Ruth had reached the door with the vase in her hand when a knock sounded up from the porch.
The color left her face at the sound, and she nearly dropped the vase, so violent was the start she gave.
"I wonder who it is?" she said, casting a look of alarm back at her father, but speaking under her breath. "Has he come to frighten away all my happiness?"
She went down-stairs reluctantly, and, with dread at her heart, opened the entrance door. A girl stood in the porch, carrying a basket on her arm, who entered the passage without ceremony, and walked into the little parlor.
"The mistress sent me to inquire after your father, Miss Jessup," she said, taking a survey of the room, which was furnished better than most of its class. "Besides that, I bring a jar of her best apricot jelly, with a bottle of port from the inn cellar, and her best compliments; things she don't send promiscuously by me, who only take them once in a while when it suits me, as it does now."
"You are very kind," said Ruth, with gentle reserve. "Pray thank Mrs. Curtis for us."
"Of course, I'll thank her, but not till I've rested a bit in this pretty room. Why, it's like a grand picture, with a carpet and chairs fit for a gentleman's house; enough to make any girl lift her head above common people, as Mr. Storms says, when he goes about praising you."
"Mr. Storms!" faltered Ruth, shrinking from the name.
"Yes, Mr. Storms. It's only here and there one who thinks of calling him Dick; and they are uncommonly careful not to let him hear them; for he has a strong hand, slender and thin as he looks, has Storms. But I needn't tell you anything about him."
"No. It's not necessary," replied Ruth, scarcely knowing what she said.