“This is the Hanging Rock, Monsieur St. Vincent. It is what gives the name to our estate. It was called so even before my father got possession of the rock itself. This is one of the last grants we received from Governor Fletcher. Governor Bellamont shows small favor to us.”
Her sweet voice and innocent manner took my breath away. The relations between her father and the government were what I should hardly expect her to speak to me about; yet she did speak of them without the least hesitation or embarrassment. Could it be that she was innocent of all knowledge of what went on within the boundary of her father’s manor? It was an impossible thought at first, yet I could not associate a knowledge of such things with the expression of her face at that moment. Her features were lit up with a gentle sadness, such as one sees in the pictures of the saints. I could believe no wrong of her, yet how could I explain it? Did she not know that her sire had been expelled in disgrace from the governor’s council? Was her only knowledge of her father’s faults drawn from his unkindness to herself? She cut my meditations short by an abrupt question:
“Will you carry my basket for me? I cut all the flowers in my garden yesterday and brought them here.”
She pointed to a large basket and asked me again to take it up and follow her. I soon knew where we were going. The vaguely familiar scene grew more and more distinct as I trudged silently at her back. I knew instinctively that we were passing through the same wood where I had wandered in my trance, where I had met her when she gave me the miniature of my dead sister. We were going to my sister’s grave. Yes, I knew the place instantly. I saw her lift the piece of loose sod which covered the stone marked with Ruth’s name.
Mistress Miriam sat on the grass by the side of the grave, binding the flowers into wreaths and bunches which she laid about. When she placed the last she knelt and clasped her hands in prayer. Her lips murmured and the tears followed one another down her cheeks and fell among the flowers.
I turned away, a great pain in my heart. Here was I by my sister’s grave, yet I could not throw myself upon it and weep out my sorrow. Her only mourner was a Roman Catholic. O God, it is not for me to question the mystery of Thy ways! Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
On our way home I found it necessary to exert my full power of self-control lest I betray my secret.
“You are affected,” she said. “It shows that you have a warm heart.”
“Will you tell me more about her?” I asked.
Mistress Van Volkenberg related how Ruth had come to New York, and how she had suffered longing and sorrowful suspense for the brother who did not come to her. Then she took service. The young mistress of the manor-house fell in love with Ruth, as everyone did who knew her. Even the hard patroon at times seemed to feel her sweetness.