Lavender and Old Lace [62]
after a more modern fashion, but most of them were made according to the quaint old patterns. There was a dozen of everything.
The dried lavender flowers rustled faintly as Ruth reverently lifted the garments, giving out the long-stored sweetness of Summers gone by. The white had changed to an ivory tint, growing deeper every day. There were eleven night gowns, all made exactly alike, with high neck and long sleeves, trimmed with tucks and lace. Only one was in any way elaborate. The sleeves were short, evidently just above the elbow, and the neck was cut off the shoulders like a ball gown. A deep frill of Venetian point, with narrower lace at the sleeves, of the same pattern, was the only trimming, except a tiny bow of lavender ribbon at the fastening, pinned on with a little gold heart.
When Ruth went in, with one of the night gowns over her arm, a faint colour came into Miss Ainslie's cheeks.
"Did--did--you find those?" she asked.
"Yes," answered Ruth, "I thought you'd like to wear them."
Miss Ainslie's colour faded and it was some time before she spoke again.
"Did--did you find the other--the one with Venetian point?" "Yes, Miss Ainslie, do you want that one It's beautiful."
"No," she said, "not now, but I thought that I'd like to wear that--afterward, you know."
A shadow crossed Ruth's face and her lips tightened.
"Don't, dear," said Miss Ainslie, gently.
"Do you think he would think it was indelicate if--if my neck were bare then?"
"Who, Miss Ainslie?"
"Carl. Would he think it was wrong if I wore that afterward, and my neck and shoulders showed? Do you think he would?"
"No!" cried Ruth, "I know he wouldn't! Oh, Miss Ainslie, you break my heart!"
"Ruth," said Miss Ainslie, gently; "Ruth, dear, don't cry! I won't talk about it any more, deary, I promise you, but I wanted to know so much!"
Ruth kissed her and went away, unable to bear more just then. She brought her chair into the hall, to be near her if she were needed. Miss Ainslie sighed, and then began to croon a lullaby.
XVII. Dawn
As Miss Ainslie became weaker, she clung to Carl, and was never satisfied when he was out of her sight. When she was settled in bed for the night, he went in to sit by her and hold her hand until she dropped asleep. If she woke during the night she would call Ruth and ask where he was.
"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,
The dried lavender flowers rustled faintly as Ruth reverently lifted the garments, giving out the long-stored sweetness of Summers gone by. The white had changed to an ivory tint, growing deeper every day. There were eleven night gowns, all made exactly alike, with high neck and long sleeves, trimmed with tucks and lace. Only one was in any way elaborate. The sleeves were short, evidently just above the elbow, and the neck was cut off the shoulders like a ball gown. A deep frill of Venetian point, with narrower lace at the sleeves, of the same pattern, was the only trimming, except a tiny bow of lavender ribbon at the fastening, pinned on with a little gold heart.
When Ruth went in, with one of the night gowns over her arm, a faint colour came into Miss Ainslie's cheeks.
"Did--did--you find those?" she asked.
"Yes," answered Ruth, "I thought you'd like to wear them."
Miss Ainslie's colour faded and it was some time before she spoke again.
"Did--did you find the other--the one with Venetian point?" "Yes, Miss Ainslie, do you want that one It's beautiful."
"No," she said, "not now, but I thought that I'd like to wear that--afterward, you know."
A shadow crossed Ruth's face and her lips tightened.
"Don't, dear," said Miss Ainslie, gently.
"Do you think he would think it was indelicate if--if my neck were bare then?"
"Who, Miss Ainslie?"
"Carl. Would he think it was wrong if I wore that afterward, and my neck and shoulders showed? Do you think he would?"
"No!" cried Ruth, "I know he wouldn't! Oh, Miss Ainslie, you break my heart!"
"Ruth," said Miss Ainslie, gently; "Ruth, dear, don't cry! I won't talk about it any more, deary, I promise you, but I wanted to know so much!"
Ruth kissed her and went away, unable to bear more just then. She brought her chair into the hall, to be near her if she were needed. Miss Ainslie sighed, and then began to croon a lullaby.
XVII. Dawn
As Miss Ainslie became weaker, she clung to Carl, and was never satisfied when he was out of her sight. When she was settled in bed for the night, he went in to sit by her and hold her hand until she dropped asleep. If she woke during the night she would call Ruth and ask where he was.
"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,