I thought you would be quiet at this hour," said Rose Delano, seating herself opposite her friend in the library, the Thursday evening after the funeral. They looked so different even in the waning light, --Ruth in soft black, her white face shining like a lily above her sombre gown, Rose, like a bright firefly, perched on a cricket, her cheeks rosy, her eyes sparkling from walking against the sharp, cold wind.
"We are always quiet now," she answered softly; "friends come and go, but we are very quiet. It does me good to see you, Rosebud."
"Does it?" her sweet eyes smiled happily. "I was longing to drop in if only to hold your hand for a minute; but I did not know exactly where to find you."
"Why, where could I be but here?"
"I thought possibly you had removed to your husband's home."
For a second Ruth looked at her wonderingly; then the slow rich color mounted, inch by inch, back to her little ears till her face was one rosy cloud.
"No; I have stayed right on."
"I saw the doctor to-day," she chatted. "He looks pale; is he too busy?"
"I do not know, --that is, I suppose so. How are the lessons, Rose?"
"Everything is improving wonderfully; I am so happy, dear Mrs. Kemp, and what I wished to say was that all happiness and all blessings should, I pray, fall on you two who have been so much to me. Miss Gwynne told me that to do good was your birthright. She said that the funeral, with its vast gathering of friends, rich, poor, old, young, strong, and crippled of all grades of society, was a revelation of his life even to those who thought they knew him best. You should feel very proud with such sweet memories."
"Yes," assented Ruth, her eyes quickly suffused with tears.
They sat quietly thus for some time, till Rose, rising from her cricket, kissed her friend silently and departed.
The waning light fell softly through the lace curtains, printing quaint arabesques on the walls and furniture and bathing the room in a rich yellow light. A carriage rolled up in front of the house. Dr. Kemp handed the reins to his man and alighted. He walked slowly up to the door. It was very still about the house in the evening twilight. He pushed his hat back on his head and looked up at the clear blue sky, as if the keen breeze were pleasant to his temples. Then with a quick motion, as though recalling his thoughts, he turned and rang the bell. The latchkey of the householder was not his.
Ruth, sitting in the shadows, had scarcely heard the ring. She was absorbed in a new train of thought. Rose Delano was the first one who had clearly brought home to her the thought that she was really married. She had been very quiet with her other friends, and every one, looking at her grief-stricken face, had shrunk from mentioning what would have called for congratulation. Rose, who knew only these two, naturally dwelt on their changed relations. Her husband! Her dormant love gave an exultant bound.
Wave upon wave of emotion beat upon her heart; she sprang to her feet; the door opened, and he came in. He saw her standing faintly outlined in the dark.
"Good-evening," he said, coming slowly toward her with extended hand; "have you been quite well to-day?" He felt her fingers tremble in his close clasp, and let them fall slowly. "Bob sent you these early violets. Shall I light the gas?"
"If you will."
He turned from her and rapidly filled the room with light.
"Where is your mother?" he asked, turning toward her again. Her face was hidden in the violets.
"Upstairs with Louis. They had something to arrange. Did you wish to see her?" To judge from Ruth's manner, Kemp might have been a visitor.
"No," he replied. "If you will sit down, we can talk quietly till they come in."
As she resumed her high-backed chair and he seated himself in another before her, he was instantly struck by some new change in her face. The faraway, impersonal look with which she had met him in these sad days had been what he had expected, and he had curbed with a strong will every impulse for any closer recognition. But this new look, --what did it mean?
In the effort to appear unconcerned the dark color had risen to his own cheeks.
"I had quite a pleasant little encounter to-day," he observed; "shall I tell it to you?"
"If it will not tire you."
Keeping his eyes fixed on the picture over her head, he did not see the look of anxious love that dwelt in her eyes as they swept over him.
