Two days later, Frances went out into the garden. She leaned upon Dolly’s arm, for she was very weak, and Lucy came behind, carrying rugs and cushions. They settled her on a couch under the great cedar-tree that spread its branches over the lawn, and there little Ruth came and nestled beside her while the two elder girls went away.
“When you are well enough,” said Ruth, her sweet face upturned to the chequered sunlight, “I would like you to come to the Stones with me.”
“When I am well enough, sweetheart,” said Frances, “as soon as I can walk, that is, I am going away.”
“Right away?” said the child.
“Yes, darling. Right away. I have stayed too long, much too long, as it is.”
“I would like you always here,” said Ruth.
Frances pressed her to her side in silence.
It was a perfect summer morning. From across the field that bordered the old garden there came the babble of the stream. There was a line of sunflowers along the red-brick wall, and below them the blue of delphiniums that brought to mind the Bishop’s garden. The warm scent of sweet-peas filled the air. Some distance away, Nell’s sunbonnet was visible, dipping among the green. She and Lucy were gathering peas, and their careless chatter came to Frances where she lay. The peace of the place rested upon it like a benediction.
“You will come with me to the Stones before you go, won’t you?” said Ruth.
It was hard to refuse her. “Perhaps, darling,” she said gently.