + </p> + <p> + “You couldn't scold anybody—you're too sweet. You're not unhappy, + are you, Miss Ainslie?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Why, no! Why should I be unhappy?” Her deep eyes were fixed upon Ruth. + </p> + <p> + “I—I didn't know,” Ruth answered, in confusion. + </p> + <p> + “I learned long ago,” said Miss Ainslie, after a little, “that we may be + happy or not, just as we choose. Happiness is not a circumstance, nor a + set of circumstances; it's only a light, and we may keep it burning if we + will. So many of us are like children, crying for the moon, instead of + playing contentedly with the few toys we have. We're always hoping for + something, and when it does n't come we fret and worry; when it does, why + there's always something else we'd rather have. We deliberately make + nearly all of our unhappiness, with our own unreasonable discontent, and + nothing will ever make us happy, deary, except the spirit within.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Miss Ainslie,” Ruth objected, “do you really think everybody can be + happy?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course—everybody who wishes to be. Some people are happier when + they're miserable. I don't mean, deary, that it's easy for any of us, and + it's harder for some than for others, all because we never grow up. We're + always children—our playthings are a little different, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “'Owning ourselves forever children,' quoted Ruth, “'gathering pebbles on + a boundless shore.'” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I was just thinking of that. A little girl breaks her doll, and + though the new one may be much prettier, it never wholly fills the vacant + place, and it's that way with a woman's dream.” The sweet voice sank into + a whisper, followed by a lingering sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Ainslie,” said Ruth, after a pause, “did you know my mother?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn't, deary—I'm sorry. I saw her once or twice, but she + went away, soon after we came here.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” Ruth said, hurriedly, for Mrs. Thorne's family had never + forgiven her runaway marriage. + </p> + <p> + “Come into the garden,” Miss Ainslie suggested, and Ruth followed her, + willingly, into the cloistered spot where golden lilies tinkled, thrushes + sang, and every leaf breathed peace. + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie gathered a bit of rosemary, crushing it between her white + fingers. “See,” she said, “some of us are like that it takes a blow to + find the sweetness in our souls. Some of us need dry, hard places, like + the poppies “—pointing to a mass of brilliant bloom—“and some + of us are always thorny, like the cactus, with only once in a while a rosy + star. + </p> + <p> + “I've always thought my flowers had souls, dear,” she went on; “they seem + like real people to me. I've seen the roses rubbing their cheeks together + as if they loved each other, and the forget-me-nots are little blue-eyed + children, half afraid of the rest. + </p> + <p> + “Over there, it always seems to me as if the lavender was a little woman + in a green dress, with a lavender bonnet and a white kerchief. She's one + of those strong, sweet, wholesome people, who always rest you, and her + sweetness lingers long after she goes away. I gather all the flowers, and + every leaf, though the flowers are sweetest. I put the leaves away with my + linen and the flowers among my laces. I have some beautiful lace, deary.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you have—I've often admired it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to show it to you some day,” she said, with a little quiver in + her voice, “and some other day, when I can't wear it any more, you shall + have some of it for your own.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't, Miss Ainslie,” cried Ruth, the quick tears coming to her eyes, “I + don't want any lace—I want you!” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” she answered, but there was a far-away look in her eyes, and + something in her voice that sounded like a farewell. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Thorne,” called Joe from the gate, “here's a package for yer. It + come on the train.” + </p> + <p> + He waited until Ruth went to him and seemed disappointed when she turned + back into the garden. “Say,” he shouted, “is Hepsey to home?” + </p> + <p> + Ruth was busy with the string and did not hear. “Oh, look!” she exclaimed, + “what roses!” + </p> + <p> + “They're beautiful, deary. I do not think I have ever seen such large + ones. Do you know what they are?” + </p> + <p> + “American Beauties—they're from Mr. Winfield. He knows I love them.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie started violently. “From whom, dear?” she asked, in a strange + tone. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Winfield—he's going to be on the same paper with me in the + Fall. He's here for the Summer, on account of his eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie was bending over the lavender. + </p> + <p> + “It is a very common name, is it not?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, quite common,” answered Ruth, absently, taking the roses out of the + box. + </p> + <p> + “You must bring him to see me some time, dear; I should like to know him.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Miss Ainslie, I will.” + </p> + <p> + They stood at the gate together, and Ruth put a half blown rose into her + hand. “I wouldn't give it to anybody but you,” she said, half playfully, + and then Miss Ainslie knew her secret. She put her hand on Ruth's arm and + looked down into her face, as if there was something she must say. + </p> + <p> + “I don't forget the light, Miss Ainslie.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” she breathed, in answer. She looked long and searchingly into + Ruth's eyes, then whispered brokenly, “God bless you, dear. Good bye!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. The Rose of all the World + </h2> + <p> + “He didn't forget me! He didn't forget me!” Ruth's heart sang in time with + her step as she went home. Late afternoon flooded all the earth with gold, + and from the other side of the hill came the gentle music of the sea. + </p> + <p> + The doors were open, but there was no trace of Hepsey. She put the roses + in her water pitcher, and locked her door upon them as one hides a sacred + joy. She went out again, her heart swelling like the throat of a singing + bird, and walked to the brow of the cliff, with every sense keenly alive. + Upon the surface of the ocean lay that deep, translucent blue which only + Tadema has dared to paint. + </p> + <p> + “I must go down,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + Like a tawny ribbon trailed upon the green, the road wound down the hill. + She followed it until she reached the side path on the right, and went + down into the woods. The great boughs arched over her head like the nave + of a cathedral, and the Little People of the Forest, in feathers and fur, + scattered as she approached. Bright eyes peeped at her from behind tree + trunks, or the safe shelter of branches, and rippling bird music ended in + a frightened chirp, + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said aloud, “don't be afraid!” + </p> + <p> + Was this love, she wondered, that lay upon her eyes like the dew of a + Spring morning, that made the air vocal with rapturous song, and wrought + white magic in her soul? It had all the mystery ind freshness of the + world's beginning; it was the rush of waters where sea and river meet, the + perfume of a flower, and the far light trembling from a star. It was + sunrise where there had been no day, the ecstasy of a thousand dawns; a + new sun gleaming upon noon. All the joy of the world surged and beat in + her pulses, till it seemed that her heart had wings. + </p> + <p> + Sunset came upon the water, the colour on the horizon reflecting soft + iridescence upon the blue. Slow sapphire surges broke at her feet, tossing + great pearls of spray against the cliff. Suddenly, as if by instinct, she + turned—and faced Winfield. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for the roses,” she cried, with her face aglow. + </p> + <p> + He gathered her into his arms. “Oh, my Rose of All the World,” he + murmured, “have I found you at last?” + </p> + <p> + It was almost dusk when they turned to go home, with their arms around + each other, as if they were the First Two, wandering through the shaded + groves of Paradise, before sin came into the world. + </p> + <p> + “Did you think it would be like this?” she asked, shyly. + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn't, darling. I thought it would be very prim and proper. I + never dreamed you'd let me kiss you—yes, I did, too, but I thought + it was too good to be true.” + </p> + <p> + “I had to—to let you,” she explained, crimsoning, “but nobody ever + did before. I always thought—” Then Ruth hid her face against his + shoulder, in maidenly shame. + </p> + <p> + When they came to the log across the path, they sat down, very close + together. “You said we'd fight if we came here,” Ruth whispered. + </p> + <p> + “We're not going to, though. I want to tell you something, dear, and I + haven't had the words for it till now.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked, in alarm. + </p> + <p> + “It's only that I love you, Ruth,” he said, holding her closer, “and when + I've said that, I've said all. It isn't an idle word; it's all my life + that I give you, to do with as you will. It isn't anything that's apart + from you, or ever could be; it's as much yours as your hands or eyes are. + I didn't know it for a little while—that's because I was blind. To + think that I should go up to see you, even that first day, without knowing + you for my sweetheart—my wife!” + </p> + <p> + “No, don't draw away from me. You little wild bird, are you afraid of + Love? It's the sweetest thing God ever let a man dream of, Ruth—there's + nothing like it in all the world. Look up, Sweet Eyes, and say you love + me!” + </p> + <p> + Ruth's head drooped, and he put his hand under her chin, turning her face + toward him, but her eyes were downcast still. “Say it, darling,” he + pleaded. + </p> + <p> + “I—I can't,” she stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Why, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—because—you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I want you to say it, sweetheart. Won't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometime, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “When—when it's dark.” + </p> + <p> + “It's dark now.” + </p> + <p> + “No it isn't. How did you know?” + </p> + <p> + “How did I know what, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “That I—that I—cared.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew the day you cried. I didn't know myself until then, but it all + came in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid you were going to stay away a whole week.” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't, darling—I just had to come.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you see everybody you wanted to see?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't see anything but your face, Ruth, with the tears on it. I've + got to go back to-morrow and have another try at the oculist.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she exclaimed, in acute disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “It's the last time, sweetheart; we'll never be separated again.” + </p> + <p> + “Never?” + </p> + <p> + “Never in all the world—nor afterward.” + </p> + <p> + “I expect you think I'm silly,” she said, wiping her eyes, as they rose to + go home, “but I don't want you to go away.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to go, dearest. If you're going to cry, you'll have me a + raving maniac. I can't stand it, now.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to,” she answered, smiling through her tears, “but it's a + blessed privilege to have a nice stiff collar and a new tie to cry on.” + </p> + <p> + “They're at your service, dear, for anything but that. I suppose we're + engaged now, aren't we?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Ruth, in a low tone; “you haven't asked me to marry + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want me to?” + </p> + <p> + “It's time, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + Winfield bent over and whispered to her. + </p> + <p> + “I must think about it,” said Ruth, very gravely, “it's so sudden.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you sweet girl,” he laughed, “aren't you going to give me any + encouragement?” + </p> + <p> + “You've had some.” + </p> + <p> + “I want another,” he answered, purposely misunderstanding her, “and + besides, it's dark now.” + </p> + <p> + The sweet-scented twilight still lingered on the hillside, and a star or + two gleamed through the open spaces above. A moment later, Ruth, in her + turn, whispered to him. It was only a word or two, but the bright-eyed + robins who were peeping at them from the maple branches must have observed + that it was highly satisfactory. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. Bride and Groom + </h2> + <p> + Though Winfield had sternly determined to go back to town the following + day, he did not achieve departure until later. Ruth went to the station + with him, and desolation came upon her when the train pulled out, in spite + of the new happiness in her heart. + </p> + <p> + She had little time to miss him, however, for, at the end of the week, and + in accordance with immemorial custom, the Unexpected happened. + </p> + <p> + She was sitting at her window one morning, trying to sew, when the village + chariot stopped at the gate and a lady descended. Joe stirred lazily on + the front seat, but she said, in a clear, high-pitched voice: “You needn't + trouble yourself, Joe. He'll carry the things.” + </p> + <p> + She came toward the house, fanning herself with a certain stateliness, and + carrying her handkerchief primly, by the exact centre of it. In her wake + was a little old gentleman, with a huge bundle, surrounded by a + shawl-strap, a large valise, much the worse for wear, a telescope basket + which was expanded to its full height, and two small parcels. A cane was + tucked under one arm and an umbrella under the other. He could scarcely be + seen behind the mountain of baggage. + </p> + <p> + Hepsey was already at the door. “Why, Miss Hathaway!” she cried, in + astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “'T ain't Miss Hathaway,” rejoined the visitor, with some asperity, “it's + Mrs. Ball, and this is my husband. Niece Ruth, I presume,” she added, as + Miss Thorne appeared. “Ruth, let me introduce you to your Uncle James.” + </p> + <p> + The bride was of medium height and rather angular. Her eyes were small, + dark, and so piercingly brilliant that they suggested jet beads. Her skin + was dark and her lips had been habitually compressed into a straight line. + None the less, it was the face that Ruth had seen in the ambrotype at Miss + Ainslie's, with the additional hardness that comes to those who grow old + without love. Her bearing was that of a brisk, active woman, accustomed + all her life to obedience and respect. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ball was two or three inches shorter than his wife, and had a white + beard, irregularly streaked with brown. He was baldheaded in front, had + scant, reddish hair in the back, and his faded blue eyes were tearful. He + had very small feet and the unmistakable gait of a sailor. Though there + was no immediate resemblance, Ruth was sure that he was the man whose + picture was in Aunt Jane's treasure chest in the attic. The daredevil look + was gone, however, and he was merely a quiet, inoffensive old gentleman, + for whom life had been none too easy. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome to your new home, James,” said his wife, in a crisp, businesslike + tone, which but partially concealed a latent tenderness. He smiled, but + made no reply. + </p> + <p> + Hepsey still stood in the parlour, in wide mouthed astonishment, and it + was Ruth's good fortune to see the glance which Mrs. Ball cast upon her + offending maid. There was no change of expression except in the eyes, but + Hepsey instantly understood that she was out of her place, and retreated + to the kitchen with a flush upon her cheeks, which was altogether foreign + to Ruth's experience. + </p> + <p> + “You can set here, James,” resumed Mrs. Ball, “until I have taken off my + things.” + </p> + <p> + The cherries on her black straw bonnet were shaking on their stems in a + way which fascinated Ruth. “I'll take my things out of the south room, + Aunty,” she hastened to say. + </p> + <p> + “You won't, neither,” was the unexpected answer; “that's the spare room, + and, while you stay, you'll stay there.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth was wondering what to say to her new uncle and sat in awkward silence + as Aunt Jane ascended the stairs. Her step sounded lightly overhead and + Mr. Ball twirled his thumbs absently. “You—you've come a long way, + haven't you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm, a long way.” Then, seemingly for the first time, he looked at her, + and a benevolent expression came upon his face. “You've got awful pretty + hair, Niece Ruth,” he observed, admiringly; “now Mis' Ball, she wears a + false front.” + </p> + <p> + The lady of the house returned at this juncture, with the false front a + little askew. “I was just a-sayin',” Mr. Ball continued, “that our niece + is a real pleasant lookin' woman.” + </p> + <p> + “She's your niece by marriage,” his wife replied, “but she ain't no real + relative.” + </p> + <p> + “Niece by merriage is relative enough,” said Mr.Ball, “and I say she's a + pleasant lookin' woman, ain't she, now?” + </p> + <p> + “She'll do, I reckon. She resembles her Ma.” Aunt Jane looked at Ruth, as + if pitying the sister who had blindly followed the leadings of her heart + and had died unforgiven. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you let me know you were coming, Aunt Jane?” asked Ruth. “I've + been looking for a letter every day and I understood you weren't coming + back until October.” + </p> + <p> + “I trust I am not unwelcome in my own house,” was the somewhat frigid + response. + </p> + <p> + “No indeed, Aunty—I hope you've had a pleasant time.” + </p> + <p> + “We've had a beautiful time, ain't we, James? We've been on our + honeymoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm, we hev been on our honeymoon, travellin' over strange lands an' + furrin wastes of waters. Mis' Ball was terrible sea sick comin' here.” + </p> + <p> + “In a way,” said Aunt Jane, “we ain't completely married. We was married + by a heathen priest in a heathen country and it ain't rightfully bindin', + but we thought it would do until we could get back here and be married by + a minister of the gospel, didn't we, James?” + </p> + <p> + “It has held,” he said, without emotion, “but I reckon we will hev to be + merried proper.” + </p> + <p> + “Likewise I have my weddin' dress,” Aunt Jane went on, “what ain't never + been worn. It's a beautiful dress—trimmed with pearl trimmin'”—here + Ruth felt the pangs of a guilty conscience—“and I lay out to be + married in it, quite private, with you and Hepsey for witnesses.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's quite a romance, isn't it, Aunty?” + </p> + <p> + “'T is in a way,” interjected Mr. Ball, “and in another way, 't ain't.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Ruth,” Aunt Jane continued, ignoring the interruption, “'t is a + romance—a real romance,” she repeated, with all the hard lines in + her face softened. “We was engaged over thirty-five year. James went to + sea to make a fortin', so he could give me every luxury. It's all writ out + in a letter I've got upstairs. They's beautiful letters, Ruth, and it's + come to me, as I've been settin' here, that you might make a book out'n + these letters of James's. You write, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, Aunty, I write for the papers but I've never done a book.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you'll never write a book no earlier, and here's all the material, + as you say, jest a-waitin' for you to copy it. I guess there's over a + hundred letters.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Aunty,” objected Ruth, struggling with inward emotion, “I couldn't + sign my name to it, you know, unless I had written the letters.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it wouldn't be honest,” she answered, clutching at the straw, + “the person who wrote the letters would be entitled to the credit—and + the money,” she added hopefully. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, that's right. Do you hear James? It'll have to be your book, + 'The Love Letters of a Sailor,' by James, and dedicated in the front 'to + my dearly beloved wife, Jane Ball, as was Jane Hathaway.' It'll be + beautiful, won't it, James?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm, I hev no doubt but what it will.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember, James, how you borrered a chisel from the tombstone man + over to the Ridge, and cut our names into endurin' granite?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd forgot that—how come you to remember it?” + </p> + <p> + “On account of your havin' lost the chisel and the tombstone man + a-worryin' me about it to this day. I'll take you to the place. There's + climbin' but it won't hurt us none, though we ain't as young as we might + be. You says to me, you says: 'Jane, darlin', as long as them letters + stays cut into the everlastin' rock, just so long I'll love you,' you + says, and they's there still.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm here, too, ain't I?” replied Mr. Ball, seeming to detect a + covert reproach. “I was allers a great hand fer cuttin'.” + </p> + <p> + “There'll have to be a piece writ in the end, Ruth, explainin' the happy + endin' of the romance. If you can't do it justice, James and me can help—James + was allers a master hand at writin'. It'll have to tell how through the + long years he has toiled, hopin' against hope, and for over thirty years + not darin' to write a line to the object of his affections, not feelin' + worthy, as you may say, and how after her waitin' faithfully at home and + turnin' away dozens of lovers what pleaded violent-like, she finally went + travellin' in furrin parts and come upon her old lover a-keepin' a store + in a heathen land, a-strugglin' to retrieve disaster after disaster at + sea, and constantly withstandin' the blandishments of heathen women as + endeavoured to wean him from his faith, and how, though very humble and + scarcely darin to speak, he learned that she was willin' and they come a + sailin' home together and lived happily ever afterward. Ain't that as it + was, James?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm, except that there wa'n't no particular disaster at sea and them + heathen women didn't exert no blandishments. They was jest pleasant to an + old feller, bless their little hearts.” + </p> + <p> + By some subtle mental process, Mr. Ball became aware that he had made a + mistake. “You ain't changed nothin' here, Jane,” he continued, hurriedly, + “there's the haircloth sofy that we used to set on Sunday evenins' after + meetin', and the hair wreath with the red rose in it made out of my hair + and the white rose made out of your grandmother's hair on your father's + side, and the yeller lily made out of the hair of your Uncle Jed's + youngest boy. I disremember the rest, but time was when I could say'm all. + I never see your beat for makin' hair wreaths, Jane. There ain't nothin' + gone but the melodeon that used to set by the mantel. What's come of the + melodeon?” + </p> + <p> + “The melodeon is set away in the attic. The mice et out the inside.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you hev no cat?” + </p> + <p> + “There ain't no cat, James, that could get into a melodeon through a mouse + hole, more especially the big maltese you gave me. I kept that cat, James, + as you may say, all these weary years. When there was kittens, I kept the + one that looked most like old Malty, but of late years, the cats has all + been different, and the one I buried jest afore I sailed away was yeller + and white with black and brown spots—a kinder tortoise shell—that + didn't look nothin' like Malty. You'd never have knowed they belonged to + the same family, but I was sorry when she died, on account of her bein' + the last cat.” + </p> + <p> + Hepsey, half frightened, put her head into the room. “Dinner's ready,” she + shouted, hurriedly shutting the door. + </p> + <p> + “Give me your arm, James,” said Mrs. Ball, and Ruth followed them into the + dining-room. + </p> + <p> + The retired sailor ate heartily, casting occasional admiring glances at + Ruth and Hepsey. It was the innocent approval which age bestows upon + youth. “These be the finest biscuit,” he said, “that I've had for many a + day. I reckon you made 'em, didn't you, young woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” replied Hepsey, twisting her apron. + </p> + <p> + The bride was touched in a vulnerable spot. + </p> + <p> + “Hepsey,” she said, decisively, “when your week is up, you will no longer + be in my service. I am a-goin'to make a change.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ball's knife dropped with a sharp clatter. “Why, Mis' Ball,” he said, + reproachfully, “who air you goin' to hev to do your work?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't let that trouble you, James,” she answered, serenely, “the washin' + can be put out to the Widder Pendleton, her as was Elmiry Peavey, and the + rest ain't no particular trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Aunty,” said Ruth, “now that you've come home and everything is going on + nicely, I think I'd better go back to the city. You see, if I stay here, + I'll be interrupting the honeymoon.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Niece Ruth!” exclaimed Mr. Ball, “you ain't interruptin' no + honeymoon. It's a great pleasure to your aunt and me to hev you here—we + likes pretty young things around us, and as long as we hev a home, you're + welcome to stay in it; ain't she Jane?” + </p> + <p> + “She has sense enough to see, James, that she is interruptin' the + honeymoon,” replied Aunt Jane, somewhat harshly. “On account of her mother + havin' been a Hathaway before marriage, she knows things. Not but what you + can come some other time, Ruth,” she added, with belated hospitality. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Aunty, I will. I'll stay just a day or two longer, if you + don't mind—just until Mr. Winfield comes back. I don't know just + where to write to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr.—who?” demanded Aunt Jane, looking at her narrowly. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Carl Winfield,” said Ruth, crimsoning—“the man I am going to + marry.” The piercing eyes were still fixed upon her. + </p> + <p> + “Now about the letters, Aunty,” she went on, in confusion, “you could help + Uncle James with the book much better than I could. Of course it would + have to be done under your supervision.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ball scrutinized her niece long and carefully. “You appear to be + tellin' the truth,” she said. “Who would best print it?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it would be better for you to handle it yourself, Aunty, and then + you and Uncle James would have all the profits. If you let some one else + publish it and sell it, you'd have only ten per cent, and even then, you + might have to pay part of the expenses.” + </p> + <p> + “How much does it cost to print a book?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends on the book. Of course it costs more to print a large one + than a small one.” + </p> + <p> + “That needn't make no difference,” said Aunt Jane, after long + deliberation. “James has two hundred dollars sewed up on the inside of the + belt he insists on wearin', instead of Christian suspenders, ain't you, + James?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm, two hundred and four dollars in my belt and seventy-six cents in + my pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “It's from his store,” Mrs. Ball explained. “He sold it to a relative of + one of them heathen women.” + </p> + <p> + “It was worth more'n three hundred,” he said regretfully. + </p> + <p> + “Now, James, you know a small store like that ain't worth no three hundred + dollars. I wouldn't have let you took three hundred, 'cause it wouldn't be + honest.” + </p> + <p> + The arrival of a small and battered trunk created a welcome diversion. + “Where's your trunk, Uncle James?” asked Ruth. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't a needin' of no trunk,” he answered, “what clothes I've got is on + me, and that there valise has more of my things in it. When my clothes + wears out, I put on new ones and leave the others for some pore creeter + what may need 'em worse'n me.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Jane followed Joe upstairs, issuing caution and direction at every + step. “You can set outside now, Joe Pendleton,” she said, “and see that + them hosses don't run away, and as soon as I get some of my things hung up + so's they won't wrinkle no more, I'll come out and pay you.” + </p> + <p> + Joe obeyed, casting longing eyes at a bit of blue gingham that was + fluttering among the currant bushes in the garden. Mr. Ball, longing for + conversation with his kind, went out to the gate and stood looking up at + him, blinking in the bright sunlight. “Young feller,” he said, “I reckon + that starboard hoss is my old mare. Where'd you get it?” + </p> + <p> + “Over to the Ridge,” answered Joe, “of a feller named Johnson.” + </p> + <p> + “Jest so—I reckon 't was his father I give Nellie to when I went + away. She was a frisky filly then—she don't look nothin' like that + now.” + </p> + <p> + “Mamie” turned, as if her former master's voice had stirred some old + memory. “She's got the evil eye,” Mr. Ball continued. “You wanter be + keerful.” + </p> + <p> + “She's all right, I guess,” Joe replied. + </p> + <p> + “Young feller,” said Mr. Ball earnestly, “do you chew terbacker?” + </p> + <p> + “Yep, but I ain't got no more. I'm on the last hunk.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ball stroked his stained beard. “I useter,” he said, reminiscently, + “afore I was merried.” + </p> + <p> + Joe whistled idly, still watching for Hepsey. + </p> + <p> + “Young feller,” said Mr. Ball, again, “there's a great deal of merryin' + and givin' in merriage in this here settlement, ain't there?” + </p> + <p> + “Not so much as there might be.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, was your mother's name Elmiry Peavey?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes sir,” Joe answered, much surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Then you be keerful,” cautioned Mr. Ball. “Your hoss has got the evil eye + and your father, as might hev been, allers had a weak eye fer women.” + Joe's face was a picture of blank astonishment. “I was engaged to both of + 'em,” Mr. Ball explained, “each one a-keepin' of it secret, and she—” + here he pointed his thumb suggestively toward the house—“she's got + me.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to be married myself,” volunteered Joe, proudly. + </p> + <p> + “Merriage is a fleetin' show—I wouldn't, if I was in your place. + Merriage is a drag on a man's ambitions. I set out to own a schooner, but + I can't never do it now, on account of bein' merried. I had a good start + towards it—I had a little store all to myself, what was worth three + or four hundred dollars, in a sunny country where the women folks had soft + voices and pretty ankles and wasn't above passin' jokes with an old feller + to cheer 'im on 'is lonely way.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ball appeared at the upper window. “James,” she called, “you'd better + come in and get your hat. Your bald spot will get all sunburned.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I won't wait no longer, Miss Hathaway,” Joe shouted, and, suiting + the action to the word, turned around and started down hill. Mr. Ball, + half way up the gravelled walk, turned back to smile at Joe with feeble + jocularity. + </p> + <p> + Hearing the familiar voice, Hepsey hastened to the front of the house, and + was about to retreat, when Mr. Ball stopped her. + </p> + <p> + “Pore little darlin',” he said, kindly, noting her tear stained face. + “Don't go—wait a minute.” He fumbled at his belt and at last + extracted a crisp, new ten dollar bill. “Here, take that and buy you a + ribbon or sunthin' to remember your lovin' Uncle James by.” + </p> + <p> + Hepsey's face brightened, and she hastily concealed the bill in her dress. + “I ain't your niece,” she said, hesitatingly, “it's Miss Thorne.” + </p> + <p> + “That don't make no difference,” rejoined Mr. Ball, generously, “I'm + willin' you should be my niece too. All pretty young things is my nieces + and I loves 'em all. Won't you give your pore old uncle a kiss to remember + you by?” + </p> + <p> + Ruth, who had heard the last words, came down to the gravelled walk. “Aunt + Jane is coming,” she announced, and Hepsey fled. + </p> + <p> + When the lady of the house appeared, Uncle James was sitting at one end of + the piazza and Ruth at the other, exchanging decorous commonplaces. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. Plans + </h2> + <p> + Hepsey had been gone an hour before Mrs. Ball realised that she had sent + away one of the witnesses of her approaching wedding. “It don't matter,” + she said to Ruth, “I guess there's others to be had. I've got the dress + and the man and one of 'em and I have faith that the other things will + come.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, the problem assumed undue proportions. After long study, she + decided upon the minister's wife. “If 'twa'nt that the numskulls round + here couldn't understand two weddin's,” she said, “I'd have it in the + church, as me and James first planned.” + </p> + <p> + Preparations for the ceremony went forward with Aunt Jane's customary + decision and briskness. She made a wedding cake, assisted by Mr. Ball, and + gathered all the flowers in the garden. There was something pathetic about + her pleasure; it was as though a wedding had been laid away in lavender, + not to see the light for more than thirty years. + </p> + <p> + Ruth was to assist in dressing the bride and then go after the minister + and his wife, who, by Aunt Jane's decree, were to have no previous + warning. “'T ain't necessary to tell 'em beforehand, not as I see,” said + Mrs. Ball. “You must ask fust if they're both to home, and if only one of + 'em is there, you'll have to find somebody else. If the minister's to home + and his wife ain't gaddin', he'll get them four dollars in James's belt, + leavin' an even two hundred, or do you think two dollars would be enough + for a plain marriage?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd leave that to Uncle James, Aunty.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you're right, Ruth—you've got the Hathaway sense.” + </p> + <p> + The old wedding gown was brought down from the attic and taken out of its + winding sheet. It had been carefully folded, but every crease showed + plainly and parts of it had changed in colour. Aunt Jane put on her best + “foretop,” which was entirely dark, with no softening grey hair, and was + reserved for occasions of high state. A long brown curl, which was hers by + right of purchase, was pinned to the hard, uncompromising twist at the + back of her neck. + </p> + <p> + Ruth helped her into the gown and, as it slipped over her head, she + inquired, from the depths of it: “Is the front door locked?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Aunty, and the back door too.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you bring up the keys as I told you to?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Aunty, here they are. Why?” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, then Mrs. Ball said solemnly: “I've read a great deal + about bridegrooms havin' wanderin' fits immediately before weddin's. Does + my dress hike up in the back, Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + It was a little shorter in the back than in the front and cleared the + floor on all sides, since she had grown a little after it was made, but + Ruth assured her that everything was all right. When they went downstairs + together, Mr. Ball was sitting in the parlour, plainly nervous. + </p> + <p> + “Now Ruth,” said Aunt Jane, “you can go after the minister. My first + choice is Methodis', after that Baptis' and then Presbyterian. I will + entertain James durin' your absence.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth was longing for fresh air and gladly undertook the delicate mission. + Before she was half way down the hill, she met Winfield, who had come on + the afternoon train. + </p> + <p> + “You're just in time to see a wedding,” she said, when the first raptures + had subsided. + </p> + <p> + “Whose wedding, sweetheart? Ours?” + </p> + <p> + “Far from it,” answered Ruth, laughing. “Come with me and I'll explain.” + </p> + <p> + She gave him a vivid description of the events that had transpired during + his absence, and had invited him to the wedding before it occurred to her + that Aunt Jane might not be pleased. “I may be obliged to recall my + invitation,” she said seriously, “I'll have to ask Aunty about it. She may + not want you.” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn't make any difference,” announced Winfield, in high spirits, + “I'm agoin' to the wedding and I'm a-goin' to kiss the bride, if you'll + let me.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth smothered a laugh. “You may, if you want to, and I won't be jealous. + Isn't that sweet of me?” + </p> + <p> + “You're always sweet, dear. Is this the abode of the parson?” + </p> + <p> + The Methodist minister was at home, but his wife was not, and Ruth + determined to take Winfield in her place. The clergyman said that he would + come immediately, and, as the lovers loitered up the hill, they arrived at + the same time. + </p> + <p> + Winfield was presented to the bridal couple, but there was no time for + conversation, since Aunt Jane was in a hurry. After the brief ceremony was + over, Ruth said wickedly: + </p> + <p> + “Aunty, on the way to the minister's, Mr. Winfield told me he was going to + kiss the bride. I hope you don't mind?” + </p> + <p> + Winfield looked unutterable things at Ruth, but nobly fulfilled the + obligation. Uncle James beamed upon Ruth in a way which indicated that an + attractive idea lay behind it, and Winfield created a diversion by tipping + over a vase of flowers. “He shan't,” he whispered to Ruth, “I'll be darned + if he shall!” + </p> + <p> + “Ruth,” said Aunt Jane, after a close scrutiny of Winfield, “if you' + relayin' out to marry that awkward creeter, what ain't accustomed to a + parlour, you'd better do it now, while him and the minister are both + here.” + </p> + <p> + Winfield was willing, but Ruth said that one wedding at a time was enough + in any family, and the minister, pledged to secrecy, took his departure. + The bride cut the wedding cake and each solemnly ate a piece of it. It was + a sacrament, rather than a festivity. + </p> + <p> + When the silence became oppressive, Ruth suggested a walk. + </p> + <p> + “You will set here, Niece Ruth,” remarked Aunt Jane, “until I have changed + my dress.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle James sighed softly, as she went upstairs. “Well,” he said, “I'm + merried now, hard and fast, and there ain't no help for it, world without + end.” + </p> + <p> + “Cheer up, Uncle,” said Winfield, consolingly, “it might be worse.” + </p> + <p> + “It's come on me all of a sudden,” he rejoined. “I ain't had no time to + prepare for it, as you may say. Little did I think, three weeks ago, as I + set in my little store, what was wuth four or five hundred dollars, that + before the month was out, I'd be merried. Me! Merried!” he exclaimed, “Me, + as never thought of sech!” + </p> + <p> + When Mrs. Ball entered, clad in sombre calico, Ruth, overcome by deep + emotion, led her lover into the open air. “It's bad for you to stay in + there,” she said gravely, “when you are destined to meet the same fate.” + </p> + <p> + “I've had time to prepare for it,” he answered, “in fact, I've had more + time than I want.” + </p> + <p> + They wandered down the hillside with aimless leisure, and Ruth stooped to + pick up a large, grimy handkerchief, with “C. W.” in the corner. “Here's + where we were the other morning,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Blessed spot,” he responded, “beautiful Hepsey and noble Joe! By what + humble means are great destinies made evident! You haven't said you were + glad to see me, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm always glad to see you, Mr. Winfield,” she replied primly. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Winfield isn't my name,” he objected, taking her into his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Carl,” she whispered shyly, to his coat collar. + </p> + <p> + “That isn't all of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Carl—dear—” said Ruth, with her face crimson. + </p> + <p> + “That's more like it. Now let's sit down—I've brought you something + and you have three guesses.” + </p> + <p> + “Returned manuscript?” + </p> + <p> + “No, you said they were all in.” + </p> + <p> + “Another piece of Aunt Jane's wedding cake?” + </p> + <p> + “No, guess again.” + </p> + <p> + “Chocolates?” + </p> + <p> + “Who'd think you were so stupid,” he said, putting two fingers into his + waistcoat pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—h!” gasped Ruth, in delight. + </p> + <p> + “You funny girl, didn't you expect an engagement ring? Let's see if it + fits.” + </p> + <p> + He slipped the gleaming diamond on her finger and it fitted exactly. + </p> + <p> + “How did you guess?” she asked, after a little. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't wholly guess work, dearest.” From another pocket, he drew a + glove, of grey suede, that belonged to Ruth's left hand. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you get that?” + </p> + <p> + “By the log across the path, that first day, when you were so cross to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't cross!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes you were—you were a little fiend.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you forgive me?” she pleaded, lifting her face to his. + </p> + <p> + “Rather!” He forgave her half a dozen times before she got away from him. + “Now let's talk sense,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “We can't—I never expect to talk sense again.” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty compliment, isn't it?” she asked. “It's like your telling me I was + brilliant and then saying I wasn't at all like myself.” “Won't you forgive + me?” he inquired significantly. + </p> + <p> + “Some other time,” she said, flushing, “now what are we going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he began, “I saw the oculist, and he says that my eyes are almost + well again, but that I mustn't use them for two weeks longer. Then, I can + read or write for two hours every day, increasing gradually as long as + they don't hurt. By the first of October, he thinks I'll be ready for work + again. Carlton wants me to report on the morning of the fifth, and he + offers me a better salary than I had on The Herald.” + </p> + <p> + “That's good!” + </p> + <p> + “We'll have to have a flat in the city, or a little house in the country, + near enough for me to get to the office.” + </p> + <p> + “For us to get to the office,” supplemented Ruth. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think you're going to do, Miss Thorne?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—I'm going to keep right on with the paper,” she answered in + surprise. + </p> + <p> + “No you're not, darling,” he said, putting his arm around her. “Do you + suppose I'm going to have Carlton or any other man giving my wife an + assignment? You can't any way, because I've resigned your position for + you, and your place is already filled. Carlton sent his congratulations + and said his loss was my gain, or something like that. He takes all the + credit to himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Why—why—you wretch!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not a wretch—you said yourself I was nice. Look here, Ruth,” he + went on, in a different tone, “what do you think I am? Do you think for a + minute that I'd marry you if I couldn't take care of you?” + </p> + <p> + “'T isn't that,” she replied, freeing herself from his encircling arm, + “but I like my work and I don't want to give it up. Besides—besides—I + thought you'd like to have me near you.” + </p> + <p> + “I do want you near me, sweetheart, that isn't the point. You have the + same right that I have to any work that is your natural expression, but, + in spite of the advanced age in which we live, I can't help believing that + home is the place for a woman. I may be old-fashioned, but I don't want my + wife working down town—I've got too much pride for that. You have + your typewriter, and you can turn out Sunday specials by the yard, if you + want to. Besides, there are all the returned manuscripts—if you have + the time and aren't hurried, there's no reason why you shouldn't do work + that they can't afford to refuse.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth was silent, and he laid his hand upon hers. “You understand me, don't + you, dear? God knows I'm not asking you to let your soul rust out in + idleness, and I wouldn't have you crave expression that was denied you, + but I don't want you to have to work when you don't feel like it, nor be + at anybody's beck and call. I know you did good work on the paper—Carlton + spoke of it, too—but others can do it as well. I want you to do + something that is so thoroughly you that no one else can do it. It's a + hard life, Ruth, you know that as well as I do, and I—I love you.” + </p> + <p> + His last argument was convincing. “I won't do anything you don't want me + to do, dear,” she said, with a new humility. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to be happy, dearest,” he answered, quickly. “Just try my way + for a year—that's all I ask. I know your independence is sweet to + you, but the privilege of working for you with hand and brain, with your + love in my heart; with you at home, to be proud of me when I succeed and + to give me new courage when I fail, why, it's the sweetest thing I've ever + known.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll have to go back to town very soon, though,” she said, a little + later, “I am interrupting the honeymoon.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll have one of our own very soon that you can't interrupt, and, when + you go back, I'm going with you. We'll buy things for the house.” + </p> + <p> + “We need lots of things, don't we?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I expect we do, darling, but I haven't the least idea what they are. + You'll have to tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oriental rugs, for one thing,” she said, “and a mahogany piano, and an + instrument to play it with, because I haven't any parlour tricks, and some + good pictures, and a waffle iron and a porcelain rolling pin.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about rolling pins and waffle irons?” he asked fondly. + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy,” she replied, patronisingly, “you forget that in the days + when I was a free and independent woman, I was on a newspaper. I know lots + of things that are utterly strange to you, because, in all probability, + you never ran a woman's department. If you want soup, you must boil meat + slowly, and if you want meat, you must boil it rapidly, and if dough + sticks to a broom straw when you jab it into a cake, it isn't done.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed joyously. “How about the porcelain rolling pin?” + </p> + <p> + “It's germ proof,” she rejoined, soberly. + </p> + <p> + “Are we going to keep house on the antiseptic plan?” + </p> + <p> + “We are—it's better than the installment plan, isn't it? Oh, Carl!” + she exclaimed, “I've had the brightest idea!” + </p> + <p> + “Spring it!” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Aunt Jane's attic is full of old furniture, and I believe she'll + give it to us!” + </p> + <p> + His face fell. “How charming,” he said, without emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you stupid,” she laughed, “it's colonial mahogany, every stick of it! + It only needs to be done over!” + </p> + <p> + “Ruth, you're a genius.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till I get it, before you praise me. Just stay here a minute and + I'll run up to see what frame of mind she's in.” + </p> + <p> + When she entered the kitchen, the bride was busily engaged in getting + supper. Uncle James, with a blue gingham apron tied under his arms, was + awkwardly peeling potatoes. “Oh, how good that smells!” exclaimed Ruth, as + a spicy sheet of gingerbread was taken out of the oven. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Jane looked at her kindly, with gratified pride beaming from every + feature. “I wish you'd teach me to cook, Aunty,” she continued, following + up her advantage, “you know I'm going to marry Mr. Winfield.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, I'll teach you—where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He's outside—I just came in to speak to you a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “You can ask him to supper if you want to.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Aunty, that's lovely of you. I know he'll like to stay.” + </p> + <p> + “James,” said Mrs. Ball, “you're peelin' them pertaters with thick + peelins' and you'll land in the poorhouse. I've never knowed it to fail.” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to ask you something, Aunty,” Ruth went on quickly, though + feeling that the moment was not auspicious, “you know all that old + furniture up in the attic?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—why—you aren't using it, you know, and I thought perhaps + you'd be willing to give it to us, so that we can go to housekeeping as + soon as we're married.” + </p> + <p> + “It was your grandmother's,” Aunt Jane replied after long thought, “and, + as you say, I ain't usin' it. I don't know but what you might as well have + it as anybody else. I lay out to buy me a new haircloth parlour suit with + that two hundred dollars of James's—he give the minister the hull + four dollars over and above that—and—yes, you can have it,” + she concluded. + </p> + <p> + Ruth kissed her, with real feeling. “Thank you so much, Aunty. It will be + lovely to have something that was my grandmother's.” + </p> + <p> + When she went back to Winfield, he was absorbed in a calculation he was + making on the back of an envelope. + </p> + <p> + “You're not to use your eyes,” she said warningly, “and, oh Carl! It was + my grandmother's and she's given us every bit of it, and you're to stay to + supper!” + </p> + <p> + “Must be in a fine humour,” he observed. “I'm ever so glad. Come here, + darling, you don't know how I've missed you.” + </p> + <p> + “I've been earning furniture,” she said, settling down beside him. “People + earn what they get from Aunty—I won't say that, though, because it's + mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about this remarkable furniture. What is it, and how much of it + is destined to glorify our humble cottage?” + </p> + <p> + “It's all ours,” she returned serenely, “but I don't know just how much + there is. I didn't look at it closely, you know, because I never expected + to have any of it. Let's see—there's a heavy dresser, and a large, + round table, with claw feet—that's our dining-table, and there's a + bed, just like those in the windows in town, when it's done over, and + there's a big old-fashioned sofa, and a spinning-wheel—” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to spin?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, don't interrupt. There are five chairs—dining-room chairs, + and two small tables, and a card table with a leaf that you can stand up + against the wall, and two lovely rockers, and I don't know what else.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a fairly complete inventory, considering that you 'didn't look at + it closely.' What a little humbug you are!” + </p> + <p> + “You like humbugs, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Some, not all.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence, and then Ruth moved away from him. “Tell me + about everything,” she said. “Think of all the years I haven't known you!” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing to tell, dear. Are you going to conduct an excavation + into my 'past?'” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I'm not! The present is enough for me, and I'll attend to your + future myself.” + </p> + <p> + “There's not much to be ashamed of, Ruth,” he said, soberly. “I've always + had the woman I should marry in my mind—'the not impossible she,' + and my ideal has kept me out of many a pitfall I wanted to go to her with + clean hands and a clean heart, and I have. I'm not a saint, but I'm as + clean as I could be, and live in the world at all.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth put her hand on his. “Tell me about your mother.” + </p> + <p> + A shadow crossed his face and he waited a moment before speaking. “My + mother died when I was born,” he said with an effort. “I can't tell you + about her, Ruth, she—she—wasn't a very good woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, dear,” she answered with quick sympathy, “I don't want to + know!” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know about it until a few years ago,” he continued, “when some + kindly disposed relatives of father's gave me full particulars. They're + dead now, and I'm glad of it. She—she—drank.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't, Carl!” she cried, “I don't want to know!” + </p> + <p> + “You're a sweet girl, Ruth,” he said, tenderly, touching her hand to his + lips. “Father died when I was ten or twelve years old and I can't remember + him very well, though I have one picture, taken a little while before he + was married. He was a moody, silent man, who hardly ever spoke to any one. + I know now that he was broken-hearted. I can't remember even the tones of + his voice, but only one or two little peculiarities. He couldn't bear the + smell of lavender and the sight of any shade of purple actually made him + suffer. It was very strange. + </p> + <p> + “I've picked up what education I have,” he went on. “I have nothing to + give you, Ruth, but these—” he held out his hands—“and my + heart.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all I want, dearest—don't tell me any more!” + </p> + <p> + A bell rang cheerily, and, when they went in, Aunt Jane welcomed him with + apparent cordiality, though a close observer might have detected a tinge + of suspicion. She liked the ring on Ruth's finger, which she noticed for + the first time. “It's real pretty, ain't it, James?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm, 't is so.” + </p> + <p> + “It's just come to my mind now that you never give me no ring except this + here one we was married with. I guess we'd better take some of that two + hundred dollars you've got sewed up in that unchristian belt you insist on + wearin' and get me a ring like Ruth's, and use the rest for furniture, + don't you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm,” he replied. “Ring and furniture—or anythin' you'd like.” + </p> + <p> + “James is real indulgent,” she said to Winfield, with a certain modest + pride which was at once ludicrous and pathetic. + </p> + <p> + “He should be, Mrs. Ball,” returned the young man, gallantly. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him closely, as if to discover whether he was in earnest, + but he did not flinch. “Young feller,” she said, “you ain't layin' out to + take no excursions on the water, be you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know of,” he answered, “why?” + </p> + <p> + “Sea-farin' is dangerous,” she returned. + </p> + <p> + “Mis' Ball was terrible sea sick comin' here,” remarked her husband. “She + didn't seem to have no sea legs, as you may say.” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't you tired of dwellin' on that?” asked Aunt Jane, sharply. “'T ain't + no disgrace to be sea sick, and I wan't the only one.” + </p> + <p> + Winfield came to the rescue with a question and the troubled waters were + soon calm again. After supper, Ruth said: “Aunty, may I take Mr. Winfield + up to the attic and show him my grandmother's things that you've just + given me?” + </p> + <p> + “Run along, child. Me and James will wash the dishes.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor James,” said Winfield, in a low tone, as they ascended the stairs. + “Do I have to wash dishes, Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't surprise me. You said you wanted to work for me, and I + despise dishes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we'll get an orphan to do 'em. I'm not fitted for it, and I don't + think you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, isn't this great!” he exclaimed, as they entered the attic. “Trunks, + cobwebs, and old furniture! Why have I never been here before?” + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't proper,” replied Ruth, primly, with a sidelong glance at him. + “No, go away!” + </p> + <p> + They dragged the furniture out into the middle of the room and looked it + over critically. There was all that she had described, and unsuspected + treasure lay in concealment behind it. “There's almost enough to furnish a + flat!” she cried, in delight. + </p> + <p> + He was opening the drawers of a cabinet, which stood far back under the + eaves. “What's this, Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's old blue china—willow pattern! How rich we are!” + </p> + <p> + “Is old blue willow-pattern china considered beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it is, you goose! We'll have to have our dining-room done in + old blue, now, with a shelf on the wall for these plates.” + </p> + <p> + “Why can't we have a red dining-room?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it would be a fright. You can have a red den, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he answered, “but it seems to me it would be simpler and save + a good deal of expense, if we just pitched the plates into the sad sea. I + don't think much of 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “That's because you're not educated, dearest,” returned Ruth, sweetly. + “When you're married, you'll know a great deal more about china—you + see if you don't.” + </p> + <p> + They lingered until it was so dark that they could scarcely see each + other's faces. “We'll come up again to-morrow,” she said. “Wait a minute.” + </p> + <p> + She groped over to the east window, where there was still a faint glow, + and lighted the lamp, which stood in its accustomed place, newly filled. + </p> + <p> + “You're not going to leave it burning, are you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Aunt Jane has a light in this window every night.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what for?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, dearest. I think it's for a lighthouse, but I don't care. + Come, let's go downstairs.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. “For Remembrance” + </h2> + <p> + The next day, while Ruth was busily gathering up her few belongings and + packing her trunk, Winfield appeared with a suggestion regarding the + advisability of outdoor exercise. Uncle James stood at the gate and + watched them as they went down hill. He was a pathetic old figure, + predestined to loneliness under all circumstances. + </p> + <p> + “That's the way I'll look when we've been married a few years,” said Carl. + </p> + <p> + “Worse than that,” returned Ruth, gravely. “I'm sorry for you, even now.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't be proud and haughty just because you've had a wedding at + your house—we're going to have one at ours.” + </p> + <p> + “At ours?” + </p> + <p> + “At the 'Widder's,' I mean, this very evening.” + </p> + <p> + “That's nice,” answered Ruth, refusing to ask the question. + </p> + <p> + “It's Joe and Hepsey,” he continued, “and I thought perhaps you might + stoop low enough to assist me in selecting an appropriate wedding gift in + yonder seething mart. I feel greatly indebted to them.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course I will; it's quite sudden, isn't it?” “Far be it from me + to say so. However, it's the most reversed wedding I ever heard of. A + marriage at the home of the groom, to say the least, is unusual. Moreover, + the 'Widder' Pendleton is to take the bridal tour and leave the happy + couple at home. She's going to visit a relative who is distant in both + position and relationship—all unknown to the relative, I fancy. She + starts immediately after the ceremony and it seems to me that it would be + a pious notion to throw rice and old shoes after her.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Carl! You don't want to maim her, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't mind. If it hadn't been for my ostrich-like digestion, I + wouldn't have had anything to worry about by this time. However, if you + insist, I will throw the rice and let you heave the shoes. If you have the + precision of aim which distinguishes your sex, the 'Widder' will escape + uninjured.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I to be invited?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly—haven't I already invited you?” + </p> + <p> + “They may not like it.” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn't make any difference. Lots of people go to weddings who + aren't wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go, then,” announced Ruth, “and once again, I give you my gracious + permission to kiss the bride.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, dear, but I'm not going to kiss any brides except my own. I've + signed the pledge and sworn off.” + </p> + <p> + They created a sensation in the village when they acquired the set of + china which had been on exhibition over a year. During that time it had + fallen at least a third in price, though its value was unchanged. Ruth + bought a hideous red table-cloth, which she knew would please Hepsey, + greatly to Winfield's disgust. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you do that?” he demanded. “Don't you know that, in all + probability, I'll have to eat off of it? I much prefer the oilcloth, to + which I am now accustomed.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to get used to table linen, dear,” she returned teasingly; + “it's my ambition to have one just like this for state occasions.” + </p> + <p> + Joe appeared with the chariot just in time to receive and transport the + gift. “Here's your wedding present, Joe!” called Winfield, and the + innocent villagers formed a circle about them as the groom-elect + endeavoured to express his appreciation. Winfield helped him pack the “101 + pieces” on the back seat and under it, and when Ruth, feeling like a fairy + godmother, presented the red table-cloth, his cup of joy was full. + </p> + <p> + He started off proudly, with a soup tureen and two platters on the seat + beside him. The red table-cloth was slung over his arm, in toreador + fashion, and the normal creak of the conveyance was accentuated by an + ominous rattle of crockery. Then he circled back, motioning them to wait. + </p> + <p> + “Here's sunthin' I most forgot,” he said, giving Ruth a note. “I'd drive + you back fer nothin', only I've got sech a load.” + </p> + <p> + The note was from Miss Ainslie, inviting Miss Thorne and her friend to + come at five o'clock and stay to tea. No answer was expected unless she + could not come. + </p> + <p> + The quaint, old-fashioned script was in some way familiar. A flash of + memory took Ruth back to the note she had found in the dresser drawer, + beginning: “I thank you from my heart for understanding me.” So it was + Miss Ainslie who had sent the mysterious message to Aunt Jane. + </p> + <p> + “You're not paying any attention to me,” complained Winfield. “I suppose, + when we're married, I'll have to write out what I want to say to you, and + put it on file.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a goose,” laughed Ruth. “We're going to Miss Ainslie's to-night + for tea. Aren't we getting gay?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed we are! Weddings and teas follow one another like Regret on the + heels of Pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty simile,” commented Ruth. “If we go to the tea, we'll have to miss + the wedding.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we've been to a wedding quite recently, so I suppose it's better to + go to the tea. Perhaps, by arranging it, we might be given nourishment at + both places—not that I pine for the 'Widder's' cooking. Anyhow, + we've sent our gift, and they'd rather have that than to have us, if they + were permitted to choose.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose they'll give us anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us hope not.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe we want any at all,” she said. “Most of them would be in + bad taste, and you'd have to bury them at night, one at a time, while I + held a lantern.” + </p> + <p> + “The policeman on the beat would come and ask us what we were doing,” he + objected; “and when we told him we were only burying our wedding presents, + he wouldn't believe us. We'd be dragged to the station and put into a + noisome cell. Wouldn't it make a pretty story for the morning papers! The + people who gave us the things would enjoy it over their coffee.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be pathetic, wouldn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “It would, Miss Thorne. I think we'd better not tell anybody until its all + safely over, and then we can have a little card printed to go with the + announcement, saying that if anybody is inclined to give us a present, + we'd rather have the money.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a very practical person, Carl. One would think you had been + married several times.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll be married as often as you like, dear. Judging by your respected + aunt, one ceremony isn't 'rightfully bindin', and I want it done often + enough to be sure that you can't get away from me.” + </p> + <p> + As they entered the gate, Uncle James approached stealthily by a + roundabout way and beckoned to them. “Excuse me,” he began, as they came + within speaking distance, “but has Mis' Ball give you furniture?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Ruth, in astonishment, “why?” + </p> + <p> + “There's clouds to starboard and she's repentin'. She's been admirin' of + it the hull mornin' in the attic. I was sot in the kitchen with + pertaters,” he explained, “but the work is wearin' and a feller needs + fresh air.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for the tip, Uncle,” said Winfield, heartily. + </p> + <p> + The old man glowed with gratification. “We men understand each other,” was + plainly written on his expressive face, as he went noiselessly back to the + kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better go home, dear,” suggested Ruth. + </p> + <p> + “Delicate hint,” replied Winfield. “It would take a social strategist to + perceive your hidden meaning. Still, my finer sensibilities respond + instantly to your touch, and I will go. I flatter myself that I've never + had to be put out yet, when I've been calling on a girl. Some subtle + suggestion like yours has always been sufficient.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be cross, dear—let's see how soon you can get to the bottom + of the hill. You can come back at four o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed and turned back to wave his hand at her. She wafted a kiss from + the tips of her fingers, which seemed momentarily to impede his progress, + but she motioned him away and ran into the house. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Jane was nowhere to be seen, so she went on into the kitchen to help + Uncle James with the potatoes. He had peeled almost a peck and the thick + parings lay in a heap on the floor. “My goodness'” she exclaimed. “You'd + better throw those out, Uncle, and I'll put the potatoes on to boil.” + </p> + <p> + He hastened out, with his arms full of peelings. “You're a real kind + woman, Niece Ruth,” he said gratefully, when he came in. “You don't favour + your aunt none—I think you're more like me.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ball entered the kitchen with a cloud upon her brow, and in one of + those rare flashes of insight which are vouchsafed to plodding mortals, a + plan of action presented itself to Ruth. “Aunty,” she said, before Mrs. + Ball had time to speak, “you know I'm going back to the city to-morrow, + and I'd like to send you and Uncle James a wedding present—you've + been so good to me. What shall it be?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, I don't know,” she answered, visibly softening, “but I'll + think it over, and let you know.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you like, Uncle James?” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't trouble him about it,” explained his wife. “He'll like + whatever I do, won't you, James?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm, just as you say.” + </p> + <p> + After dinner, when Ruth broached the subject of furniture, she was + gratified to find that Aunt Jane had no serious objections. “I kinder hate + to part with it, Ruth,” she said, “but in a way, as you may say, it's + yours.” + </p> + <p> + “'Tisn't like giving it away, Aunty—it's all in the family, and, as + you say, you're not using it.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so, and then James and me are likely to come and make you a long + visit, so I'll get the good of it, too.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth was momentarily stunned, but rallied enough to express great pleasure + at the prospect. As Aunt Jane began to clear up the dishes, Mr. Ball + looked at his niece, with a certain quiet joy, and then, unmistakably, + winked. + </p> + <p> + “When you decide about the wedding present, Aunty, let me know, won't + you?” she asked, as Mrs. Ball came in after the rest of the dishes. “Mr. + Winfield would like to send you a remembrance also.” Then Ruth added, to + her conscience, “I know he would.” + </p> + <p> + “He seems like a pleasant-spoken feller,” remarked Aunt Jane. “You can ask + him to supper to-night, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Aunty, but we're going to Miss Ainslie's.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” snorted Mrs. Ball. “Mary Ainslie ain't got no sperrit!” With this + enigmatical statement, she sailed majestically out of the room. + </p> + <p> + During the afternoon, Ruth finished her packing, leaving out a white + shirt-waist to wear to Miss Ainslie's. When she went down to the parlour + to wait for Winfield, Aunt Jane appeared, with her husband in her wake. + </p> + <p> + “Ruth,” she announced, “me and James have decided on a weddin' present. I + would like a fine linen table-cloth and a dozen napkins.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Aunty.” + </p> + <p> + “And if Mr. Winfield is disposed to it, he can give me a lemonade set—one + of them what has different coloured tumblers belongin' to it.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll be pleased to send it, Aunty; I know he will.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm a-layin' out to take part of them two hundred dollars what's sewed up + in James's belt, and buy me a new black silk,” she went on. “I've got some + real lace to trim it with, whet dames give me in the early years of our + engagement. Don't you think a black silk is allers nice, Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is, Aunty; and just now, it's very stylish.” + </p> + <p> + “You appear to know about such things. I guess I'll let you get it for me + in the city when you buy the weddin' present. I'll give you the money, and + you can get the linin's too, while you're about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll send you some samples, Aunty, and then you can take your choice.” + </p> + <p> + “And—” began Mrs. Ball. + </p> + <p> + “Did you know Mrs. Pendleton was going away, Aunty?” asked Ruth, hastily. + </p> + <p> + “Do tell! Elmiry Peavey goin' travellin'?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she's going somewhere for a visit—I don't know just where.” + </p> + <p> + “I had laid out to take James and call on Elmiry,” she said, stroking her + apron thoughtfully, while a shadow crossed Mr. Ball's expressive face; + “but I guess I'll wait now till I get my new black silk. I want her to + know I've done well.” + </p> + <p> + A warning hiss from the kitchen and the odour of burning sugar impelled + Aunt Jane to a hasty exit just as Winfield came. Uncle James followed them + to the door. + </p> + <p> + “Niece Ruth,” he said, hesitating and fumbling at his belt, “be you goin' + to get merried?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so, Uncle,” she replied kindly. + </p> + <p> + “Then—then—I wish you'd take this and buy you sunthin' to + remember your pore old Uncle James by.” He thrust a trembling hand toward + her, and offered her a twenty dollar bill. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Uncle!” she exclaimed. “I mustn't take this! Thank you ever so much, + but it isn't right!” + </p> + <p> + “I'd be pleased,” he said plaintively. “'Taint as if I wan's accustomed to + money. My store was wuth five or six hundred dollars, and you've been real + pleasant to me, Niece Ruth. Buy a hair wreath for the parlour, or sunthin' + to remind you of your pore old Uncle.” + </p> + <p> + Winfield pressed her arm warningly, and she tucked the bill into her + chatelaine bag. “Thank you, Uncle!” she said; then, of her own accord, she + stooped and kissed him lightly on the cheek. + </p> + <p> + A mist came into the old man's eyes, and he put his hand to his belt + again, but she hurriedly led Winfield away. “Ruth,” he said, as they went + down the hill, “you're a sweet girl. That was real womanly kindness to the + poor devil.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I be equally kind to all 'poor devils'?” + </p> + <p> + “There's one more who needs you—if you attend to him properly, it + will be enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see how they're going to get Aunty's silk gown and a ring like + mine and a haircloth parlour suit and publish a book with less than two + hundred dollars, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Hardly—Joe says that he gave Hepsey ten dollars. There's a great + discussion about the spending of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know—I feel guilty.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't, darling. There was nothing else for you to do. How did you + succeed with your delicate mission?” + </p> + <p> + “I managed it,” she said proudly. “I feel that I was originally destined + for a diplomatic career.” He laughed when she described the lemonade set + which she had promised in his name. + </p> + <p> + “I'll see that the furniture is shipped tomorrow,” he assured her; “and + then I'll go on a still hunt for the gaudy glassware. I'm blessed if I + don't give 'em a silver ice pitcher, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm in for a table-cloth and a dozen napkins,” laughed Ruth; “but I don't + mind. We won't bury Uncle's wedding present, will we?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say not! Behold the effect of the card, long before it's + printed.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Ruth, seriously, “I'll get a silver spoon or something like + that out of the twenty dollars, and then I'll spend the rest of it on + something nice for Uncle James. The poor soul isn't getting any wedding + present, and he'll never know.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a moral question involved in that,” replied Winfield. “Is it + right to use his money in that way and assume the credit yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “We'll have to think it over,” Ruth answered. “It isn't so very simple + after all.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie was waiting for them in the garden and came to the gate to + meet them. She wore a gown of lavender taffeta, which rustled and shone in + the sunlight. The skirt was slightly trained, with a dust ruffle + underneath, and the waist was made in surplice fashion, open at the + throat. A bertha of rarest Brussels lace was fastened at her neck with the + amethyst pin, inlaid with gold and surrounded by baroque pearls. The ends + of the bertha hung loosely and under it she had tied an apron of sheerest + linen, edged with narrow Duchesse lace. Her hair was coiled softly on top + of her head, with a string of amethysts and another of pearls woven among + the silvery strands. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome to my house,” she said, smiling, Winfield at once became her + slave. She talked easily, with that exquisite cadence which makes each + word seem like a gift, but there was a certain subtle excitement in her + manner, which Ruth did not fail to perceive. When Winfield was not looking + at Miss Ainslie, her eyes rested upon him with a wondering hunger, mingled + with tenderness and fear. + </p> + <p> + Midsummer lay upon the garden and the faint odour of mignonette and + lavender came with every wandering wind. White butterflies and thistledown + floated in the air, bees hummed drowsily, and the stately hollyhocks + swayed slowly back and forth. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know why I asked you to come today?” She spoke to Ruth, but looked + at Winfield. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Miss Ainslie?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it is my birthday—I am fifty-five years old.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth's face mirrored her astonishment. “You don't look any older than I + do,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Except for the white hair, it was true. Her face was as fresh as a rose + with the morning dew upon it, and even on her neck, where the folds of + lace revealed a dazzling whiteness, there were no lines. + </p> + <p> + “Teach us how to live, Miss Ainslie,” said Winfield, softly, “that the end + of half a century may find us young.” + </p> + <p> + A delicate pink suffused her cheeks and she turned her eyes to his. “I've + just been happy, that's all,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “It needs the alchemist's touch,” he said, “to change our sordid world to + gold.” + </p> + <p> + “We can all learn,” she replied, “and even if we don't try, it comes to us + once.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Ruth. + </p> + <p> + “Happiness—even if it isn't until the end. In every life there is a + perfect moment, like a flash of sun. We can shape our days by that, if we + will—before by faith, and afterward by memory.” + </p> + <p> + The conversation drifted to less serious things. Ruth, remembering that + Miss Ainslie did not hear the village gossip, described her aunt's + home-coming, the dismissal of Hepsey, and told her of the wedding which + was to take place that evening. Winfield was delighted, for he had never + heard her talk so well, but Miss Ainslie listened with gentle displeasure. + </p> + <p> + “I did not think Miss Hathaway would ever be married abroad,” she said. “I + think she should have waited until she came home. It would have been more + delicate to let him follow her. To seem to pursue a gentleman, however + innocent one may be, is—is unmaidenly.” + </p> + <p> + Winfield choked, then coughed violently. + </p> + <p> + “Understand me, dear,” Miss Ainslie went on, “I do not mean to criticise + your aunt—she is one of my dearest friends. Perhaps I should not + have spoken at all,” she concluded in genuine distress. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, Miss Ainslie,” Ruth assured her, “I know just how you + feel.” + </p> + <p> + Winfield, having recovered his composure, asked a question about the + garden, and Miss Ainslie led them in triumph around her domain. She + gathered a little nosegay of sweet-williams for Ruth, who was over among + the hollyhocks, then she said shyly: “What shall I pick for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Anything you like, Miss Ainslie. I am at a loss to choose.” + </p> + <p> + She bent over and plucked a leaf of rosemary, looking at him long and + searchingly as she put it into his hand. + </p> + <p> + “For remembrance,” she said, with the deep fire burning in her eyes. Then + she added, with a pitiful hunger in her voice: + </p> + <p> + “Whatever happens, you won't forget me?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” he answered, strangely stirred. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she whispered brokenly, drawing away from him. “You look so + much like—like some one I used to know.” + </p> + <p> + At dusk they went into the house. Except for the hall, it was square, with + two partitions dividing it. The two front rooms were separated by an arch, + and the dining-room and kitchen were similarly situated at the back of the + house, with a china closet and pantry between them. + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie's table, of solid mahogany, was covered only with fine linen + doilies, after a modern fashion, and two quaint candlesticks, of solid + silver, stood opposite each other. In the centre, in a silver vase of + foreign pattern, there was a great bunch of asters—white and pink + and blue. + </p> + <p> + The repast was simple—chicken fried to a golden brown, with creamed + potatoes, a salad made of fresh vegetables from the garden, hot biscuits, + deliciously light, and the fragrant Chinese tea, served in the Royal Kaga + cups, followed by pound cake, and pears preserved in a heavy red syrup. + </p> + <p> + The hostess sat at the head of the table, dispensing a graceful + hospitality. She made no apology, such as prefaced almost every meal at + Aunt Jane's. It was her best, and she was proud to give it—such was + the impression. + </p> + <p> + Afterward, when Ruth told her that she was going back to the city, Miss + Ainslie's face grew sad. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why must you go?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I'm interrupting the honeymoon,” Ruth answered, “and when I suggested + departure, Aunty agreed to it immediately. I can't very well stay now, can + I?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said Miss Ainslie, laying her hand upon Ruth's, “if you could, + if you only would—won't you come and stay with me?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd love to,” replied Ruth, impetuously, “but are you sure you want me?” + </p> + <p> + “Believe me, my dear,” said Miss Ainslie, simply, “it will give me great + happiness.” + </p> + <p> + So it was arranged that the next day Ruth's trunk should be taken to Miss + Ainslie's, and that she would stay until the first of October. Winfield + was delighted, since it brought Ruth nearer to him and involved no long + separation. + </p> + <p> + They went outdoors again, where the crickets and katydids were chirping in + the grass, and the drowsy twitter of birds came from the maples above. The + moon, at its full, swung slowly over the hill, and threads of silver light + came into the fragrant dusk of the garden. Now and then the moonlight + shone full upon Miss Ainslie's face, touching her hair as if with loving + tenderness and giving her an unearthly beauty. It was the face of a saint. + </p> + <p> + Winfield, speaking reverently, told her of their betrothal. She leaned + forward, into the light, and put one hand caressingly upon the arm of + each. + </p> + <p> + “I am so glad,” she said, with her face illumined. Through the music of + her voice ran lights and shadows, vague, womanly appeal, and a haunting + sweetness neither could ever forget. + </p> + <p> + That night, the gates of Youth turned on their silent hinges for Miss + Ainslie. Forgetting the hoary frost that the years had laid upon her hair, + she walked, hand in hand with them, through the clover fields which lay + fair before them and by the silvered reaches of the River of Dreams. Into + their love came something sweet that they had not found before—the + absolute need of sharing life together, whether it should be joy or pain. + Unknowingly, they rose to that height which makes sacrifice the soul's + dearest offering, as the chrysalis, brown and unbeautiful, gives the + radiant creature within to the light and freedom of day. + </p> + <p> + When the whistle sounded for the ten o'clock train, Ruth said it was late + and they must go. Miss Ainslie went to the gate with them, her lavender + scented gown rustling softly as she walked, and the moonlight making new + beauty of the amethysts and pearls entwined in her hair. + </p> + <p> + Ruth, aglow with happiness, put her arms around Miss Ainslie's neck and + kissed her tenderly. “May I, too?” asked Winfield. + </p> + <p> + He drew her toward him, without waiting for an answer, and Miss Ainslie + trembled from head to foot as she lifted her face to his. + </p> + <p> + Across the way the wedding was in full blast, but neither of them cared to + go. Ruth turned back for a last glimpse of the garden and its gentle + mistress, but she was gone, and the light from her candle streamed out + until it rested upon a white hollyhock, nodding drowsily. + </p> + <p> + To Ruth, walking in the starlight with her lover, it seemed as if the + world had been made new. The spell was upon Winfield for a long time, but + at last he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “If I could have chosen my mother,” he said, simply, “she would have been + like Miss Ainslie.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. The Secret and the Dream + </h2> + <p> + Ruth easily became accustomed to the quiet life at Miss Ainslie's, and + gradually lost all desire to go back to the city. “You're spoiling me,” + she said, one day. “I don't want to go back to town, I don't want to work, + I don't want to do anything but sit still and look at you. I didn't know I + was so lazy.” + </p> + <p> + “You're not lazy, dear,” answered Miss Ainslie, “you were tired, and you + didn't know how tired you were.” + </p> + <p> + Winfield practically lived there. In the morning, he sat in the garden, + reading the paper, while Ruth helped about the house. She insisted upon + learning to cook, and he ate many an unfamiliar dish, heroically + proclaiming that it was good. “You must never doubt his love,” Miss + Ainslie said, “for those biscuits—well, dear, you know they were—were + not just right.” + </p> + <p> + The amateur cook laughed outright at the gentle criticism. “They were + awful,” she admitted, “but I'm going to keep at it until I learn how.” + </p> + <p> + The upper part of the house was divided into four rooms, with windows on + all sides. One of the front rooms, with north and east windows, was Miss + Ainslie's, while the one just back of it, with south and east windows, was + a sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + “I keep my prettiest things up here, dear,” she explained to Ruth, “for I + don't want people to think I'm crazy.” Ruth caught her breath as she + entered the room, for rare tapestries hung on the walls and priceless rugs + lay on the floor. The furniture, like that downstairs, was colonial + mahogany, highly polished, with here and there a chair or table of foreign + workmanship. There was a cabinet, filled with rare china, a marquetry + table, and a chair of teakwood, inlaid with mother of pearl. In one corner + of the room was a large chest of sandal wood, inlaid with pearl and partly + covered by a wonderful antique rug. + </p> + <p> + The world had seemingly given up its beauty to adorn Miss Ainslie's room. + She had pottery from Mexico, China and Japan; strange things from Egypt + and the Nile, and all the Oriental splendour of India and Persia. Ruth + wisely asked no questions, but once, as before, she said hesitating; “they + were given to me by a—a friend.” + </p> + <p> + After much pleading on Ruth's part, Winfield was allowed to come to the + sitting room. “He'll think I'm silly, dear,” she said, flushing; but, on + the contrary, he shared Ruth's delight, and won Miss Ainslie's gratitude + by his appreciation of her treasures. + </p> + <p> + Day by day, the singular attraction grew between them. She loved Ruth, but + she took him unreservedly into her heart. Ruth observed, idly, that she + never called him “Mr. Winfield.” At first she spoke of him as “your + friend” and afterward, when he had asked her to, she yielded, with an + adorable shyness, and called him Carl. + </p> + <p> + He, too, had eaten of the lotus and lost the desire to go back to town. + From the hilltop they could see the yellow fields and hear the soft melody + of reaping from the valley around them. He and Ruth often walked together, + but Miss Ainslie never would go with them. She stayed quietly at home, as + she had done for many years. + </p> + <p> + Every night, when the last train came from the city, she put a lighted + candle in her front window, using always the candlestick of solid silver, + covered with fretwork in intricate design. If Winfield was there, she + managed to have him and Ruth in another room. At half-past ten, she took + it away, sighing softly as she put out the light. + </p> + <p> + Ruth wondered, but said nothing, even to Winfield. The grain in the valley + was bound in sheaves, and the first colour came on the maples—sometimes + in a delicate flush, or a flash of gold, and sometimes like a blood-red + wound. + </p> + <p> + One morning, when Miss Ainslie came downstairs, Ruth was startled at the + change in her. The quick, light step was slow and heavy, the broad, + straight shoulders drooped a little, and her face, while still dimpled and + fair, was subtly different. Behind her deep, violet eyes lay an + unspeakable sadness and the rosy tints were gone. Her face was as pure and + cold as marble, with the peace of the dead laid upon it. She seemed to + have grown old in a single night. + </p> + <p> + All day she said little or nothing and would not eat. She simply sat + still, looking out of the east window. “No,” she said, gently, to Ruth, + “nothing is the matter, deary, I'm just tired.” + </p> + <p> + When Winfield came, she kept him away from Miss Ainslie without seeming to + do so. “Let's go for a walk,” she said. She tried to speak lightly, but + there was a lump in her throat and a tightening at her heart. + </p> + <p> + They climbed the hill and took the side path which led to the woods, + following it down and through the aisles of trees, to the log across the + path. Ruth was troubled and sat there some little time without speaking, + then suddenly, she knew that something was wrong with Carl. + </p> + <p> + Her heart was filled with strange foreboding and she vainly tried to + swallow the persistent lump in her throat. She spoke to him, gently, once + or twice and he did not seem to hear. “Carl!” she cried in agony, “Carl! + What is it?” + </p> + <p> + He tried to shake off the spell which lay upon him. “Nothing, darling,” he + said unsteadily, with something of the old tenderness. “I'm weak—and + foolish—that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Carl! Dearest!” she cried, and then broke down, sobbing bitterly. + </p> + <p> + Her tears aroused him and he tried to soothe her. “Ruth, my darling girl, + don't cry. We have each other, sweetheart, and it doesn't matter—nothing + matters in the whole, wide world.” + </p> + <p> + After a little, she regained her self-control. + </p> + <p> + “Come out into the sun,” he said, “it's ghostly here. You don't seem real + to me, Ruth.” + </p> + <p> + The mist filled her eyes again. “Don't, darling,” he pleaded, “I'll try to + tell you.” + </p> + <p> + They sat down on the hillside, where the sun shone brightly, and where + they could see Miss Ainslie's house plainly. She waited, frightened and + suffering, for what seemed an eternity, before he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Last night, Ruth,” he began, “my father came to me in a dream. You know + he died when I was about twelve years old, and last night I saw him as he + would have been if he had lived until now—something over sixty. His + hair and beard were matted and there was the most awful expression in his + eyes—it makes me shudder yet. He was in his grave clothes, dead and + yet not dead. He was suffering—there was something he was trying to + say to me; something he wanted to explain. We were out here on the hill in + the moonlight and I could see Miss Ainslie's house and hear the surf + behind the cliff. All he could say to me was: 'Abby—Mary—Mary—Abby—she—Mary,' + over and over again. Once he said 'mother.' Abby was my mother's name. + </p> + <p> + “It is terrible,” he went on. “I can't understand it. There is something I + must do, and I don't know what it is. A command is laid on me by the dead—there + is some wrong for which I must atone. When I first awoke, I thought it was + a dream, but it isn't, it's real. It seems as though that was the real + world, and this—all our love and happiness, and you, were just + dreams. I can't bear it, Ruth!” + </p> + <p> + He shuddered, and she tried to comfort him, though she was cold as a + marble statue and her lips moved with difficulty. “Don't, dear,” she said, + “It was only a dream. I've had them sometimes, so vividly that they + haunted me for days and, as you say, it seemed as if that was the real + world and this the dream. I know how you feel—those things aren't + pleasant, but there's nothing we can do. It makes one feel so helpless. + The affairs of the day are largely under our control, but at night, when + the body is asleep, the mind harks back to things that have been forgotten + for years. It takes a fevered fancy as a fact, and builds upon it a whole + series of disasters. It gives trivial things great significance and turns + life upside down. Remembering it is the worst of all.” + </p> + <p> + “There's something I can't get at, Ruth,” he answered. “It's just out of + my reach. I know it's reasonable to suppose it was a dream and that it can + be explained by natural causes, but I don't dream very often.” + </p> + <p> + “I dream every night,” she said. “Sometimes they're just silly, foolish + things and sometimes they're vivid and horrible realities that I can't + forget for weeks. But, surely, dear, we're not foolish enough to believe + in dreams?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I hope not,” he replied, doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Let's go for a little walk,” she said, “and we'll forget it.” + </p> + <p> + Then she told him how changed Miss Ainslie was and how she had left her, + sitting aimlessly by the window. “I don't think I'd better stay away + long,” she concluded, “she may need me.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't be selfish, Ruth; we'll go back now. I'm sorry Miss Ainslie isn't + well.” + </p> + <p> + “She said she was 'just tired' but it isn't like her to be tired. She + doesn't seem to want anybody near her, but you can sit in the garden this + afternoon, if you'd like to, and I'll flit in and out like an industrious + butterfly. Some new books have just come, and I'll leave them in the + arbour for you.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, dear, and if there's anything I can do, I hope you'll tell + me.” + </p> + <p> + As they approached the house, a brisk little man hurried out of the gate + and went toward the village. + </p> + <p> + “Who's that?” asked Winfield. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know—some one who has brought something, probably. I trust + she's better.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie seemed more like herself, as she moved about the house, + dusting and putting the rooms in order, as was her wont. At noon she fried + a bit of chicken for Ruth, but took nothing herself except a cup of tea. + </p> + <p> + “No, deary,” she said, in answer to Ruth's anxious question, “I'm all + right—don't fret about me.” “Have you any pain, Miss Ainslie?” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course I haven't, you foolish child!” + </p> + <p> + She tried to smile, but her white lips quivered pitifully. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon, when she said she was cold, Ruth made a fire in the open + fireplace, and wheeled Miss Ainslie's favourite chair in front of it. She + drew her shawl about her shoulders and leaned back. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so comfortable, now,” she said drowsily; “I think I'm going to sleep, + dear.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth sat by her, pretending to read, but, in reality, watching her + closely, until the deep, regular breathing assured her that she was + asleep. She went out into the garden and found Winfield in the arbour. + </p> + <p> + “How's this patient?” she asked, kissing him lightly on the forehead. + </p> + <p> + “I'm all right, dearest,” he answered, drawing her down beside him, “and + I'm ashamed of myself because I was so foolish.” + </p> + <p> + During the afternoon Ruth made frequent trips to the house, each time + finding Miss Ainslie sound asleep. It was after six o'clock when she woke + and rubbed her eyes, wonderingly. + </p> + <p> + “How long have I been asleep, Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + “All the afternoon, Miss Ainslie—do you feel better now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think I do. I didn't sleep last night, but it's been years since + I've taken a nap in the daytime.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth invited Carl to supper, and made them both sit still while she + prepared the simple meal, which, as he said, was “astonishingly good.” He + was quite himself again, but Miss Ainslie, though trying to assume her old + manner, had undergone a great change. + </p> + <p> + Carl helped Ruth with the dishes, saying he supposed he might as well + become accustomed to it, and, feeling the need of sleep, went home very + early. + </p> + <p> + “I'm all right,” he said to Ruth, as he kissed her at the door, “and + you're just the sweetest girl in the world. Good night, darling.” + </p> + <p> + A chill mist came inland, and Ruth kept pine knots burning in the + fireplace. They sat without other light, Miss Ainslie with her head + resting upon her hand, and Ruth watching her narrowly. Now and then they + spoke aimlessly, of commonplaces. + </p> + <p> + When the last train came in, Miss Ainslie raised her eyes to the silver + candlestick that stood on the mantel and sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I put the light in the window?” asked Ruth. + </p> + <p> + It was a long time before Miss Ainslie answered. + </p> + <p> + “No, deary,” she said sadly, “never any more.” + </p> + <p> + She was trying to hide her suffering, and Ruth's heart ached for her in + vain. The sound of the train died away in the distance and the firelight + faded. + </p> + <p> + “Ruth,” she said, in a low voice, “I am going away.” + </p> + <p> + “Away, Miss Ainslie? Where?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, dear—it's where we all go—'the undiscovered + country from whose bourne no traveller returns.' Sometimes it's a long + journey and sometimes a short one, but we all take it—alone—at + the last.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth's heart throbbed violently, then stood still. + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” she cried, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not afraid, dear, and I'm ready to go, even though you have made me + so happy—you and he.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie waited a moment, then continued, in a different tone: + </p> + <p> + “To-day the lawyer came and made my will. I haven't much—just this + little house, a small income paid semi-annually, and my—my things. + All my things are for you—the house and the income are for—for + him.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth was crying softly and Miss Ainslie went to her, laying her hand + caressingly upon the bowed head. “Don't, deary,” she pleaded, “don't be + unhappy. I'm not afraid. I'm just going to sleep, that's all, to wake in + immortal dawn. I want you and him to have my things, because I love you—because + I've always loved you, and because I will—even afterward.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth choked down her sobs, and Miss Ainslie drew her chair closer, taking + the girl's cold hand in hers. That touch, so strong and gentle, that had + always brought balm to her troubled spirit, did not fail in its ministry + now. + </p> + <p> + “He went away,” said Miss Ainslie, after a long silence, as if in + continuation of something she had said before, “and I was afraid. He had + made many voyages in safety, each one more successful than the last, and + he always brought me beautiful things, but, this time, I knew that it was + not right for him to go.” + </p> + <p> + “When he came back, we were to be married.” The firelight shone on the + amethyst ring as Miss Ainslie moved it on her finger. “He said that he + would have no way of writing this time, but that, if anything happened, I + would know. I was to wait—as women have waited since the world + began. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Ruth, do you know what waiting means? Mine has lasted through + thirty-three interminable years. Each day, I have said: 'he will come + to-morrow.' When the last train came in, I put the light in the window to + lead him straight to me. Each day, I have made the house ready for an + invited guest and I haven't gone away, even for an hour. I couldn't bear + to have him come and find no welcome waiting, and I have always worn the + colour he loved. When people have come to see me, I've always been afraid + they would stay until he came, except with you—and Carl. I was glad + to have you come to stay with me, because, lately, I have thought that it + would be more—more delicate than to have him find me alone. I loved + you, too, dear,” she added quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I—I asked your aunt to keep the light in the window. I never told + her why, but I think she knew, and you must tell her, dear, the next time + you see her, that I thank her, and that she need never do it again. I + thought, if he should come in a storm, or, perhaps, sail by, on his way to + me—” + </p> + <p> + There was another long silence, then, with an effort, she went on. “I have + been happy, for he said he wanted me to be, though sometimes it was hard. + As nearly as I could, I made my dream real. I have thought, for hours, of + the things we would say to each other when the long years were over and we + were together again. I have dressed for his eyes alone, and loved him—perhaps + you know—” + </p> + <p> + “I know, Miss Ainslie,” said Ruth, softly, her own love surging in her + heart, “I know.” + </p> + <p> + “He loved me, Ruth,” she said, lingering upon the words, “as man never + loved before. In all of God's great universe, there was never anything + like that—even in Heaven, there can't be anything so beautiful, + though we have to know human love before we can understand God's. All day, + I have dreamed of our little home together, and at night, sometimes—of + baby lips against my breast. I could always see him plainly, but I never + could see our—our child. I have missed that. I have had more + happiness than comes to most women, but that has been denied me.” + </p> + <p> + She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Her lips were white and + quivering, but there were no tears. At length she sat upright and fixed + her eyes upon Ruth. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be afraid of anything,” she said in a strange tone, “poverty or + sickness or death, or any suffering God will let you bear together. That + isn't love—to be afraid. There's only one thing—the years! Oh, + God, the bitter, cruel, endless years!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie caught her breath and it sounded like a sob, but she bravely + kept it back. “I have been happy,” she said, in pitiful triumph; “I + promised him that I would be, and I have kept my word. Sometimes it was + hard, but I had my dream. Lately, this last year, I have often been afraid + that—that something had happened. Thirty-three years, and you know, + dear,” she added, with a quaint primness, “that I am a woman of the + world.” + </p> + <p> + “In the world, but not of it,” was on Ruth's lips, but she did not say it. + </p> + <p> + “Still, I know it was wrong to doubt him—I couldn't, when I thought + of our last hour together, out on the hill in the moonlight. He said it + was conceivable that life might keep him from me, but death never could. + He told me that if he died, I would know, that he would come and tell me, + and that in a little while afterward, we should be together.” + </p> + <p> + The dying embers cast a glow upon her face. It was almost waxen in its + purity; she seemed transfigured with the light of another world. “Last + night, he came to me—in a dream. He is dead—he has been dead + for a long time. He was trying to explain something to me—I suppose + he was trying to tell me why he had not come before. He was old—an + old man, Ruth, and I have always thought of him as young. He could not say + anything but my name—'Mary—Abby—Mary—Abby—' + over and over again; and, once, 'mother.' I was christened 'Mary Abigail,' + but I never liked the middle name, so I dropped it; and he used to tease + me sometimes by calling me 'Abby.' And—from his saying 'mother,' I + know that he, too, wherever he may be, has had that dream of—of our + child.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth was cold from head to foot, and her senses reeled. Every word that + Winfield had said in the morning sounded again in her ears. What was it + that went on around her, of which she had no ken? It seemed as though she + stood absolutely alone, in endless space, while planets swept past, out of + their orbits, with all the laws of force set suddenly aside. + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie felt her shuddering fear. “Don't be afraid, dear,” she said + again, “everything is right. I kept my promise, and he kept his. He is + suffering—he is very lonely without me; but in a little while we + shall be together.” + </p> + <p> + The fire died out and left the room in darkness, broken only by the last + fitful glow. Ruth could not speak, and Miss Ainslie sat quietly in her + chair. “Come,” she said at last, stretching out her hand, “let's go + upstairs. I have kept you up, deary, and I know you must be very tired.” + </p> + <p> + The house seemed filled with a shadowy presence—something + intangible, but portentous, for both good and ill. Ruth took down the + heavy mass of white hair and brushed it back, tying it at the neck with a + ribbon, in girlish fashion, as Miss Ainslie always did. Her night gown, of + sheerest linen, was heavy with Valenciennes lace, and where it fell back + from her throat, it revealed the flesh, exquisitely white, set in gracious + curves and womanly softness, as if by a sculptor who loved his clay. + </p> + <p> + The sweet, wholesome scent of the lavender flowers breathed from the folds + of Miss Ainslie's gown, as she stood there in the candle light, smiling, + with the unearthly glow still upon her face. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, deary,” she said; “you'll kiss me, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + For a moment the girl's face was buried among Miss Ainslie's laces, then + their lips met. Ruth was trembling and she hurried away, swallowing the + lump in her throat and trying to keep back the tears. + </p> + <p> + The doors were open, and there was no sound save Miss Ainslie's deep + breathing, but Ruth kept a dreary vigil till almost dawn. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. Some One Who Loved Her + </h2> + <p> + The summer waned and each day, as it slipped away, took a little of Miss + Ainslie's strength with it. There was neither disease nor pain—it + was simply a letting go. Carl sent to the city for a physician of wide + repute, but he shook his head. “There's nothing the matter with her,” he + said, “but she doesn't want to live. Just keep her as happy as you can.” + </p> + <p> + For a time she went about the house as usual, but, gradually, more and + more of her duties fell to Ruth. Hepsey came in every day after breakfast, + and again in the late afternoon. + </p> + <p> + Ruth tried to get her to go out for a drive, but she refused. “No, deary,” + she said, smiling, “I've never been away, and I'm too old to begin now.” + Neighbours, hearing of her illness, came to offer sympathy and help, but + she would see none of them—not even Aunt Jane. + </p> + <p> + One night, she sat at the head of the table as usual; for she would not + surrender her place as hostess, even though she ate nothing, and afterward + a great weakness came upon her. “I don't know how I'll ever get upstairs,” + she said, frightened; “it seems such a long way!” + </p> + <p> + Winfield took her in his arms and carried her up, as gently and easily as + if she had been a child. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright when + he put her down. “I never thought it would be so easy,” she said, in + answer to his question. “You'll stay with me, won't you, Carl? I don't + want you to go away.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll stay as long as you want me, Miss Ainslie, and Ruth will, too. We + couldn't do too much for you.” + </p> + <p> + That night, as they sat in front of the fire, while Miss Ainslie slept + upstairs, Ruth told him what she had said about leaving him the house and + the little income and giving her the beautiful things in the house. + </p> + <p> + “Bless her sweet heart,” he said tenderly, “we don't want her things—we'd + rather have her.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed we would,” she answered quickly. + </p> + <p> + Until the middle of September she went back and forth from her own room to + the sitting-room with comparative ease. They took turns bringing dainties + to tempt her appetite, but, though she ate a little of everything and + praised it warmly, especially if Ruth had made it, she did it, evidently, + only out of consideration for them. + </p> + <p> + She read a little, talked a little, and slept a great deal. One day she + asked Carl to pull the heavy sandal wood chest over near her chair, and + give her the key, which hung behind a picture. + </p> + <p> + “Will you please go away now,” she asked, with a winning smile, “for just + a little while?” + </p> + <p> + He put the bell on a table within her reach and asked her to ring if she + wanted anything. The hours went by and there was no sound. At last he went + up, very quietly, and found her asleep. The chest was locked and the key + was not to be found. He did not know whether she had opened it or not, but + she let him put it in its place again, without a word. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes they read to her, and she listened patiently, occasionally + asking a question, but more often falling asleep. + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” she said one day, when she was alone with Carl, “that I could + hear something you had written.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Miss Ainslie,” he exclaimed, in astonishment, “you wouldn't be + interested in the things I write—it's only newspaper stuff.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I would,” she answered softly; “yes, I would.” + </p> + <p> + Something in the way she said it brought the mist to his eyes. + </p> + <p> + She liked to have Ruth brush her hair, but her greatest delight was in + hearing Winfield talk about her treasures. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you tell me about the rug, Carl, the one on the sandal wood chest?” + she asked, for the twentieth time. + </p> + <p> + “It's hundreds of years old,” he began, “and it came from Persia, far, far + beyond the sea. The shepherds watched their flocks night and day, and + saved the finest fleeces for the rug. They made colour from flowers and + sweet herbs; from strange things that grew on the mountain heights, where + only the bravest dared to go. The sumac that flamed on the hills, the rind + of the swaying pomegranates, lichens that grew on the rocks by the Eastern + sea, berries, deep-sea treasures, vine leaves, the juice of the grape—they + all made colours for the rug, and then ripened, like old wine. + </p> + <p> + “After a long time, when everything was ready, the Master Craftsman made + the design, writing strange symbols into the margin, eloquent with hidden + meanings, that only the wisest may understand. “They all worked upon it, + men and women and children. Deep voices sang love songs and the melody was + woven into the rug. Soft eyes looked love in answer and the softness and + beauty went in with the fibre. Baby fingers clutched at it and were + laughingly untangled. At night, when the fires of the village were + lighted, and the crimson glow was reflected upon it, strange tales of love + and war were mingled with the thread. “The nightingale sang into it, the + roses from Persian gardens breathed upon it, the moonlight put witchery + into it; the tinkle of the gold and silver on the women's dusky ankles, + the scent of sandal wood and attar of rose—it all went into the rug. + </p> + <p> + “Poets repeated their verses to it, men knelt near it to say their + prayers, and the soft wind, rising from the sea, made faintest music among + the threads. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes a workman made a mistake, and the Master Craftsman put him + aside. Often, the patient fingers stopped weaving forever, and they found + some one else to go on with it. Sometimes they went from one place to + another, but the frame holding the rug was not injured. From mountain to + valley and back again, urged by some strange instinct, past flowing rivers + and over the golden sands of the desert, even to the deep blue waters that + broke on the shore—they took the rug. + </p> + <p> + “The hoof-beats of Arabian horses, with white-robed Bedouins flashing + their swords; all the glitter and splendour of war were woven into it. + Songs of victory, the rush of a cavalry charge, the faith of a dying + warrior, even the slow marches of defeat—it all went into the rug. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the Master Craftsman died, but the design was left, and willing + fingers toiled upon it, through the long years, each day putting new + beauty into it and new dreams. Then, one day, the final knot was tied, by + a Veiled Lady, who sighed softly in the pauses of her song, and wondered + at its surpassing loveliness.” “And—” said Miss Ainslie, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Some one who loved you brought it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she repeated, smiling, “some one who loved me. Tell me about this,” + she pleaded, touching a vase of Cloisonne. + </p> + <p> + “It came from Japan,” he said, “a strange world of people like those + painted on a fan. The streets are narrow and there are quaint houses on + either side. The little ladies flit about in gay attire, like so many + butterflies—they wear queer shoes on their dainty feet. They're as + sweet as their own cherry blossoms. + </p> + <p> + “The little man who made this vase, wore a blue tunic and had no robes of + state, because he was poor. He loved the daughter of a nobleman and she + loved him, too, though neither dared to say so. So he sat in front of his + house and worked on this vase. He made a model of clay, shaping it with + his fingers until it was perfect. Then a silver vase was cast from it and + over and over it he went, very carefully, making a design with flat, + silver wire. When he was satisfied with it, he filled it in with enamel in + wonderful colours, making even the spots on the butterflies' wings like + those he had seen in the fields. Outside the design, he covered the vase + with dark enamel, so the bright colours would show. + </p> + <p> + “As he worked, the little lady he loved came and watched him sometimes for + a moment or two, and then he put a tiny bit of gold into the vase. He put + a flower into the design, like those she wore in her hair, and then + another, like the one she dropped at his feet one day, when no one was + looking. + </p> + <p> + “The artist put all his love into the vase, and he hoped that when it was + done, he could obtain a Court position. He was very patient with the + countless polishings, and one afternoon, when the air was sweet with the + odour of the cherry blossoms, the last touches were put upon it. + </p> + <p> + “It was so beautiful that he was commissioned to make some great vases for + the throne room, and then, with joy in his heart, he sought the hand of + the nobleman's daughter. + </p> + <p> + “The negotiations were conducted by another person, and she was forced to + consent, though her heart ached for the artist in the blue tunic, whose + name she did not know. When she learned that her husband was to be the man + she had loved for so long, tears of happiness came into her dark eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The vase had disappeared, mysteriously, and he offered a large reward for + its recovery. At last they were compelled to give up the hope of finding + it, and he promised to make her another one, just like it, with the same + flowers and butterflies and even the little glints of gold that marked the + days she came. So she watched him, while he made the new one, and even + more love went into it than into the first one.” + </p> + <p> + “And—” began Miss Ainslie. + </p> + <p> + “Some one who loved you brought it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she repeated, smiling, “some one who loved me.” + </p> + <p> + Winfield fitted a story to every object in the room. Each rug had a + different history and every bit of tapestry its own tale. He conjured up + an Empress who had once owned the teakwood chair, and a Marquise, with + patches and powdered hair, who wrote love letters at the marquetry table. + </p> + <p> + He told stories of the sea shells, and of the mermaids who brought them to + the shore, that some one who loved her might take them to her, and that + the soft sound of the sea might always come to her ears, with visions of + blue skies and tropic islands, where the sun forever shone. + </p> + <p> + The Empress and the Marquise became real people to Miss Ainslie, and the + Japanese lovers seemed to smile at her from the vase. Sometimes, holding + the rug on her lap, she would tell them how it was woven, and repeat the + love story of a beautiful woman who had worked upon the tapestry. Often, + in the twilight, she would sing softly to herself, snatches of forgotten + melodies, and, once, a lullaby. Ruth and Carl sat by, watching for the + slightest change, but she never spoke of the secret in her heart. + </p> + <p> + Ruth had the north room, across the hall, where there were two dressers. + One of them had been empty, until she put her things into it, and the + other was locked. She found the key, one day, hanging behind it, when she + needed some things for Miss Ainslie. + </p> + <p> + As she had half expected, the dresser was full of lingerie, of the finest + lawn and linen. The dainty garments were edged with real lace—Brussels, + Valenciennes, Mechlin, Point d'Alencon, and the fine Irish laces. + Sometimes there was a cluster of tucks, daintily run by hand, but, + usually, only the lace, unless there was a bit of insertion to match. The + buttons were mother of pearl, and the button holes were exquisitely made. + One or two of the garments were threaded with white ribbon, after a more + modern fashion, but most of them were made according to the quaint old + patterns. There was a dozen of everything. + </p> + <p> + The dried lavender flowers rustled faintly as Ruth reverently lifted the + garments, giving out the long-stored sweetness of Summers gone by. The + white had changed to an ivory tint, growing deeper every day. There were + eleven night gowns, all made exactly alike, with high neck and long + sleeves, trimmed with tucks and lace. Only one was in any way elaborate. + The sleeves were short, evidently just above the elbow, and the neck was + cut off the shoulders like a ball gown. A deep frill of Venetian point, + with narrower lace at the sleeves, of the same pattern, was the only + trimming, except a tiny bow of lavender ribbon at the fastening, pinned on + with a little gold heart. + </p> + <p> + When Ruth went in, with one of the night gowns over her arm, a faint + colour came into Miss Ainslie's cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Did—did—you find those?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Ruth, “I thought you'd like to wear them.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie's colour faded and it was some time before she spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “Did—did you find the other—the one with Venetian point?” + “Yes, Miss Ainslie, do you want that one It's beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “not now, but I thought that I'd like to wear that—afterward, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + A shadow crossed Ruth's face and her lips tightened. + </p> + <p> + “Don't, dear,” said Miss Ainslie, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he would think it was indelicate if—if my neck were + bare then?” + </p> + <p> + “Who, Miss Ainslie?” + </p> + <p> + “Carl. Would he think it was wrong if I wore that afterward, and my neck + and shoulders showed? Do you think he would?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” cried Ruth, “I know he wouldn't! Oh, Miss Ainslie, you break my + heart!” + </p> + <p> + “Ruth,” said Miss Ainslie, gently; “Ruth, dear, don't cry! I won't talk + about it any more, deary, I promise you, but I wanted to know so much!” + </p> + <p> + Ruth kissed her and went away, unable to bear more just then. She brought + her chair into the hall, to be near her if she were needed. Miss Ainslie + sighed, and then began to croon a lullaby. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. Dawn + </h2> + <p> + As Miss Ainslie became weaker, she clung to Carl, and was never satisfied + when he was out of her sight. When she was settled in bed for the night, + he went in to sit by her and hold her hand until she dropped asleep. If + she woke during the night she would call Ruth and ask where he was. + </p> + <p> + “He'll come over in the morning, Miss Ainslie,” Ruth always said; “you + know it's night now.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” she would ask, drowsily. “I must go to sleep, then, deary, so + that I may be quite rested and refreshed when he comes.” + </p> + <p> + Her room, in contrast to the rest of the house, was almost Puritan in its + simplicity. The bed and dresser were mahogany, plain, but highly polished, + and she had a mahogany rocker with a cushion of old blue tapestry. There + was a simple white cover on the bed and another on the dresser, but the + walls were dead white, unrelieved by pictures or draperies. In the east + window was a long, narrow footstool, and a prayer book and hymnal lay on + the window sill, where this maiden of half a century, looking seaward, + knelt to say her prayers. + </p> + <p> + One morning, when Ruth went in, she said: “I think I won't get up this + morning, dear; I am so very tired. If Carl should come over, will you say + that I should like to see him?” + </p> + <p> + She would see no one but Carl and Ruth, and Mrs. Ball was much offended + because her friend did not want her to come upstairs. “Don't be harsh with + her, Aunt Jane,” pleaded Ruth, “you know people often have strange fancies + when they are ill. She sent her love to you, and asked me to say that she + thanked you, but you need not put the light in the attic window any more.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ball gazed at her niece long and earnestly. “Be you tellin' me the + truth?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course, Aunty.” + </p> + <p> + “Then Mary Ainslie has got sense from somewheres. There ain't never been + no need for that lamp to set in the winder; and when she gets more sense, + I reckon she'll be willin' to see her friends.” With evident relief upon + her face, Mrs. Ball departed. + </p> + <p> + But Miss Ainslie seemed quite satisfied, and each day spoke more lovingly + to Ruth and Carl. He showed no signs of impatience, but spent his days + with her cheerfully. He read to her, held her hand, and told her about the + rug, the Marquise, and the Japanese lovers. At the end she would always + say, with a quiet tenderness: “and some one who loved me brought it to + me!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss Ainslie; some one who loved you. Everybody loves you; don't you + know that?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you?” she asked once, suddenly and yet shyly. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I do, Miss Ainslie—I love you with all my heart.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled happily and her eyes filled. “Ruth,” she called softly, “he + says he loves me!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he does,” said Ruth; “nobody in the wide world could help + loving you.” + </p> + <p> + She put out her left hand to touch Ruth, and the amethyst ring slipped + off, for her fingers were thin. She did not seem to notice when Ruth + slipped it on again, and, shortly afterward, fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + That night Winfield stayed very late. “I don't want to leave you, dear,” + he said to Ruth. “I'm afraid something is going to happen.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not afraid—I think you'd better go.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you put a light in your window if you want me, darling?” “Yes, I + will.” + </p> + <p> + “I can see it from my room, and I'll be watching for it. If you want me, + I'll come.” + </p> + <p> + He awoke from an uneasy sleep with the feeling that Ruth needed him, and + was not surprised to see the light from her candle streaming out into the + darkness. He dressed hurriedly, glancing at his watch by the light of a + match. It was just three o'clock. + </p> + <p> + Ruth was waiting for him at the lower door. “Is she—is she—” + </p> + <p> + “No, she seems to be just the same, but she wants you. She's been calling + for you ever since you went away.” + </p> + <p> + As they went upstairs Miss Ainslie's sweet voice came to them in pitiful + pleading: “Carl, Carl, dear! Where are you? I want you!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm here, Miss Ainslie,” he said, sitting down on the bed beside her and + taking her hot hands in his. “What can I do for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about the rug.” + </p> + <p> + With no hint of weariness in his deep, quiet voice, he told her the old + story once more. When he had finished, she spoke again. “I can't seem to + get it just right about the Japanese lovers. Were they married?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they were married and lived happily ever afterward—like the + people in the fairy tales.” + </p> + <p> + “That was lovely,” she said, with evident satisfaction. “Do you think they + wanted me to have their vase?” + </p> + <p> + “I know they did. Some one who loved you brought it to you. Everybody + loves you, Miss Ainslie.” + </p> + <p> + “Did the Marquise find her lover?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, or rather, he found her.” + </p> + <p> + “Did they want me to have their marquetry table?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course they did. Didn't some one who loved you bring it to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she sighed, “some one who loved me.” + </p> + <p> + She sang a little, very softly, with her eyes closed. It was a quaint + old-fashioned tune, with a refrain of “Hush-a-by” and he held her hand + until the song ceased and she was asleep. Then he went over to Ruth. + “Can't you go to sleep for a little while, dearest? I know you're tired.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm never tired when I'm with you,” Ruth answered, leaning upon his arm, + “and besides, I feel that this is the end.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie slept for some time, then, all at once, she started as if in + terror. “Letters,” she said, very distinctly, “Go!” + </p> + <p> + He went to her and tried to soothe her, but failed. “No,” she said again, + “letters—Ruth—chest.” + </p> + <p> + “She wants some letters that are in the sandal wood chest,” he said to + Ruth, and Miss Ainslie nodded. “Yes,” she repeated, “letters.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth went into the sitting-room, where a light was burning dimly, but the + chest was locked. “Do you know where the key is, Carl?” she asked, coming + back for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't, dear,” he answered. Then he asked Miss Ainslie where the key + was, but she only murmured: “letters.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I go and help Ruth find them?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “help—letters.” + </p> + <p> + Together, they broke open the lock of the chest, while Miss Ainslie was + calling, faintly: “Carl, Carl, dear! Where are you? I want you!” + </p> + <p> + “We'd better turn the whole thing out on the floor,” he said, suiting the + action to the word, then put it back against the wall, empty. “We'll have + to shake everything out, carefully,” returned Ruth, “that's the only way + to find them.” + </p> + <p> + Wrapped carefully in a fine linen sheet, was Miss Ainslie's wedding gown, + of heavy white satin, trimmed simply with priceless Venetian point. They + shook it out hurriedly and put it back into the chest. There were yards + upon yards of lavender taffeta, cut into dress lengths, which they folded + up and put away. Three strings of amethysts and two of pearls slipped out + of the silk as they lifted it, and there was another length of lustrous + white taffeta, which had changed to an ivory tint. + </p> + <p> + Four shawls of Canton crepe, three of them lavender and one ivory white, + were put back into the chest. There were several fans, of fine + workmanship, a girdle of oxidized silver, set with amethysts and pearls, + and a large marquetry box, which contained tea. “That's all the large + things,” he said; “now we can look these over.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth was gathering up great quantities of lace—Brussels, Point + d'Alencon, Cluny, Mechlin, Valenciennes, Duchesse and Venetian point. + There was a bridal veil of the Venetian lace, evidently made to match that + on the gown. Tiny, dried petals rustled out of the meshes, for Miss + Ainslie's laces were laid away in lavender, like her love. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see them,” she said, “yes, here they are.” She gave him a bundle + of yellowed letters, tied with lavender ribbon. “I'll take them to her,” + he answered, picking up a small black case that lay on the floor, and + opening it. “Why, Ruth!” he gasped. “It's my father's picture!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie's voice rose again in pitiful cadence. “Carl, Carl, dear! + Where are you? I want you—oh, I want you!” + </p> + <p> + He hastened to her, leaving the picture in Ruth's hand. It was an + ambrotype, set into a case lined with purple velvet. The face was that of + a young man, not more than twenty-five or thirty, who looked strangely + like Winfield. The eyes, forehead and the poise of the head were the same. + </p> + <p> + The earth trembled beneath Ruth's feet for a moment, then, all at once, + she understood. The light in the attic window, the marked paragraph in the + paper, and the death notices—why, yes, the Charles Winfield who had + married Abigail Weatherby was Miss Ainslie's lover, and Carl was his son. + “He went away!” Miss Ainslie's voice came again to Ruth, when she told her + story, with no hint of her lover's name. He went away, and soon afterward, + married Abigail Weatherby, but why? Was it love at first sight, or did he + believe that his sweetheart was dead? Then Carl was born and the mother + died. Twelve years afterward, he followed her—broken hearted. Carl + had told her that his father could not bear the smell of lavender nor the + sight of any shade of purple—and Miss Ainslie always wore lavender + and lived in the scent of it—had he come to shrink from it through + remorse? + </p> + <p> + Why was it, she wondered? Had he forgotten Miss Ainslie, or had he been + suddenly swept off his feet by some blind whirlwind of passion? In either + case, memory had returned to torture him a thousand fold—to make him + ashamed to face her, with his boy in his arms. + </p> + <p> + And Aunt Jane knew of the marriage, at the time, probably, and said no + word. Then she learned of Abigail Weatherby's death, and was still silent, + hoping, perhaps, that the wanderer would come back, until she learned that + Charles Winfield, too, was dead. And still she had not told Miss Ainslie, + or, possibly, thought she knew it all till the day that Hepsey had spoken + of; when she came home, looking “strange,” to keep the light in the attic + window every night for more than five years. + </p> + <p> + Was it kind? Ruth doubted for a moment, then her heart softened with love + for Aunt Jane, who had hidden the knowledge that would be a death blow to + Miss Ainslie, and let her live on, happy in her dream, while the stern + Puritan conscience made her keep the light in the attic window in + fulfilment of her promise. + </p> + <p> + As if the little light could reach the veil which hangs between us and + Eternity, or penetrate the greyness which never parts save for a passage! + As if all Miss Ainslie's love and faith could bring the dead to life + again, even to be forgiven! + </p> + <p> + Her lips quivered when she thought of Miss Ainslie's tenderness for Carl + and the little whispered lullabies that she sang to herself, over and over + again. “She does not know,” thought Ruth. “Thank God, she will never + know!” + </p> + <p> + She put the rest of the things into the chest and closed it, covering it, + as before, with the rug Miss Ainslie loved. When she went into the other + room, she was asleep again, with her cheek pillowed on the letters, while + Carl sat beside her, holding her hand and pondering over the mystery he + could not explain. Ruth's heart ached for those two, so strangely brought + together, who had but this little hour to atone for a lifetime of loss. + </p> + <p> + The first faint lines of light came into the eastern sky. Ruth stood by + the window, watching the colour come on the grey above the hill, while two + or three stars still shone dimly. The night lamp flickered, then went out. + She set it in the hall and came back to the window. + </p> + <p> + As Miss Ainslie's rug had been woven, little by little, purple, crimson, + and turquoise, gleaming with inward fires, shone upon the clouds. Carl + came over to Ruth, putting his arm around her. They watched it together—that + miracle which is as old as the world, and yet ever new. “I don't see—” + he began. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, dear,” Ruth whispered, “I know, and I'll tell you some time, but I + don't want her to know.” + </p> + <p> + The sky brightened slowly, and the intense colour came into the room with + the light. Ruth drew the curtains aside, saying, in a low tone, “it's + beautiful, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + There was a sudden movement in the room and they turned, to see Miss + Ainslie sitting up, her cheeks flushed, and the letters scattered around + her. The ribbon had slipped away, and her heavy white hair fell over her + shoulders. Ruth went to her, to tie it back again, but she put her away, + very gently, without speaking. + </p> + <p> + Carl stood by the window, thinking, and Miss Ainslie's eyes rested upon + him, with wonder and love. The sunrise stained her white face and her eyes + shone brightly, as sapphires touched with dawn. The first ray of the sun + came into the little room and lay upon her hair, changing its whiteness to + gleaming silver. Then all at once her face illumined, as from a light + within. + </p> + <p> + Carl moved away from the window, strangely drawn toward her, and her face + became radiant with unspeakable joy. Then the passion of her denied + motherhood swelled into a cry of longing—“My son!” + </p> + <p> + “Mother!” broke from his lips in answer He went to her blindly, knowing + only that they belonged to each other, and that, in some inscrutable way, + they had been kept apart until it was too late. He took her into his arms, + holding her close, and whispering, brokenly, what only she and God might + hear! Ruth turned away, sobbing, as if it was something too holy for her + to see. + </p> + <p> + Miss Ainslie, transfigured with unearthly light, lifted her face to his. + Her lips quivered for an instant, then grew cold beneath his own. She sank + back among the pillows, with her eyes closed, but with yet another glory + upon the marble whiteness of her face, as though at the end of her + journey, and beyond the mists that divided them, her dream had become + divinely true. + </p> + <p> + Then he, who should have been her son, bent down, the tears falling + unheeded upon her face, and kissed her again. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1266 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |