Then she held her close and tried to comfort her and gain some comfort for herself, but her tears would come to think how happy they had always or most always been in that fine home which seemed so much a part of life to Ruth that, now that it was gone from her, life seemed a sordid and a sorry thing.
But she went with Father Felix, quietly, to the refectory and there they all found comfort and refreshment, for the good Priest always had prepared himself to entertain some unexpected guests, and, with returning security and peace, his parishioners had brought some supplies to welcome him on his return; so they fared quite well considering what had met them when they reached the place where Ruth had thought to find rest from her arduous toil; instead, she had to meet renewed unrest and many problems to be solved in her near future.
CHAPTER XX
When Ruth Wakefield awoke the next morning after her arrival in the village of San Domingo, she became conscious of her surroundings with a sudden start; at first, she scarcely realized just where she was, for her long trip on the boat following her strenuous and nerve-wracking labor of the past few weeks, had left her very weary in mind as well as in body, so that her sleep had been profound and restful; she looked about her wonderingly and did not recognize anything near to her except little Tid-i-wats who was cuddled up in a little soft round ball right beside her pillow; then, from the adjoining room, she began to hear old Mage, who was, evidently, making her customary strenuous efforts to continue her slumbers.
Gradually, Ruth remembered the desolation to which she had returned, and, hastily dressing, she left the refectory intending to go at once to the spot where her much-loved home had been, and ascertain, under the light of day, the extent of her loss, also, she wished to make some plans, while she could do so quietly and unobserved, as to the future of her little family, who, as it seemed, was now without a roof to shelter them.
She slowly and cautiously ascended the hill; the pathway was almost obliterated by the growth of the wild things that had been allowed to run riot over it and she followed it more by instinct than anything else; as she gained the point from which the proud edifice she had so loved used to become visible to anyone approaching it, the fact that no buildings of any kind were in sight pressed upon her inner consciousness, and it was only with great effort that she proceeded at all; somehow, she had hoped, she now found, that the hasty survey they had made the night before might have been overdrawn in some respects and the corroboration of her worst fears was hard for her to bear; but she had become accustomed, from long endurance, to meet whatever came with calmness and courage; so she straightened her slim, tall figure to its full height, and advanced with the air of a soldier marching forth to meet the foe.
She had passed the spot where the entrance gates had been; the pillars on either side of the entrance were almost entirely demolished and there was nothing to be seen of the gates themselves; all along the driveway débris was piled in disordered heaps; evidently, no one had been here, or so it seemed at a first glance, anyway, for some time; vegetation had even partially covered a part of the ruins of the dwelling itself; with repeated gasps of horror, she ran from what had been the front entrance to her home to first one side and then the other; finally, she sat down, disconsolately, like Niobe, amid the ruins of her former happiness; she knew that she was where her library had been; here she had found her most satisfying, lasting happiness, surrounded as she had been by the books she had loved; she could see the half-burned remains of many of her favorites lying all around her; thinking to save some portion of one of these, she picked it up, fondly, and laid it in her lap, while she bent over it searching for some word of comfort or some sustaining sentence; it seemed to her that some of the authors she had so dearly loved and almost reverenced, would surely come to her aid in this dire calamity ... it almost seemed to her as if one or more of them would actually speak to her in such a way as to impress her mind with their fine thoughts.
Suddenly, she became conscious of the nearness of some human being; looking up, surprised and even alarmed, she beheld the man whose life she had been instrumental in saving after the battle of San Juan Hill.
"Tender Heart," he said, softly, "Tender Heart, what have we here? Why are you so sad? You came to me in grievous trouble and I, it seems, have found you under similar circumstances. Tender Heart," he pleaded, "Tender Heart, let me help you as you helped me if I can do so."