The older woman caught her breath, as if in relief, and then the deep crimson flooded her face.
“Hepsey told me and Aunt Jane left a letter about it,” Ruth continued, hastily, “and I am very glad to do it. It would be dreadful to have a ship wrecked, almost at our door.”
“Yes,” sighed Miss Ainslie, her colour receding, “I have often thought of 'those who go down to the sea in ships.' It is so terrible, and sometimes, when I hear the surf beating against the cliff, I—I am afraid.”
Ruth climbed the hill, interested, happy, yet deeply disturbed. Miss Ainslie's beautiful, changing face seemed to follow her, and the exquisite scent of the lavender, which had filled the rooms, clung to her senses like a benediction.
Hepsey was right, and unquestionably Miss Ainslie had something to do with the light; but no deep meaning lay behind it—so much was certain. She had lived alone so long that she had grown to have a great fear of shipwreck, possibly on account of her friend, the “seafaring gentleman,” and had asked Miss Hathaway to put the light in the window—that was all.
Ruth's reason was fully satisfied, but something else was not. “I'm not going to think about it any more,” she said to herself, resolutely, and thought she meant it.
She ate her dinner with the zest of hunger, while Hepsey noiselessly served her. “I have been to Miss Ainslie's, Hepsey,” she said at length, not wishing to appear unsociable.
The maid's clouded visage cleared for an instant. “Did you find out about the lamp?” she inquired, eagerly.
“No, I didn't, Hepsey; but I'll tell you what I think. Miss Ainslie has read a great deal and has lived alone so much that she has become very much afraid of shipwreck. You know all of us have some one fear. For instance, I am terribly afraid of green worms, though a green worm has never harmed me. I think she asked Miss Hathaway to put the lamp in the window, and possibly told her of something she had read which made her feel that she should have done it before.”
Hepsey's face took on its old, impenetrable calm.