CHAPTER XXXV.

WITH THE HOUSEKEEPER.

The housekeeper was more than usually busy that day, but she greeted her favorite with affectionate warmth. "You there, my poppet," she said, seating herself for a talk. "I have been wondering why you kept away so long, now that the doctors tell me that your father is coming round."

"I wished to come, godmother. Indeed, I never stopped thinking about you here; but there is no one to stay by father when I leave him, and he needs care."

"Of course he does, and something else as well. I was just putting up a bottle or two of our choice old Madeira, with some jellies, and the cook is roasting a bird, which he must eat with the black currant-jelly, remember. We must build your father up, now, with nice, strengthening things. They would do you no harm, either, child. Why, how thin and worried you look, Ruth! This constant nursing will break you down. We must send over one of the maids, to help."

"No, no; I can do very well. Father is used to me, you know. Only, if you wish to be kind--"

"Wish to be kind? Did I ever fail in that, goddaughter?"

"Did you ever? Indeed, no. Only I am always asking such out-of-the-way things."

"Well, well. What is it, now?"

"I have a letter from my father to--to the young master."

"From your father? When did he ever write a letter before, I wonder? And he sick in bed? A letter--"

"That I want to deliver into Wal--into Mr. Hurst's own hands, if you will only help me, godmother."

"Into his own hands? As if any other trusty person wouldn't do as well," said the housekeeper, discontentedly.

"But I should not be so certain, godmother."

"Ah, true. Is the letter so important, then?"

"I--I don't know, exactly. Only father was very particular about it."

"Well, give me the letter. I will see that he gets it safe."

Ruth still pressed her hand against her bosom, and a look of piteous disappointment broke into her eyes.

"Is he so very ill, then? Might I not just see him for a minute, and take the answer back?"

"The young master is better, but not half so well as he strives to be. I never saw any one so crazy to get out."

"Is he--is he, though?"

"And about your father. He is always questioning me if I have heard from the cottage."

"Indeed!"

"Why, child, how chirpish you speak, all at once! I hardly knew your voice. But what was I saying? Ah, I remember. Yes, yes! The young master scarcely got back his speech before he began to question us about Jessup, whose hurt seems to wound him more than his own. To pacify him Lady Rose sent round every morning."

"Lady Rose! Did the messengers come from her?" questioned Ruth, and her voice sunk again.

"Of course. Sir Noel, in his trouble, might have forgotten; but she never did. Ah, goddaughter, that young lady is one in a thousand, so gentle, so lovely, so--"

"Yes, yes! I know--I know!"

"Such a match as they will make."

Ruth turned very pale; still a singular smile crept over her lips. She said nothing, however, but walked to a window, and looked out, as if fascinated by the rich masses of ivy that swept an angle of the building like black drapery.

"How the ivy thrives on that south wall!" she said, at last. "I can remember when it was only a stem."

"Of course you can; for I planted it on the day you were born, with my own hands. There has been time enough for it to spread. Why, it has crept round to the young master's window. He would have it trained that way."

"Godmother, how good you are!"

"Not a bit of it, child. Only I was always careful of that ivy. Ruth's ivy, we always call it, because of the day it was planted."

"Did--did any one else call it so?"

"Of course, or the young master would never have known of it. 'Let me have,' says he, 'just a branch or two of your ivy--what is its name, now?--for my corner of the house.' Well, of course, I told him its name, and how it came by it, which he said was a pretty name for ivy, or any other beautiful thing, and from that day a thrifty branch was trained over to the balcony where he sits most, and sometimes smokes of an evening."

"Yes, I remember," said Ruth, breaking into smiles. "Some climbing roses are tangled with it."

"True enough; they throve so fast, that between them, the little stone-steps that run up to the balcony were hid out of sight; but Lady Rose found them out, and carries her flowers that way from the garden when she fills the vases in his room."

"She always did that, I suppose," said Ruth, in a low voice.

"Most likely," answered the housekeeper, carelessly, as if that young creature did not hang on every word she uttered with unutterable anxiety. "Most likely. There is little else that she can do for him just now."

"Does he need so very much help now, godmother?"

"None that a dainty young lady can give; but when he begins to sit up, her time will come. Then she will sit and read to him from morning till night, and enjoy it too."

"And tire him dreadfully," muttered Ruth, with a dash of natural bitterness in her voice.

"I don't know. Anyway I shouldn't care about it; but people vary--people vary, Ruth! You will find that out as you get along in life. People vary!"

"Yes, I dare say," answered Ruth, quite unconscious of speaking at all. "You are very wise in saying so."

"Ah, wisdom comes with age; generally too late for much good. If one could have it now in the wild-oat season; but that isn't to be expected. Speaking of Lady Rose, here comes her pony-carriage, and here comes herself, with Sir Noel, to put her in. Do you know, Ruth, I don't think the master has been quite himself since that night. There is an anxious look in his eyes that I never saw there before. It should go away now that Mr. Walton is better, but somehow it don't."

Ruth did not answer. She was looking through the window at the group of persons that stood near a pony-carriage, perfect in all its equipments, which was in front of the house. Lady Rose, who had come down the steps leisurely, side by side with Sir Noel, was loitering a little, as if she waited for something. She examined the buttons of her gloves, and arranged her draperies, all the while casting furtive glances up to a window, at which no one seemed to appear, as she had hoped. Sir Noel, too, glanced up once or twice, rather wistfully, and then Ruth saw that his face did indeed wear a look that was almost haggard.

"Tell me--tell me! Is he so very ill yet, that his father looks like that?" cried Ruth, struck by a sudden pang of distrust. "I thought he was getting better."

"And so he is, child. Who said to the contrary? But that doesn't take the black cloud out of his father's face."

"Then he really is better?"

"Better? Why, he sat up an hour yesterday."

"Did he--did he, indeed?" cried Ruth, joyfully. "Did he really?"

"He did, really, and our lady reading to him all the time."

"Ah!"

"What did you say, child?"

"Nothing, nothing! But see, they are both going, I think!"

The housekeeper swayed her heavy person toward the window, and looked out.

"Yes. Lady Rose is persuading Sir Noel, who can refuse nothing she wants. It almost seems as if he were in love with her himself."

"Perhaps he is!" cried Ruth, eagerly.

"One might suspect as much, if one did not know," answered the housekeeper, shaking her head. "Anyway, he is going with her now, and I'm glad of it. The ride will do him good. Look, she drives off at a dashing pace."