Rachel and Ruth sat far into the night, and the old maid told over and over again the story of the courtship and the misunderstanding between herself and Ezra.
“Even when he was young,” she told her listener often, “he was shy and proud. And he would think I had treated him as though he had been the dirt beneath my feet. I did. I did. He will never forgive me. Never, never.”
She always cried afresh tempestuously at this, but when the first passion of her grief had worn itself out she came back to her story and lauded Ezra without stint. He was proud, oh yes, he was proud, but then it was not in a way to hurt anybody. He joined in the sports of the other young men when she was quite a girl, a mere chit of a thing, my dear, and he was master of them all. Then Ruth chimed in. And so was Reuben now. Reuben was not like the rest of them. He was their master in everything, and everybody who was old enough to remember said that he was more like his uncle than like his father even. The duet of praise, accompanied by the old maid's tears, murmured along for an hour.
“You will meet him now?” Ruth suggested, rather timidly. “You will be friends again?”
“We could never bear to meet each other,” cried Rachel. “How could I come before him?” Then, “I must go away.”
“No, no,” Ruth pleaded, “you must not go away. You must stay here. You must be friends again. What shall we tell him, dear? He has found the letter at last, and he sends to you. Can you let him think that you are still against him?”
“No,” said Rachel, almost wildly. “You will tell him I went away because I could not bear to see him. I ought to have known him too well to have thought so basely of him.”
“It was his duty to speak to you. It was less your fault than his. It was nobody's fault. It was a disaster.” Ruth thought poorly of Ezra's tactics as a lover, but she was not bent on expressing her own opinions. Reuben would never have acted in such a way. He would have known at least whether his letter had been received or no. Would any man take silent contempt as a final answer from the woman he loved? It was the man's real business to come conquering, whatever airs of gentleness he might wear. And animated by these reflections the girl became filled with impatience at the old maid's self-upbraidings. She was sorry, sorry with all her heart, for both, but if there were fault at all it lay on Ezra's side. “I shall see him in the morning,” she said, finally, thinking of Reuben. “He will go to his uncle.”
“Child,” said Aunt Rachel, with the beginning of a return to her old manner, “do you think I can consent to have my affairs bandied from messenger to messenger in this way? I will write.”
She said this boldly enough, but her heart shrank from it. Her mind went blank when she tried to figure what she should say. She could do nothing but prostrate herself anew before the re-established idol. She began to realize the fact that whatever disguise of hate and despite her love had taken, she had done nothing but love him all along.