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That other, too, had a better right to the object than she herself, in so far that Agnes Ainslie's love had been returned, while hers had not. But these speculations were to be brought to the test by words and actions. No sooner had Mr. Ainslie left than Rachel was visited in her private parlour by Walter Grierson himself.
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. "I don't see them," she said, "yes, here they are."
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.
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. "Last night, Ruth," he began, "my father came to me in a dream.
"He seems like a pleasant-spoken feller," remarked Aunt Jane. "You can ask him to supper to-night, if you like." "Thank you, Aunty, but we're going to Miss Ainslie's." "Huh!" snorted Mrs. Ball. "Mary Ainslie ain't got no sperrit!" With this enigmatical statement, she sailed majestically out of the room.
I believe the instances have been rare when a bear has been known to attack a person, although it has happened in some cases; but the immigrant has so often listened to exaggerated accounts regarding the wild animals of America, that those who settle in a new section of country find it difficult to get rid of their fears. On one occasion when the Sabbath meeting met at Mr. Ainslie's house, Mrs.
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. "It is terrible," he went on. "I can't understand it.
"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." Wrapped carefully in a fine linen sheet, was Miss Ainslie's wedding gown, of heavy white satin, trimmed simply with priceless Venetian point.
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. Day by day, the singular attraction grew between them. She loved Ruth, but she took him unreservedly into her heart.
"If I could have chosen my mother," he said, simply, "she would have been like Miss Ainslie." XV. The Secret and the Dream 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.
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