a shelf in the other was a
great pile of bedding. She dragged a chair inside, burrowed under the
blankets, and found a small wooden box, the contents clinking softly as
she drew it toward her.

Holding it under her arm, she ascended the narrow, spiral stairs which
led to the attic. At one end, under the eaves, stood an old mahogany
dresser. The casters were gone and she moved it with difficulty, but the
slanting sunbeams of late afternoon revealed the key, which hung, as her
aunt had written, on a nail driven into the back of it.

She knew, without trying, that it would fit the box, but idly turned the
lock. As she opened it, a bit of paper fluttered out, and, picking it
up, she read in her aunt's cramped, But distinct hand: "Hepsey gets a
dollar and a half every week. Don't you pay her no more."

As the house was set some distance back, the east window in the attic
was the only one which commanded a view of the sea. A small table, with
its legs sawed off, came exactly to the sill, and here stood a lamp,
which was a lamp simply, without adornment, and held about a pint of
oil.

She read the letter again and, having mastered its contents, tore it
into small pieces, with that urban caution which does not come amiss in
the rural districts. She understood that every night of her stay she
was to light this lamp with her own hands, but why? The varnish on
the table, which had once been glaring, was scratched with innumerable
rings, where the rough glass had left its mark. Ruth wondered if she
were face to face with a mystery.

The seaward side of the hill was a rocky cliff, and between the
vegetable garden at the back of the house and the edge of the precipice
were a few stumps, well-nigh covered with moss. From her vantage point,
she could see the woods which began at the base of the hill, on the
north side, and seemed to end at the sea. On the south, there were a few
trees near the cliff, but others near them had been cut down.

Still farther south and below the hill was a grassy plain, through which
a glistening river wound slowly to the ocean. Willows grew along its
margin, tipped with silvery green, and with masses of purple twilight
tangled in the bare branches below.

Ruth opened the window and drew a long breath. Her senses had been
dulled by the years in the city, but childhood, hidden though not
forgotten, came back as if by magic, with that first scent of sea and
Spring.

As yet, she had not fully realis