"He'll come over in the morning, Miss Ainslie," Ruth always said; "you
know it's night now."

"Is it?" she would ask, drowsily. "I must go to sleep, then, deary, so
that I may be quite rested and refreshed when he comes."

Her room, in contrast to the rest of the house, was almost Puritan in
its simplicity. The bed and dresser were mahogany, plain, but highly
polished, and she had a mahogany rocker with a cushion of old blue
tapestry. There was a simple white cover on the bed and another on
the dresser, but the walls were dead white, unrelieved by pictures or
draperies. In the east window was a long, narrow footstool, and a prayer
book and hymnal lay on the window sill, where this maiden of half a
century, looking seaward, knelt to say her prayers.

One morning, when Ruth went in, she said: "I think I won't get up this
morning, dear; I am so very tired. If Carl should come over, will you
say that I should like to see him?"

She would see no one but Carl and Ruth, and Mrs. Ball was much offended
because her friend did not want her to come upstairs. "Don't be harsh
with her, Aunt Jane," pleaded Ruth, "you know people often have strange
fancies when they are ill. She sent her love to you, and asked me to say
that she thanked you, but you need not put the light in the attic window
any more."

Mrs. Ball gazed at her niece long and earnestly. "Be you tellin' me the
truth?" she asked.

"Why, of course, Aunty."

"Then Mary Ainslie has got sense from somewheres. There ain't never
been no need for that lamp to set in the winder; and when she gets more
sense, I reckon she'll be willin' to see her friends." With evident
relief upon her face, Mrs. Ball departed.

But Miss Ainslie seemed quite satisfied, and each day spoke more
lovingly to Ruth and Carl. He showed no signs of impatience, but spent
his days with her cheerfully. He read to her, held her hand, and told
her about the rug, the Marquise, and the Japanese lovers. At the end she
would always say, with a quiet tenderness: "and some one who loved me
brought it to me!"

"Yes, Miss Ainslie; some one who loved you. Everybody loves you; don't
you know that?"

"Do you?" she asked once, suddenly and yet shyly.

"Indeed I do, Miss Ainslie--I love you with all my heart."

She smiled happily and her eyes filled. "Ruth," she called softly, "he
says he loves me!"

"Of course he does," said Ruth; "nobody in the wide world could help
loving you."

She put out her lef