g for
support on the upper rail of the gate. She heard him walk away towards
the stable-yard. . . . By-and-by she heard him ride off--heard the click
of the gate behind him. A while after this she listened, and then bowed
her face upon her arms.

Chapter XV.

THE CHOOSING.

The minutes passed, and still she leaned there. At long intervals, when
a sob would not be repressed, her shoulders heaved and fell. But it was
characteristic of Ruth Josselin throughout her life that she hated to
indulge in distress, even when alone. As a child she had been stoical;
but since the day of her ordeal in Port Nassau she had not once wept in
self-pity. She had taught herself to regard all self-pity as shameful.

She made no sound. The morning heat had increased, and across it the
small morning noises of the farm were borne drowsily--the repeated
strokes of a hatchet in the backyard, where young Lemuel split logs; the
voice of Mrs. Cordery, also in the backyard, calling the poultry for
their meal of Indian corn; the opening and shutting of windows as rooms
were redded and dusted; lastly, Miss Quiney's tentative touch on the
spinet. Sir Oliver in his lordly way had sent a spinet by cart from
Boston; and Tatty, long since outstripped by her pupil, had a trick of
picking out passages from the more difficult pieces of music and
"sampling" them as she innocently termed it--a few chords now and again,
but melodies for the most part, note by note hesitatingly attempted with
one finger.

For a while these noises fell on Ruth's ear unheeded. Then something
like a miracle happened.

Of a sudden either the noises ceased or she no longer heard them.
It was as if a hush had descended on the farmstead; a hush of
expectancy. Still leaning on the gate, she felt it operate within
her--an instantaneous calm at first, soothing away the spirit's anguish
as though it were ointment delicately laid on a bodily wound. Not an
ache, even, left for reminder! but healing peace at a stroke, and in the
hush of it small thrills awaking, stirring, soft ripples scarcely
perceptible, stealing, hesitating, until overtaken by reinforcements of
bliss and urged in a flood, bathing her soul.

_He_ was near! He must be here, close at hand!

She lifted her head and gazed around. For minutes her closed eyeballs
had been pressed down upon her arms, and the sunlight played tricks with
her vision. Strange hues of scarlet and violet danced on the sky a