"Ruth," she said, "I have a thing to say which troubles me."

Ruth looked up wistfully.

"Why is it that you try to keep secrets from your sick father?"

"Secrets!" faltered the girl.

"If you mean to wed this young man, why not say so at any rate to your own father? It is the best way out of this difficulty."

"Difficulty!"

"There, there! I can see no use in all this blushing, as red as the strawberries one minute, and denying it the next. Ruth, Ruth!

deception and craft should not belong to your mother's child. I don't pretend to like this young man over much, but, under the circ.u.mstances, I have nothing to say. If your father is against it, a little persuasion from Sir Noel will set all that right."

"What--what do you mean, grandmother?" questioned Ruth, hoa.r.s.e with dread.

"I mean to stop people's mouths by an honest marriage with a man, who, after all, is a good match enough. If you have ever been uplifted to thoughts of a better, it has come from too much notice from gentle people at 'The Rest,' and from too much reading of poetry books. But for that, there would never have been these meetings in the park, and moonlight flittings about the lake, to scandalize people. Think better of it, Ruth, or worse mischief than the scandal that is in everybody's mouth may come out of it. Nothing but an honest marriage can put an end to it."

"Scandal!" whispered the girl, rising slowly, and turning her white face on the housekeeper. "What scandal?"

"Such as any girl may expect, Ruthy, who meets young men in the park, and, worst of all, by the lake."

"The lake! The park!" repeated the poor girl, aghast with apprehension; for every walk or chance meeting she had shared with young Hurst rushed back upon her, with accusing vividness. "Who has said--who has dared?"

Here the frightened young creature burst into a pa.s.sion of tears. The walks, the chance meetings, each a romance and an adventure, to dream of and h.o.a.rd up in her thoughts, like a poem got by heart. Who could have torn them from their privacy, and bruited them abroad to her discredit? In what way would she deny or explain them? More and more pale her face grew, and her slender figure drooped with humiliation.

"There, there, little one, do not look so miserable. I did not mean to hurt your feelings. Of course, I remember you have no mother to say what is right or wrong. Only this, never meet the young man again. It breeds scandal."

Ruth looked up in amazement.

"I know, I know your father is ill, but that should keep you in-doors."

"G.o.dmother, I do not understand. How is it possible?"

"It is not possible for you to meet him in out-of-the-way places without casting your good name in the teeth of every gossip in the village. Nay, I have my doubts if the young man has not helped it on, else, how did that brazen-faced maid at the inn know about it, and taunt him with it before a half-score of drinkers?"

The eyes of Ruth Jessup grew large with wonder.

"Among drinkers! He at the public inn! G.o.dmother, of whom are you speaking?"

"Who should I speak of, but the young man himself, Richard Storms?"

As a cloud sometimes sweeps suddenly from the blue sky, the shame and the fear left that young girl's face.

"Oh, G.o.dmother, were you only speaking of him?"

"Who else should I be speaking of, Ruth? As if his name and yours were not in every one's mouth, from the highest to the lowest."

A faint, hysterical laugh broke through the sobs that had almost choked the girl, and alarmed the good woman.

"There, there," she said, "only be careful for the time to come; an honest marriage will set everything right. I only wish the young man were of a better sort, and went less to the public; but he will mend, I dare say. That is right, you have had a good cry, and feel better."

Ruth had wiped the tears from her face, and, after drawing a deep breath, was stooping down to the strawberry-bed again, and dashing the thick leaves aside with her hands, was gathering the fruit in eager haste. So great was her sense of relief, that she could feel neither resentment nor annoyance regarding the scandal that had so troubled the good housekeeper. Though she still trembled with the shock which had pa.s.sed, this lesser annoyance was nothing to her. In and out, through the cl.u.s.tering leaves, her little hand flew, until the great china-bowl, into which the gathered fruit was dropped, brimmed over with its mellow redness. Meantime the housekeeper pattered on, bestowing a world of advice and matronly cautions of which Ruth never heard a syllable until the name of her lover-husband was mentioned.

Then her hand moved cautiously, that it might not rustle the leaves as she listened.

"He took Mr. Webb up, scornfully, as you did me, when he mentioned the gossip, and would not hear of it, calling young Storms a hind and a braggart, of whom the neighborhood should be rid, if he were master.

So Webb said nothing more, though his news had come from some of the gamekeepers who had seen you once and again in company with the young man."

The blood began to burn hotly in Ruth's cheeks.

"I wonder only that you should have believed such things of me, G.o.dmother, and almost scorn myself for caring to contradict them," she said, placing the bowl of strawberries in a shady place, while she began to cut flowers for a bouquet.

By this time, Mrs. Mason had unburdened her mind of so many wise sayings, and such h.o.a.rds of good advice, that her G.o.ddaughter's indiscretions seemed to be quite carried away. She was weary of standing, too, and seating herself in a rustic garden-chair, over which an old cherry-tree loomed, waited complacently, while Ruth flitted to and fro among the rose-bushes, singing softly as a dove coos, while she plundered the flower-beds, and grouped buds and leaves into a sweet love-language, which her own heart supplied, and which he had studied with her, when their pa.s.sion was like a poem, and flowers were its natural expression.

"He will read these," she thought, cl.u.s.tering some forget-me-nots around a white rose-bud, which became the heart of her sweet epistle.

"Let him only know that they come from me, and every bud will tell him how my very soul craves to see him. Ah, me, it seems so long--so long, since that day."

As she twined each flower in its place, a light kiss, of which she was half-ashamed, was breathed into it as foolishly fond women will let their hearts go out, and still be wise, and good. Indeed, the fact of doing it, proves such women far superior to the common herds, who have no rare fancies, and scorn them, because of profound ignorance, that such gentle follies can spring out of the deepest feeling.

When all was ready, and that bouquet, redolent of kisses, innocent as the perfume with which they were blended, was laid, a glowing web of colors, on the strawberries, Mrs. Mason prepared to depart. With the china bowl held between her rotund waist and the curve of her arm, she entered into the shaded path, promising Ruth to deliver both fruit and flowers to the young master with her own hands, and tell him how well things were going on at the cottage.

"You will do everything that is kind, G.o.dmother, that I know well enough; only never mention that dreadful man's name to me, let people think what they will. I can bear anything but that."

"First promise me never to see him again till he comes like an honest man and asks you of your father."

"That I promise; nor then, if I can help it. Oh, G.o.dmother, how can you think it of me?"

The good lady shook her head, kissed the sweet mouth uplifted to hers, and went away muttering, "I suppose all girls are alike, and think it no harm to keep back their love-secrets. I haven't forgot how it was with me and Mason. How many times I met him on the sly, and hot tongues wouldn't have forced me to own it. So, thinking of that, I needn't be overhard on our Ruthy, who has no mother to set her right, poor thing."

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE SERPENT IN HER PATH.

When Ruth left her father, he was overtaxed by the excitement of seeing his old friend, the housekeeper, and more than usually disturbed by the drift of her conversation. Kind of heart, and generous in his nature, he could not witness the repugnance that his daughter exhibited to the marriage he had arranged for her without tender relenting. Still, no n.o.bleman of the realm was ever more tenacious of his honor, or shrunk more sensitively from a broken promise. Languid and weary, he was thinking over these matters, when some one, stirring in the hall below, disturbed him.

"Ruth, Ruth, is it you?" he called, in a voice tremulous with weakness.

Some one opened and shut the parlor door, then steps sounded from the pa.s.sage and along the stairs. A man's step, light and quick, as if the person coming feared interruption.

"Ruth, Ruth," repeated the gardener.

"It is only I, Jessup," answered Richard Storms, stealing into the room. "There was no one below. I heard voices up here, and took the liberty of an old friend."

"You are welcome," answered the sick man, reaching out his hand, which had lost its ruddy brown since his confinement. "I think Ruth has gone out with Mrs. Mason."