“It’s you I have to thank,” he said hoarsely. “I want you to remember that my promise holds good.”
“Yes,” Ruth answered with a languid smile. “Still, that doesn’t seem to matter and I’m very tired.”
He moved aside to let her pass, and watched her with a heartfelt gratitude as she went slowly down a corridor.
CHAPTER XV—ILLUMINATION
The scent of the pines was heavy in the languid air. Bright sunshine fell upon the grass, and the drowsy stillness was scarcely broken by the splash of ripples on the beach. Aynsley, now fast recovering, lay in a couch hammock where a patch of shadow checkered the smooth expanse of Osborne’s lawn. His face was thin, and his eyes were half closed, though he was by no means asleep. The glare tired him, but his mind was busy and he was tormented by doubts.
Ruth sat near him with a book, from which she had been reading aloud. Her thin summer dress clung in graceful lines to her finely molded figure; the large hat cut off the light from her face, which was quietly serious, and there was a delicacy in its coloring and a curious liquid glow in her eyes.
Aynsley was not an artist, but the picture she made filled him with a sense of harmonious beauty. There was a repose about the girl which generally had its effect on him; but as he watched her Aynsley felt the hard throbbing of his heart. He had admired her greatly since they first met, and it was now some time since appreciation had grown into love; but the man was shrewd in some respects, and had seen that her inclination was not toward him. She was too friendly, too frankly gracious; he would rather have noticed some shy reserve. He had waited with strong patience, until her tender care of him in his illness had given him a vague hope. He feared it might prove illusory, but he could keep his secret no longer, and summoned courage to test his fortune.
“Ruth,” he said, “I’ll have to get back to the mill next week. Though it has been very pleasant, I’ve been loafing long enough.”
She looked up abruptly, for her thoughts had been far away and he had held no place in them.
“I suppose you must go when you are strong enough,” she answered rather absently. “Still, you have not recovered, and perhaps they can get on without you.”