lavender and old lace-第4章

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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。

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。〃

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。

〃It's　goin'　to　rain；　Miss　Thorne；〃　said　Hepsey；　at　the　door。　〃Is　all　the　winders　shut？〃

〃Yes；　I　think　so；〃　she　answered。

〃Supper's　ready　any　time　you　want　it。〃

〃Very　well；　I　will　come　now。〃

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。

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。

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。

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。

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。

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。

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。

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。

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？

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　atticthat's　alland　I've　constructed　a　tragedy。〃

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。

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。

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。

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　placethe　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！〃



III。　Miss　Ainslie

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。

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。

〃Is　Miss　Hathaway's　picture　here；　Hepsey？〃　she　asked。

〃No'm。　Miss　Hathaway；　she　wouldn't　have　her　picter　in　the　parlour；　nohow。　Some　folks　does；　but　Miss　Hathaway　says't'aint　modest。〃

〃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。〃

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。

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。

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。

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。

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。

〃I　seem　to　get　more　tired　every　minute；〃　she　thought。　〃I　wonder　if　I've　got　the　rheumatism。〃

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。

〃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　tiredwon't　you　come　in？〃

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。

〃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。〃

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。〃

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。

Her　abundant　hair　was　like　spun　silverit　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。

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；　edg