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and forth when the wind rattled the windows and shook the old house。
The room seemed peopled by the previous generation； that had slept in the massive mahogany bed； rocked in the chairs； with sewing or gossip； and stood before the old dresser on tiptoe； peering eagerly into the mirror which probably had hung above it。 It was as if Memory sat at the spinning…wheel； idly twisting the thread； and bringing visions of the years gone by。
A cracked mirror hung against the wall and Ruth saw her reflection dimly； as if she； too； belonged to the ghosts of the attic。 She was not vain； but she was satisfied with her eyes and hair； her white skin； impervious to tan or burn； and the shape of her mouth。 The saucy little upward tilt at the end of her nose was a great cross to her； however； because it was at variance with the dignified bearing which she chose to maintain。 As she looked； she wondered； vaguely； if she； like Aunt Jane； would grow to a loveless old age。 It seemed probable； for； at twenty…five； The Prince had not appeared。 She had her work and was happy； yet unceasingly； behind those dark eyes； Ruth's soul kept maidenly match for its mate。
When she turned to go downstairs； a folded newspaper on the floor attracted her attention。 It was near one of the trunks which she had opened and must have fallen out。 She picked it up； to replace it； but it proved to be another paper dated a year later than the first one。 There was no marked paragraph； but she soon discovered the death notice of 〃Abigail Winfield； nee Weatherby； aged twenty…two。〃 She put it into the trunk out of which she knew it must have fallen； and stood there； thinking。 Those faded letters； hidden under Aunt Jane's wedding gown； were tempting her with their mute secret as never before。 She hesitated； took three steps toward the cedar chest； then fled ingloriously from the field。
Whoever Charles Winfeld was； he was free to love and marry again。 Perhaps there had been an estrangement and it was he for whom Aunt Jane was waiting； since sometimes； out of bitterness； the years distil forgiveness。 She wondered at the nature which was tender enough to keep the wedding gown and the pathetic little treasures； brave enough to keep the paper； with its evidence of falseness； and great enough to forgive。
Yet； what right had she to suppose Aunt Jane was waiting？ Had she gone abroad to seek him and win his recreant heart again？ Or was Abigail Weatherby her girlhood friend； who had married unhappily； and then died？
Somewhere in Aunt Jane's fifty…five years there was a romance； but； after all； it was not her niece's business。 〃I'm an imaginative goose；〃 Ruth said to herself。 〃I'm asked to keep a light in the window； presumably as an incipient lighthouse； and I've found some old clothes and two old papers in the atticthat's alland I've constructed a tragedy。〃
She resolutely put the whole matter aside； as she sat in her room； rocking pensively。 Her own lamp had not been filled and was burning dimly； so she put it out and sat in the darkness； listening to the rain。
She had not closed the shutters and did not care to lean out in the storm； and so it was that； when the whistle of the ten o'clock train sounded hoarsely； she saw the little glimmer of light from Miss Ainslie's window； making a faint circle in the darkness。
Half an hour later； as before； it was taken away。 The scent of lavender and sweet clover clung to Miss Hathaway's linen； and； insensibly soothed； Ruth went to sleep。 After hours of dreamless slumber； she thought she heard a voice calling her and telling her not to forget the light。 It was so real that she started to her feet； half expecting to find some one standing beside her。
The rain had ceased； and two or three stars； like timid children； were peeping at the world from behind the threatening cloud。 It was that mystical moment which no one may placethe turning of night to day。 Far down the hill； ghostly； but not forbidding； was Miss Ainslie's house； the garden around it lying whitely beneath the dews of dawn； and up in the attic window the light still shone； like unfounded hope in a woman's soul； harking across distant seas of misunderstanding and gloom； with its pitiful 〃All Hail！〃
III。 Miss Ainslie
Ruth began to feel a lively interest in her Aunt Jane； and to regret that she had not arrived in time to make her acquaintance。 She knew that Miss Hathaway was three or four years younger than Mrs。 Thorne would have been； had she lived； and that a legacy had recently come to her from an old friend； but that was all； aside from the discoveries in the attic。
She contemplated the crayon portraits in the parlour and hoped she was not related to any of them。 In the family album she found no woman whom she would have liked for an aunt； but was determined to know the worst。
〃Is Miss Hathaway's picture here； Hepsey？〃 she asked。
〃No'm。 Miss Hathaway； she wouldn't have her picter in the parlour； nohow。 Some folks does； but Miss Hathaway says't'aint modest。〃
〃I think she's right； Hepsey；〃 laughed Ruth； 〃though I never thought of it in just that way。 I'll have to wait until she comes home。〃
In the afternoon she donned the short skirt and heavy shoes of her 〃office rig；〃 and started down hill to explore the village。 It was a day to tempt one out of doors；cool and bright； with that indefinable crispness which belongs to Spring。
The hill rose sheer from the highlands； which sloped to the river on the left； as she went down； and on the right to the forest。 A side path into the woods made her hesitate for a moment； but she went straight on。
It was the usual small town； which nestles at the foot of a hill and eventually climbs over it； through the enterprise of its wealthier residents； but； save for Miss Hathaway's house； the enterprise had not； as yet； become evident。 At the foot of the hill； on the left； was Miss Ainslie's house and garden； and directly opposite； with the width of the hill between them； was a brown house； with a lawn； but no garden except that devoted to vegetables。
As she walked through the village； stopping to look at the display of merchandise in the window of the single shop； which was also post…office and grocery； she attracted a great deal of respectful attention； for； in this community； strangers were an event。 Ruth reflected that the shop had only to grow to about fifty times its present size in order to become a full…fledged department store and bring upon the town the rank and dignity of a metropolis。
When she turned her face homeward； she had reached the foot of the hill before she realised that the first long walk over country roads was hard for one accustomed to city pavements。 A broad； flat stone offered an inviting resting…place； and she sat down； in the shadow of Miss Ainslie's hedge； hoping Joe would pass in time to take her to the top of the hill。 The hedge was high and except for the gate the garden was secluded。
〃I seem to get more tired every minute；〃 she thought。 〃I wonder if I've got the rheumatism。〃
She scanned the horizon eagerly for the dilapidated conveyance which she had once both feared and scorned。 No sound could have been more welcome than the rumble of those creaking wheels； nor a