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.
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.
"I am expecting no one,"answered Ruth,frigidly,"I am going out."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.
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.
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.
"Miss Ainslie,"said Ruth,suddenly,"have you ever had any trouble?"A shadow crossed her face,and then she answered,patiently,"Why,yes--I've had my share.""I don't mean to be personal,"Ruth explained,"I was just thinking.""I understand,"said the other,gently.Then,after a little,she spoke again:
"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.
"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."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.""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.""Perhaps so.I miss my work,but at the same time,I haven't sense enough to do it.""Poor child,you're tired--too tired to rest.""Yes,I am tired,"answered Ruth,the tears of nervous weakness coming into her eyes.
"Come out into the garden."
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.
"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 Ithink they belong together--sweetness and memory.
"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?"Ruth shook her head.
