ALONE IN THE COTTAGE.
Breathless with apprehension, which was made half joy by an undeniable
sense of happiness, all the more intense because it was gained by so
much hazard, Ruth Jessup--for she dared not breathe that new name even
to herself as yet--reached that remote gate in the park-wall, and
darted like a frightened hare into the thick covert of the trees.
There she lingered a while, holding her breath with dread. It was
scarcely dark, but to her it seemed impossible that so few hours could
have passed since she had stolen from her home. Surely, surely, her
father must have returned. She would find him standing in the park,
ready to arraign and judge her for the thing she had done; or he might
come out to find her wandering among the ferns, so happy, yet so
terrified, that she would like to stay there forever, like a bird in
sight of its nest, trembling while it watched over its trust of love.
The purple twilight was just veiling the soft, green gloom of the
trees with its tender darkness. Now and then a pale flash of gold shot
through the leaves, giving signs that the evening had but just closed
in. Still the girl hesitated. Almost, for the first time in her life,
she feared to meet her father face to face. The taste of forbidden
fruit was on her lips, tainted with the faint bitterness of coming
ashes.
"I will go home--I must!" she said, rising from a fragment of rock
that had given her a seat among the ferns. "There is yet a quiver of
crimson in the air. It cannot be ten yet!"
The girl walked slowly and cautiously on until a curve in the path
brought her in sight of the cottage. Then her pent-up breath came
forth in a glad exclamation.
"It is dark yet! No one has been there in all this time!"
Poor child! It seemed an age since she had left the house, and a
miracle that she should have found it so still and solitary. When she
entered the porch, the light of a rising moon was trembling down to
the honeysuckles that clung to it, and a cloud of dewy fragrance
seemed to welcome her home again tenderly, as if she had no deception
in her heart, and was not trembling from head to foot with vague
apprehensions.
Taking a heavy key from under one of the seats which ran along each
side of the porch, she opened the door and went into her home again.
The moonlight came flickering through the oriel window, as if a bunch
of silver arrows had been shivered against it, half illuminating the
room with a soft, beautiful light. Ruth would gladly have sat down in
this tranquil gloom, and given herself up to such dreams as follow a
full certainty of being beloved, but the hoarse old clock twanged out
the hour with a force that absolutely frightened her. She had not
self-possession enough to count its strokes, but shuddered to think
the night had possibly reached ten o'clock.
She lighted a lamp, looked around to make sure that nothing had been
left that could betray her, then ran up-stairs, flung off her
sad-colored dress, set all her rich hair free, and came down in the
jaunty red over-dress and black skirt that had given her beauty such
picturesque effect in the morning. All day she had been pale and
feverishly flushed by turns. Now a sense of safety gave her
countenance a permanent richness of color that would have been
dazzling in a broader light than that lamp could give. She was under
shelter in her own familiar garment; could it be that all the rest was
a dream? Had she, in fact, been married?
A quick, frightened gasp answered the question. The lamp-light fell on
a heavy circlet of new gold, that glittered on her finger.
Yes, it was there! His hand had pressed it upon hers; his lips had
kissed it reverently. Must she take it off? Was there no way of
concealing the precious golden shackle, that seemed to hold her life
in?
That was impossible. That small, shapely hand had never felt the touch
of ornament or ring before. The blaze of it seemed to light the whole
room. Her father would see it and question her. No, no! it must be hid
away before he came. She ran up-stairs, opened her bureau-drawer, and
began to search eagerly for a ribbon narrow enough to escape
attention. Knots of pink, and streamers of scarlet were there neatly
arranged, but nothing that might answer her purpose, except a thread
of black ribbon which had come out of her mourning two years before,
when her mother died.
Ruth snatched this up and swung her wedding-ring upon it, too much
excited for superstition at the moment, and glad to feel the perilous
gift safe in her bosom.
Now all was hidden, no trace of her fault had been left. She might
dare to look at the old clock.
It lacked an hour and more of the time at which she might expect her
father. Well, fortunately, she had something to do. His supper must be
prepared. She would take good care of him now. He should lack nothing
at her hands, since she had given him such grievous cause of offence.
With these childlike ideas of atonement in her mind, Ruth took up a
lamp, and going into the kitchen, kindled a fire; and spreading a
white cloth on the table, set out the supper her father had desired of
her. When the cold beef and mustard, the bread and cheese, were all
daintily arranged, she bethought herself of his most favored dish of
all, and taking a posset-dish of antique silver from the cupboard,
half filled it with milk, which she set upon the coals to boil. Into
this she from time to time broke bits of wheaten bread, and when the
milk was all afoam, poured a cup of strong ale into it, which
instantly resolved the whole mass into golden whey and snow-white
curd.
As Ruth stooped over the posset-cup, shading her face with one hand
from the fire, and stirring its contents gently with a spoon, a noise
at the window made her start and cry out with a suddenness that nearly
upset the silver porringer.
"Who is it? What is it?" she faltered, looking at the window with
strained eyes. "Oh, have mercy! That face, that face!"
Before she could move away from the hearth, some one shook the
window-sash so violently, that a rain of dew fell from the ivy
clustering around it.
Ruth stood appalled; every vestige of color fled from her face; but
she gave no further sign of the terror that shook her from head to
foot. Directly the keen, handsome face that had peered through the
glass disappeared, and the footsteps of a man walking swiftly sounded
back from the gravel path which led to the front door.