Lavender and Old Lace

The hostess sat at the head of the table, dispensing a graceful

hospitality. She made no apology, such as prefaced almost every meal at

Aunt Jane's. It was her best, and she was proud to give it--such was the

impression.

Afterward, when Ruth told her that she was going back to the city, Miss

Ainslie's face grew sad.

"Why--why must you go?" she asked.

"I'm interrupting the honeymoon," Ruth answered, "and when I suggested

departure, Aunty agreed to it immediately. I can't very well stay now,

can I?"

"My dear," said Miss Ainslie, laying her hand upon Ruth's, "if you

could, if you only would--won't you come and stay with me?"

"I'd love to," replied Ruth, impetuously, "but are you sure you want

me?"

"Believe me, my dear," said Miss Ainslie, simply, "it will give me great

happiness."

So it was arranged that the next day Ruth's trunk should be taken to

Miss Ainslie's, and that she would stay until the first of October.

Winfield was delighted, since it brought Ruth nearer to him and involved

no long separation.

They went outdoors again, where the crickets and katydids were chirping

in the grass, and the drowsy twitter of birds came from the maples

above. The moon, at its full, swung slowly over the hill, and threads of

silver light came into the fragrant dusk of the garden. Now and then the

moonlight shone full upon Miss Ainslie's face, touching her hair as if

with loving tenderness and giving her an unearthly beauty. It was the

face of a saint.

Winfield, speaking reverently, told her of their betrothal. She leaned

forward, into the light, and put one hand caressingly upon the arm of

each.

"I am so glad," she said, with her face illumined. Through the music of

her voice ran lights and shadows, vague, womanly appeal, and a haunting

sweetness neither could ever forget.

That night, the gates of Youth turned on their silent hinges for Miss

Ainslie. Forgetting the hoary frost that the years had laid upon her

hair, she walked, hand in hand with them, through the clover fields

which lay fair before them and by the silvered reaches of the River of

Dreams. Into their love came something sweet that they had not found

before--the absolute need of sharing life together, whether it should be

joy or pain. Unknowingly, they rose to that height which makes sacrifice

the soul's dearest offering, as the chrysalis, brown and unbeautiful,

gives the radiant creature within to the light and freedom of day.

When the whistle sounded for the ten o'clock train, Ruth said it was

late and they must go. Miss Ainslie went to the gate with them, her

lavender scented gown rustling softly as she walked, and the moonlight

making new beauty of the amethysts and pearls entwined in her hair.