A very high degree of masculine charity and correctness of judgment was expressed in Phil's voice and words. Reuben made no reply—his charity, of any sort, was not in a talkative mood, and the two parted kindly at Phil's cross road.
Not home to dinner now, for Reuben! The minutes of talk had seemed long to his impatience; he had borne them, partly to get information, partly to keep down suspicion. But now with Phil out of sight, he turned short about and took the way to Mrs. Derrick's with almost flying steps. True, he was not dressed for "Miss Faith's" room—but Reuben Taylor was always neat and in order, and she must not wait. He hurried into Mrs. Roscom's—there to leave his basket and every removable trace of his work,—then on!
Faith had spent the early morning upon her couch;—no need to ask if she felt stronger than yesterday,—every line and feature shewed prostration—and patience. Breakfast had been passed over nominally. What Mrs. Derrick could do for her was done; what she could not, lay heavy on the hearts of both as the one went down to make the days arrangements, and the other lay still to endure. Reuben had not come after the morning train—there was nothing even to expect till night, and Faith lay listening to her little clock and watching the passage of the April sunbeams through her room.
Suddenly a loud startling rap at the front door. But she was powerless to go and see, and after that one sound the house seemed to sink into perfect stillness. Then the door of her room opened, and Mrs. Derrick came in bearing a large basket. A heavy one too, but Mrs. Derrick would have spent her last atom of strength before she would have let any one else bring it up. Her face looked quite radiant.
"Pretty child!" she said, "here's something for you!"
It was needless to ask questions,—Mrs. Derrick's face could have but one meaning. Faith neither asked nor answered, except by the sudden start of the blood into cheeks which were pale enough before. Slipping from the couch she was on her knees by the basket, pulling out the ends of the knots by which it was tied, with just a tiny beautiful smile at work on her changed lips. Her mother went softly away (she thought the first sight of anything in that line belonged to Faith alone) and the April sunbeams took a new view of things.
The knots gave way, and the basket cover swung round, and the white wrapping paper came off; and within lay something for her truly!—most appropriate! A great stem of bananas and another of plantains, thick set with fruit, displayed their smooth green and red coats in very excellent contrast, and below and around and doing duty as mere packing, were sunny Havana oranges, of extra size, and of extra flavour—to judge by the perfume. But better than all, to Faith's eye, was a little slip of blackmarked white paper, tucked under a red banana—it had only these words—
'Sweets to the sweet.'
"Faith, I should put in more, but the basket refuses. It is the measure of only one part of the proverb—do you understand?"
Faith knew oranges, she had never seen bananas or plantains before. It was all one; for the time being they were not bananas or oranges but hieroglyphics; and the one fruit looked as much like Mr. Linden's handwriting as the other. She sat with her arm resting on the couch supporting her head, and looking at them. Not the finest picture that Goethe ever viewed, or bade his friends view as part of their "duty," was so beautiful as that basket of red and yellow fruit to Faith's eye. And all the more for that foreign look they were like Mr. Linden; for the common things which they said, it was like him to say uncommonly. How very sweet was the smell of those oranges! and how delicious the soft feeling of peace which settled down on all Faith's senses. Very different from the sort of quiet she was in a quarter of an hour ago. She did not trouble herself now about the missing letters. This told that Mr. Linden was well, or he could hardly have been out to buy fruit and pack it and pack it off to her. So Mrs. Derrick found her—reading not words, but oranges and bananas; with a face it was a pity Mr. Linden could not see.