CHAPTER XV--ILLUMINATION
The scent of the pines was heavy in the languid air. Bright sunshinefell upon the grass, and the drowsy stillness was scarcely broken by thesplash of ripples on the beach. Aynsley, now fast recovering, lay in acouch hammock where a patch of shadow checkered the smooth expanse ofOsborne's lawn. His face was thin, and his eyes were half closed, thoughhe was by no means asleep. The glare tired him, but his mind was busyand he was tormented by doubts.
Ruth sat near him with a book, from which she had been reading aloud.Her thin summer dress clung in graceful lines to her finely moldedfigure; the large hat cut off the light from her face, which was quietlyserious, and there was a delicacy in its coloring and a curious liquidglow in her eyes.
Aynsley was not an artist, but the picture she made filled him with asense of harmonious beauty. There was a repose about the girl whichgenerally had its effect on him; but as he watched her Aynsley felt thehard throbbing of his heart. He had admired her greatly since they firstmet, and it was now some time since appreciation had grown into love;but the man was shrewd in some respects, and had seen that herinclination was not toward him. She was too friendly, too franklygracious; he would rather have noticed some shy reserve. He had waitedwith strong patience, until her tender care of him in his illness hadgiven him a vague hope. He feared it might prove illusory, but he couldkeep his secret no longer, and summoned courage to test his fortune.
"Ruth," he said, "I'll have to get back to the mill next week. Though ithas been very pleasant, I've been loafing long enough."
She looked up abruptly, for her thoughts had been far away and he hadheld no place in them.
"I suppose you must go when you are strong enough," she answered ratherabsently. "Still, you have not recovered, and perhaps they can get onwithout you."
This was not encouraging. Her tone was kind, but she had shown noanxiety to detain him, and if she had wished to do so it would have beeneasy to give him a hint. For all that, he must learn his fate.
"It's possible; in fact, I've a suspicion that they get on better whenI'm away; but that is not the point. I've been here some time, and havemade a good many demands on you. Now that you have cured me, I have noexcuse for abusing your good nature."
"You're not abusing it," she responded in a friendly tone. "Besides, ifyou need the assurance, I enjoyed taking care of you. Though the nursesreally did the work, it's nice to feel oneself useful."
Though she smiled he was not much cheered. The care she had given himwas, in a sense, impersonal: she would have been as compassionate to astranger.
"I can understand," he said. "You are full of kindness, and must, so tospeak, radiate it. It's a positive relief to you. Anyway, that'sfortunate for me, because I shouldn't have been lying here, almost fitnow, if you hadn't taken me in hand."
"That's exaggeration," she replied with a faint blush, which he seizedupon as the first favorable sign.
"Not at all," he declared firmly. "You saved my life; I knew it when Iwakened up the morning the fever left me, and the doctor practicallyadmitted it when I asked him." He paused and gave her a steady look,though his heart was beating fast. "And since you saved it, my lifebelongs to you. It's a responsibility you have incurred. Anyway, thelife you gave me back when I'd nearly lost it is a poor thing, and notmuch use to me unless I can persuade you to share it. Perhaps, in goodhands, it's capable of improvement."
Ruth was moved. She saw the deep trust and the longing in his eyes, andhe had spoken with a touch of humor, which, she thought, was bravebecause it covered his want of hope. She could not doubt his love, andshe knew it was worth much. The knowledge brought the color to her faceand disturbed her.
"Aynsley," she said, "I'm sorry, but--"
He made a protesting gesture.
"Wait a minute! You did not know that I loved you. I read that in yourfriendly candor. I felt that I was aiming too high but I couldn't giveup the hope of winning you some day, and I meant to be patient. Now Iexpect you have got a painful shock; but I'm going away next week--and Iwas swept off my feet."
"It isn't a shock," she answered with a smile that hid some confusion."You're too modest, Aynsley; any sensible girl would feel proud of youroffer. But, for all that, I'm afraid--"
"Please think it over," he begged. "Though I'm by no means what you havea right to expect, there's this in my favor that, so far as I'm capableof it, you can make what you like of me. Then I'm starting on a newcareer, and there's nobody who could help me along like you."
Ruth was silent for a few moments, lost in disturbing thought. She knewhis virtues and his failings, and she trusted him. Now she realized witha sense of guilt that she had not been quite blameless. She had seen hislove for her, and, while she had never led him on, she might havechecked him earlier; she could not be sure that she had altogetherwished to do so. She was fond of him; indeed, she was willing to lovehim, but somehow was unable to do so.
"Aynsley," she said, "I'm more sorry than I can tell you; but you reallymust put me out of your mind."
"It's going to be difficult," he answered grimly. "But I believe youlike me a little?"
"I think the trouble is that I like you too much--but not in the waythat you wish."
"I understand. I've been too much of a comrade. But if I were verypatient, you might, perhaps, get to like me in the other way?"
"It would be too great a risk, Aynsley."
"I'll take it and never blame you if you find the thing too hard." Theeagerness suddenly died out of his voice. "But that would be very roughon you--to be tied to a man--" He broke off and was silent for a momentbefore he looked up at her with grave tenderness. "Ruth dear, is itquite hopeless?"
"I'm afraid so," she said softly, but with a note in her voice whichAynsley could not misinterpret.
"Very well," he acquiesced bravely. "I have to fight this thing, but youshall have no trouble on my account. I find the light rather strong outhere; if you will excuse me, I think I'll go in."
Rising with obvious weakness, he moved off toward the house; and Ruth,realizing that he had been prompted by consideration for her, sat stilland wondered why she had refused him. He was modest, brave, unselfish,and cheerful; indeed, in character and person he was all that sheadmired; but she could not think of him as her husband. She pondered it,temporizing, half afraid to be quite honest with herself, until in aflash the humiliating truth was plain and she blushed with shame andanger. The love she could not give Aynsley had already been given,unasked, to another who had gone away and forgotten her.
She knew little about him, and she knew Aynsley well. Aynsley was rich,and Jimmy was obviously poor--he might even have other disadvantages;but she felt that this was relatively of small importance. Somehow hebelonged to her, and, though she struggled against the conviction, shebelonged to him. That was the end of the matter.
Growing cooler, she began to reason, and saw that she had blamed herselftoo hastily. After all, though Jimmy had made no open confession, he hadin various ways betrayed his feelings, and there was nothing to provethat he had forgotten her. Poverty might have bound him to silence;moreover, there was reason to believe that he was away in a lonelyregion, cut off from all communication with the outer world. Perhaps heoften thought about her; but these were futile speculations, andbanishing them with an effort she went into the house.
The next day Clay found Ruth sitting on the veranda.
"So you would not have my boy!" he said abruptly.
"Has he told you?" she asked with some embarrassment.
"Oh, no! But I'm not a fool, and his downcast look was hint enough. Idon't know if you're pleased to hear he has taken the thing to heart. Itought to be flattering."
"I'm very sorry." Ruth's tone was indignant. "I think you are unjust."
"And showing pretty bad taste? Well, I'm not a man of culture, and I'moften unpleasant when I'm hurt. I suppose you know the boy had set hiswhole mind on getting you? But of course you knew it, perhaps for sometime; you wouldn't be deceived
on a point like that."
"I can't see what you expect to gain by trying to bully me!" Ruthflashed at him angrily, for her conscience pricked her.
Clay laughed with harsh amusement. He had broken many clever andstubborn men who had stood in his way, and this inexperienced girl'sdefiance tickled him.
"My dear," he said, "I'm not trying to do anything of the kind. If Iwere, I'd go about it on a very different plan. Aynsley's a good son, astraight man without a grain of meanness, and you could trust him withyour life."
"Yes," she answered softly, "I know. I'm very sorry--I can't sayanything else."
Clay pondered for a few moments. Her frank agreement disarmed him, buthe could not understand his forbearance. He had won Aynsley's mother inthe face of the determined opposition of her relatives, and there was aprimitive strain in him. Had all this happened when he was younger hewould have urged his son to carry Ruth off by force, and now, althoughthe times had changed, there were means by which she could, no doubt, becompelled to yield. Still, although he was not scrupulous, and it mightbe done without Aynsley's knowledge, he would not consider it. She hadsaved the boy's life, and he had, moreover, a strange respect for her.
"Well," he conceded, "you look as if you knew your mind, and I guessAynsley must make the best of it."
Ruth was relieved when he left her, but she was also puzzled by acurious feeling that she was no longer afraid of him. In spite of hisprevious declaration of gratitude, she had dreaded his resentment; andnow that uneasiness had gone. He had said nothing definite to reassureher, but she felt that while he regretted her refusal, she could lookupon him as a friend instead of a possible enemy.
During the evening she told her father, who had been absent for a day ortwo.
"I am not surprised," he said; "I even hoped you would take him.However, it's too late now, and if you hadn't much liking for Aynsley Iwouldn't have urged you."
"I was sure of that," Ruth said with an affectionate glance.
"How did Clay take your refusal of his son?"
"I think he took it very well. He paid me a compliment as he went away."
She noticed her father's look of relief, and it struck her as beingsignificant.
"You have reason to feel flattered," he said, "because Clay's apt tomake trouble when he is thwarted. For all that, it's unfortunate yourinclinations didn't coincide with his wishes."
"Why?" Ruth asked sharply.
Osborne looked amused at her bluntness.
"Well, I really think Aynsley has a good deal to recommend him: money,position, pleasant manners, and an estimable character. Since you're notsatisfied, it looks as if you were hard to please."
"I have no fault to find with him," Ruth answered with a blush. "Still,one doesn't make up a list of the good qualities one's husband ought tohave."
"It might not be a bad plan," Osborne said humorously; "anyway, if youcould find a man to meet the requirements." He dropped his banteringmanner. "I'm sorry you dismissed Aynsley, but if you are satisfied thatit was best, there's no more to be said."
He turned away, and Ruth pondered what she had heard. It was plain thather father shrank from offending Clay; and that seemed to confirm thevague but unpleasant suspicions she had entertained about their businessrelations. Somehow she felt that not yet had she got at the bottom ofher father's dealings with that man.