_A PARTING._
"WELL, my dear!" said Dr. Brown that evening. "Now tell me all about
everything."
"I do not think there is much to tell more than I have said in my
letters. Have I not been very good in writing, father?"
"Very good! I shall be glad when you are at home again. But the child
looks worlds better!"
"Oh, he is, and so is Judith. She is getting much more sociable, too."
"And Mala?"
"Mala is—better," answered Ruth, hesitating a little as to what word
to choose. "Morris is so good to her, and every day I read them all a
little piece out of the Gospels, and do you know, father, Mala begins
to listen!"
"That is good news! Ruth, you and I must go to church together
to-morrow. I have no patients here; and, indeed, I sometimes think I
might have managed it even at home."
Ruth's sparkling eyes were an answer. "Oh, I am so glad!" she exclaimed.
So Sunday dawned, and Vincent came early to have as much time with them
as possible. He could only stay till the middle of Monday, and every
moment he could spend with Ruth was precious in his eyes.
The day was one of cloudless beauty, and they all felt it to be one of
cloudless happiness too.
Dr. Brown said he had not been so happy for years, and Ruth looked
round on the bright faces of those she called "her family," and could
not be but thankful for what she saw there.
The hours seemed to pass very quickly to them all, and Vincent counted
each one with a sort of pang. Could it be possible that he would have
to say good-bye to-morrow?
And then Monday came. As early as they could, they all went out on
the beach together, and wandered among the rocks till it was time for
Vincent to go to his train. He had sent his bag by the omnibus which
conveyed Dr. Brown to the station for his train the other way, while
Vincent proposed to walk over the cliffs to the Junction to take an
express train northwards.
Heston offered to accompany him, but to his surprise Vincent
answered in a low tone, meant for his ear only, "I would rather go
alone—unless—I thought I would ask your cousin if she would walk a
little way with me. She has not seen the cliffs—and it is my last time."
Of course, Heston said "All right." And when he saw Vincent asking Ruth
to go, he drew the others off to see a new boat, in the building of
which they were much interested.
When at length they all looked up, the other two were but specks along
the cliffs.
"Is Ruth gone?" asked Judith, looking rather forlorn.
"Then you would rather she were here?" asked Heston, with a slight
smile.
"Ye-es," hesitated Judith.
"I'm glad you have got as far as that!" said Heston, bluntly. "You have
been slow in doing her justice after all her kindness!"
"I'm not!" said Judith. "I 'never' am nasty to her now! Surely you have
seen that, Heston? I always try to do what she says, and I get Mala to,
as well."
Heston considered. "I believe you do," he said, heartily, taking his
little sister's hand in his, and turning homewards.
"But why has she gone?" persisted Judith. "It will be quite dull
without her."
"Vincent wanted a walk with her, I think."
But the figures were now obscured by the jutting cliff, and Judith
looked after them in vain.
The two walked on quickly at first. Ruth thought that there was not
much time, and Vincent thought that each rapid step brought him nearer
to what he seemed unable to bear.
"There is no hurry," he said at last. "I have plenty of time for my
train."
They were talking on indifferent subjects, chiefly about Norman's
progress in strength and vitality, and Ruth said how she wished his
father could see him before he died. To all of which Vincent listened
with downcast face and heavy heart.
When they reached the summit of the cliff, Vincent paused as if to look
for the last time at the wonderful view of sea and sky, and Ruth began
to gather some of the grasses and poppies which grew in profusion at
their feet.
"I shall never forget this walk," said Vincent, as they walked on.
"It is beautiful," said Ruth; "only I am sure you are sad because
you have to leave England. I am sorry, but that does not make it any
better, does it?"
Vincent's answer was smothered.
She thought he said something about "it did make a difference," but she
could hardly catch his meaning, so she remained silent, wishing she
could do something to make his evident pain less.
And then Vincent saw the roof of the Junction peeping out from between
some trees, and he knew that he must say "good-bye."
He held out his hand. "You must not come any further," he said
hoarsely. "I do not know how to say good-bye! It is not only leaving
England and home—that is bad enough—but to leave you—"
"Me?" questioned Ruth, surprised, and almost dismayed by his agitated
words.
"Will you—will you remember me when I am far away?" he asked, looking
in her face.
"I—of course I shall remember you," she said hastily; "how could I do
anything else? Besides, you are Mary's brother!"
"Only Mary's brother?" he asked, dropping her hand suddenly.
"I meant that I have always heard so much of you from Mary that I
seemed to know you before you came."
There was a distant whistle of the train, loud and shrill.
"I must go now!" he exclaimed. "Oh, Ruth, say one kind word to me
before I go."
"I do not know how," said Ruth, with her eyes full of tears.
He caught her hand again without looking at her, and thus they parted.
Vincent strode on to the station.
And Ruth stood looking after him till she saw the steam of the train
coming over the trees, when with slow and faltering steps she made her
way home, wondering vaguely what had happened to make her heart so very
heavy.