as placed far above the petty concerns of earth, like one who walks
upon the heights, untroubled, while restless surges thunder at his feet.

VI. The Garden

Miss Thorne wrote an apology to Winfield, and then tore it up, thereby
gaining comparative peace of mind, for, with some natures, expression
is the main thing, and direction is but secondary. She was not surprised
because he did not come; on the contrary, she had rather expected to be
left to her own devices for a time, but one afternoon she dressed with
unusual care and sat in state in the parlour, vaguely expectant. If he
intended to be friendly, it was certainly time for him to come again.

Hepsey, passing through the hall, noted the crisp white ribbon at
her throat and the bow in her hair. "Are you expectin' company, Miss
Thorne?" she asked, innocently.

"I am expecting no one," answered Ruth, frigidly, "I am going out."

Feeling obliged to make her word good, she took the path which led to
Miss Ainslie's. As she entered the gate, she had a glimpse of Winfield,
sitting by the front window of Mrs. Pendleton's brown house, in such
a dejected attitude that she pitied him. She considered the virtuous
emotion very praiseworthy, even though it was not deep enough for her to
bestow a cheery nod upon the gloomy person across the way.

Miss Ainslie was unaffectedly glad to see her, and Ruth sank into an
easy chair with something like content. The atmosphere of the place
was insensibly soothing and she instantly felt a subtle change. Miss
Ainslie, as always, wore a lavender gown, with real lace at the throat
and wrists. Her white hair was waved softly and on the third finger of
her left hand was a ring of Roman gold, set with an amethyst and two
large pearls.

There was a beautiful serenity about her, evident in every line of
her face and figure. Time had dealt gently with her, and except on her
queenly head had left no trace of his passing. The delicate scent of
the lavender floated from her gown and her laces, almost as if it were
a part of her, and brought visions of an old-time garden, whose gentle
mistress was ever tranquil and content. As she sat there, smiling, she
might have been Peace grown old.

"Miss Ainslie," said Ruth, suddenly, "have you ever had any trouble?"

A shadow crossed her face, and then she answered, patiently, "Why,
yes--I've had my share."

"I don't mean to be personal," Ruth explained, "I was just thinking."

"I understand," s