whom, dear?" she asked, in a
strange tone.

"Mr. Winfield--he's going to be on the same paper with me in the Fall.
He's here for the Summer, on account of his eyes."

Miss Ainslie was bending over the lavender.

"It is a very common name, is it not?" she asked.

"Yes, quite common," answered Ruth, absently, taking the roses out of
the box.

"You must bring him to see me some time, dear; I should like to know
him."

"Thank you, Miss Ainslie, I will."

They stood at the gate together, and Ruth put a half blown rose into her
hand. "I wouldn't give it to anybody but you," she said, half playfully,
and then Miss Ainslie knew her secret. She put her hand on Ruth's arm
and looked down into her face, as if there was something she must say.

"I don't forget the light, Miss Ainslie."

"I know," she breathed, in answer. She looked long and searchingly into
Ruth's eyes, then whispered brokenly, "God bless you, dear. Good bye!"

XI. The Rose of all the World

"He didn't forget me! He didn't forget me!" Ruth's heart sang in time
with her step as she went home. Late afternoon flooded all the earth
with gold, and from the other side of the hill came the gentle music of
the sea.

The doors were open, but there was no trace of Hepsey. She put the
roses in her water pitcher, and locked her door upon them as one hides a
sacred joy. She went out again, her heart swelling like the throat of
a singing bird, and walked to the brow of the cliff, with every sense
keenly alive. Upon the surface of the ocean lay that deep, translucent
blue which only Tadema has dared to paint.

"I must go down," she murmured.

Like a tawny ribbon trailed upon the green, the road wound down the
hill. She followed it until she reached the side path on the right, and
went down into the woods. The great boughs arched over her head like the
nave of a cathedral, and the Little People of the Forest, in feathers
and fur, scattered as she approached. Bright eyes peeped at her from
behind tree trunks, or the safe shelter of branches, and rippling bird
music ended in a frightened chirp,

"Oh," she said aloud, "don't be afraid!"

Was this love, she wondered, that lay upon her eyes like the dew of a
Spring morning, that made the air vocal with rapturous song, and wrought
white magic in her soul? It had all the mystery ind freshness of the
world's beginning; it was the rush of waters where sea and river meet,
the perfume of a flower, and the far ligh