Norston's Rest Part 42

"I don't know. Anyway I shouldn't care about it; but people vary--people vary, Ruth! You will find that out as you get along in life. People vary!"

"Yes, I dare say," answered Ruth, quite unconscious of speaking at all. "You are very wise in saying so."

"Ah, wisdom comes with age; generally too late for much good. If one could have it now in the wild-oat season; but that isn't to be expected. Speaking of Lady Rose, here comes her pony-carriage, and here comes herself, with Sir Noel, to put her in. Do you know, Ruth, I don't think the master has been quite himself since that night. There is an anxious look in his eyes that I never saw there before. It should go away now that Mr. Walton is better, but somehow it don't."

Ruth did not answer. She was looking through the window at the group of persons that stood near a pony-carriage, perfect in all its equipments, which was in front of the house. Lady Rose, who had come down the steps leisurely, side by side with Sir Noel, was loitering a little, as if she waited for something. She examined the b.u.t.tons of her gloves, and arranged her draperies, all the while casting furtive glances up to a window, at which no one seemed to appear, as she had hoped. Sir Noel, too, glanced up once or twice, rather wistfully, and then Ruth saw that his face did indeed wear a look that was almost haggard.

"Tell me--tell me! Is he so very ill yet, that his father looks like that?" cried Ruth, struck by a sudden pang of distrust. "I thought he was getting better."

"And so he is, child. Who said to the contrary? But that doesn't take the black cloud out of his father's face."

"Then he really is better?"

"Better? Why, he sat up an hour yesterday."

"Did he--did he, indeed?" cried Ruth, joyfully. "Did he really?"

"He did, really, and our lady reading to him all the time."

"Ah!"

"What did you say, child?"

"Nothing, nothing! But see, they are both going, I think!"

The housekeeper swayed her heavy person toward the window, and looked out.

"Yes. Lady Rose is persuading Sir Noel, who can refuse nothing she wants. It almost seems as if he were in love with her himself."

"Perhaps he is!" cried Ruth, eagerly.

"One might suspect as much, if one did not know," answered the housekeeper, shaking her head. "Anyway, he is going with her now, and I'm glad of it. The ride will do him good. Look, she drives off at a dashing pace."

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

UNDER THE IVY.

Ruth needed no recommendation to watch the beautiful little vehicle that flashed down the avenue, a perfect nest of bright colors, over which the sunlight shone with peculiar resplendence, while the spirited black horse whirled it out of sight.

"Isn't she fit for a queen?" said Mrs. Mason, triumphantly, as she wheeled round, and sought her chair again.

Ruth heard, but did not answer. A man was pa.s.sing across the lawn, who occupied her full attention.

"Isn't that Mr. Webb?" she questioned.

Mrs. Mason half lifted herself out of the chair she was always reluctant to leave, and having obtained a view of the man, settled back again.

"Yes, that is Webb; and I say, Ruth, you had better follow, and give him that letter. He will be going back to the young master's room, in less than half an hour. He only leaves it to get a mouthful of air at any time. Your letter is sure of a safe delivery with Webb."

"Thank you--thank you! It will be best. Good-morning, G.o.dmother!

good-morning!"

A swift clasp of two arms about her neck, a fluttering kiss on her lips, and the good woman was left alone, resting back in her easy-chair, with half-closed eyes, while a bland smile hovered over her plump mouth.

"What a loving little soul it is!" she muttered. "Peaches, ripe for preserving, are not sweeter; and as for inward goodness, she has not her match in the three kingdoms."

Mrs. Mason might not have been quite so tranquil had she seen Ruth just then, for, with the speed of a lapwing, she had turned an angle of the house, where her own namesake, the ivy, had already clambered, wreathing a carved stone balcony with its greenness. Scarcely pausing to breathe, she pushed the vines aside, and treading some of the tender twigs under her feet, flew up the narrow steps which were but just made visible under the wreathing ma.s.ses of foliage.

"If she can mount them, I will find the way," was her swift and half-triumphant thought. "Oh, Heaven grant that the window is unfastened!"

Her foot was on the carved work of the balcony; her scarlet jacket gleamed through the plate-gla.s.s, and flashed its vivid red through the cl.u.s.tering ivy leaves. Breathless with excitement, she tried the window-sash with her hand. It gave way, and swung inward with a faint jar. She was in the room with her husband, yet afraid to approach him.

There he was, lying upon a low couch, wrapped in the folds of an oriental dressing-gown, and pillowed on a cushion of silk, embroidered in so many rich colors, that the contrast made his white face ghastly.

What if, after all, he did not love her? What if he should wake up alarmed, and made angry by her intrusion?

There is no feeling known to a woman's heart so timid, so unreasoning, so exacting, as love: pride, devotion, humility--a dozen contending elements--come into action when that one pa.s.sion is disturbed, and it would be rashness to say which of these emotions may predominate at any given time. Perfect confidence either in herself or the creature of her love is unusual in most characters--impossible in some.

Ruth had entered that room full of enthusiasm, ready to dare anything; but the sight of a sleeping man, one that she loved, too, with overpowering devotion, was enough to make a coward of her in a single moment. Still, like a bird fascinated by the glittering vibrations of a serpent, she drew toward the couch, and bent over the sleeper, holding her own breath, and smiling softly as his pa.s.sed over her parted lips.

Ah, how pale he was! How the shadows came and went across his white forehead! Was he angry with her even in his sleep? Did he know how near she was, and resent it?

No, no! If he knew anything in that profound slumber, the knowledge was pleasant, for a smile stole over his face, and some softly-whispered words trembled from his lips.

"My darling! oh, my darling!"

Ruth dropped on her knees by the bed, and pressed both hands to her mouth, thus smothering the cry of joy that rose to it. Her movements had been noiseless as the flutter of a bird--so noiseless that the sleeper was not disturbed. After a while she lifted her head, stole her arms timidly over that sleeping form, and dropped a kiss, light as the fall of a rose-leaf, on those parted lips.

"Oh, my love, my love," she murmured, in sounds scarcely louder than a thought. "Look at me, look at me, if it is only for one moment."

Hurst opened his eyes, and smiling vaguely, as sick men smile in dreams. That instant a noise was heard at the door, footsteps and voices. Ruth s.n.a.t.c.hed the letter from her bosom, crushed it into the invalid's hand, left a pa.s.sionate kiss with it, and fled out of the window, and down the ivy-choked steps. There, trembling and frightened, she shrunk into an angle of the stone window-case, and dragging the ivy over her, strove to hide herself until some chance of escaping across the garden offered. She had left the sash open in her haste, and could hear sounds from the room above with tolerable distinctness. The first was the sharp exclamation of a man's voice. He seemed to be walking hurriedly across the room, and spoke in strong remonstrance.

"What, up, Mr. Walton, trying to walk, and the window wide open upon you? What will the doctor say? What shall I answer to Lady Rose, who bade me watch by you every minute, till she came back?"

Some faint words, in a voice that thrilled poor Ruth to the soul, seemed to be given in reply to this expostulation. But, listen as she would, the meaning escaped her.

Then a louder voice spoke again.

"Ah, but how am I to answer to her ladyship, or Sir Noel, either?

"'Webb,' says she, 'they will all have it so. I must take the air, or be shut out from here when I am really most needed. But you will not leave him? There must be some one to answer when he speaks.'

"Well, I promised her. If any one could gainsay a wish of my Lady Rose, that one isn't old Webb. But you were sleeping so sweetly, sir, and I knew that the first word would be about Jessup: so I ran over to get the news about him."

Here a hurried question was asked, in which Ruth distinguished her own name.