hot
biscuits, deliciously light, and the fragrant Chinese tea, served in the
Royal Kaga cups, followed by pound cake, and pears preserved in a heavy
red syrup.

The hostess sat at the head of the table, dispensing a graceful
hospitality. She made no apology, such as prefaced almost every meal at
Aunt Jane's. It was her best, and she was proud to give it--such was the
impression.

Afterward, when Ruth told her that she was going back to the city, Miss
Ainslie's face grew sad.

"Why--why must you go?" she asked.

"I'm interrupting the honeymoon," Ruth answered, "and when I suggested
departure, Aunty agreed to it immediately. I can't very well stay now,
can I?"

"My dear," said Miss Ainslie, laying her hand upon Ruth's, "if you
could, if you only would--won't you come and stay with me?"

"I'd love to," replied Ruth, impetuously, "but are you sure you want
me?"

"Believe me, my dear," said Miss Ainslie, simply, "it will give me great
happiness."

So it was arranged that the next day Ruth's trunk should be taken to
Miss Ainslie's, and that she would stay until the first of October.
Winfield was delighted, since it brought Ruth nearer to him and involved
no long separation.

They went outdoors again, where the crickets and katydids were chirping
in the grass, and the drowsy twitter of birds came from the maples
above. The moon, at its full, swung slowly over the hill, and threads of
silver light came into the fragrant dusk of the garden. Now and then the
moonlight shone full upon Miss Ainslie's face, touching her hair as if
with loving tenderness and giving her an unearthly beauty. It was the
face of a saint.

Winfield, speaking reverently, told her of their betrothal. She leaned
forward, into the light, and put one hand caressingly upon the arm of
each.

"I am so glad," she said, with her face illumined. Through the music of
her voice ran lights and shadows, vague, womanly appeal, and a haunting
sweetness neither could ever forget.

That night, the gates of Youth turned on their silent hinges for Miss
Ainslie. Forgetting the hoary frost that the years had laid upon her
hair, she walked, hand in hand with them, through the clover fields
which lay fair before them and by the silvered reaches of the River of
Dreams. Into their love came something sweet that they had not found
before--the absolute need of sharing life together, whether it should be
joy or pain. Unknowingly, they rose to that height which makes