Myrtle Reed

“ Ruth said, after an awkward silence, and in an instant Miss Ainslie was herself again.
“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?”
“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?”
“I shall be so glad to have you,” replied Miss Ainslie, with a quaint stateliness. ”

“ Thorne's family had never forgiven her runaway marriage.
“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.
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. ”

“ 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.
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. ”

“ 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.
“Teach us how to live, Miss Ainslie,” said Winfield, softly, “that the end of half a century may find us young.”
A delicate pink suffused her cheeks and she turned her eyes to his. “I've just been happy, that's all,” she answered.
“It needs the alchemist's touch,” he said, “to change our sordid world to gold.”
“We can all learn,” she replied, “and even if we don't try, it comes to us once.”
“What?” asked Ruth. ”

“ Niece Ruth, I presume,” she added, as Miss Thorne appeared. “Ruth, let me introduce you to your Uncle James.”
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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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.
“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.”
“You're a goose,” laughed Ruth. “We're going to Miss Ainslie's to-night for tea. Aren't we getting gay?”
“Indeed we are! Weddings and teas follow one another like Regret on the heels of Pleasure.” ”

“ 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.
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.
Have not our houses, mute as they are, their own way of conveying an impression? ”

“ 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. ”

“ I have had more happiness than comes to most women, but that has been denied me.”
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.
“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!”
Miss Ainslie caught her breath and it sounded like a sob, but she bravely kept it back. ”

“ 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.
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. ”

“ 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.”
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!” ”

“ 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?”
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.
Carl stood by the window, thinking, and Miss Ainslie's eyes rested upon him, with wonder and love. ”

“ 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.
The furniture was colonial mahogany, unspoiled by varnish, and rubbed until it shone.
“You have a beautiful home,” said Ruth, during a pause. ”

“ 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? ”

“ 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.
He lingered upon the vision till Joe spoke again. “Be you goin' up to Miss Hathaway's this mornin'?” ”

“ 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. ”

“ Everybody loves you; don't you know that?”
“Do you?” she asked once, suddenly and yet shyly.
“Indeed I do, Miss Ainslie—I love you with all my heart.”
She smiled happily and her eyes filled. “Ruth,” she called softly, “he says he loves me!”
“Of course he does,” said Ruth; “nobody in the wide world could help loving you.”
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.
That night Winfield stayed very late. ”

“ Ruth felt that she could not bear the sight of Hepsey just then.
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.”
“You're brilliant this morning,” answered Winfield, gravely, and she laughed hysterically.
“What's the matter with you?” he asked. “You don't seem like yourself.” ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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.”
“But, Miss Ainslie,” Ruth objected, “do you really think everybody can be happy?”
“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.” ”

“ Why have I never been here before?”
“It wasn't proper,” replied Ruth, primly, with a sidelong glance at him. “No, go away!”
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.
He was opening the drawers of a cabinet, which stood far back under the eaves. “What's this, Ruth?”
“Oh, it's old blue china—willow pattern! How rich we are!” ”

“ 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.
Ruth regretted the cobwebs and decided not to interfere, should the tiny spinners take advantage of Aunt Jane's absence. ”

“ 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.”
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. ”

“ 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.”
“Oh, my hapless chafing-dish!” groaned Ruth.
“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! ”

“ 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.
“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.” ”

“ 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.”
After a little, she regained her self-control.
“Come out into the sun,” he said, “it's ghostly here. You don't seem real to me, Ruth.”
The mist filled her eyes again. “Don't, darling,” he pleaded, “I'll try to tell you.”
They sat down on the hillside, where the sun shone brightly, and where they could see Miss Ainslie's house plainly. ”

“ 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. ”

“ I can't bear it, Ruth!”
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. ”

“ You're not unhappy, are you, Miss Ainslie?”
“I? Why, no! Why should I be unhappy?” Her deep eyes were fixed upon Ruth.
“I—I didn't know,” Ruth answered, in confusion.
“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 ”