she had
kept the paper without any special motive, or, perhaps, for "auld lang
syne."

Probably the letters would have disclosed the mystery, and the newspaper
instinct, on the trail of a "story," was struggling with her sense of
honour, but not for the world, now that she knew, would Ruth have read
the yellowed pages, which doubtless held faded roses pressed between
them.

The strings of sea-shells, and the larger ones, which could have come
only from foreign shores, together with the light in the window, gave
her a sudden clew. Aunt Jane was waiting for her lover and the lamp was
a signal. If his name was Charles Winfield, the other woman was dead,
and if not, the marriage notice was that of a friend or an earlier
lover.

The explanation was reasonable, clear, and concise--what woman could
ask for more? Yet there was something beyond it which was out of Miss
Thorne's grasp--a tantalising something, which would not be allayed.
Then she reflected that the Summer was before tier, and, in reality,
now that she was off the paper, she had no business with other people's
affairs.

The sun was hidden by gathering clouds and the air was damp before Ruth
missed the bright warmth on the piazza, and began to walk back and forth
by way of keeping warm. A gravelled path led to the gate and on either
side was a row of lilac bushes, the bare stalks tipped with green. A
white picket fence surrounded the yard, except at the back, where the
edge of the precipice made it useless. The place was small and well
kept, but there were no flower beds except at the front of the house,
and there were only two or three trees.

She walked around the vegetable garden at the back of the house, where
a portion of her Summer sustenance was planted, and discovered an unused
gate at the side, which swung back and forth, idly, without latching.
She was looking over the fence and down the steep hillside, when a sharp
voice at her elbow made her jump.

"Sech as wants dinner can come in and get it," announced Hepsey, sourly.
"I've yelled and yelled till I've most bust my throat and I ain't
a-goin' to yell no more."

She returned to the house, a picture of offended dignity, but carefully
left the door ajar for Ruth, who discovered, upon this rude awakening
from her reverie, that she was very hungry.

In the afternoon, the chill fog made it impossible to go out, for
the wind had risen from the sea and driven the salt mist inland. Miss
Hathaway's li