Chapter XXX: Dr. Brown's Plan

RUTH and Norman were sitting one sunny afternoon in April on the hillside just above The Firs. Ruth often brought the child to this spot, for the wide expanse of country stretching out before them rested her, and she thought that it did the same for her loving little companion.

There was a certain place which she always chose, with a large broken rock as a background which sheltered them from the wind, and with several smaller rocks which served "as chairs and tables" as Norman said. Above them and around them were scattered firs and larches, and between their stems, the green fields and peeps of hills beyond seemed to be fairer and more beautiful than when looked at in an unbroken sweep.

Ruth had brought out some dainty work for Mary, but it had fallen into her lap, and her eyes were gazing at the prospect. Presently a little hand touched hers, and almost made her start.

"There's Vincent coming up that winding path!" Norman said, pointing.

"Vincent? Are you sure, Norman?"

"You just look!" answered Norman. "But he's hidden by those trees now. Oh, there he is! Yes, it is Vincent; I knew it was."

He was close to them by this time.

And then as Ruth rose, he came up to them and shook hands.

There was a moment's constraint, and then Vincent said:

"I only landed at Liverpool this morning, and I wanted to see you first of all."

"I did not know that you had even started."

"No; it was quickly decided at the last."

Then there was another pause, and Ruth said something about its being time for them to go home.

"Oh; but might I just pick my flowers?" asked Norman, taking up his basket. "I shall not be long, Cousin Ruth; and you can have my seat," he said, turning to Vincent, and pointing to the stone by Ruth's side.

"Well, do not be long, dear," she said, "for we must be going."

"Is it time?" asked the child, surprised.

"Yes, quite time to-day," said Ruth.

He went to the edge of the little path, where in sunny corners beneath the broken rocks and underwood a few wild flowers were peeping out.

Vincent took his offered seat. "May I stay for a few minutes?" he asked. "The servants told me where you were to be found, and I ventured to follow you. I am afraid I was very clumsy and abrupt when I parted from you that day," he said, gently, "and I cannot tell you how much I have regretted it. I do not like to ask you to forgive it, because—"

Ruth was silent. There was nothing to answer; and she wondered dimly whether Mary would be angry with her to-morrow, and think she had treated Vincent badly "this" time.

But he was looking in her face as if expecting her to reply, and her eyes came back from the prospect, and met his with a certain distressed look in them which he could not fathom.

Mary had whispered, as she had kissed him that morning just before he started for The Firs, "Make your wishes plain, Vincent! I am afraid you want her to understand without words!"

Was he wanting her to understand without words now?

"I came to you the moment I landed, to explain!" he exclaimed.

"I did not know there was anything to explain—"

"I wanted to tell you a number of things! May I try to tell you my meaning? I am very stupid, but it is because my heart is so bound up in what I am asking that I bungle so. Have patience with me, Ruth—it is because I love you so much; and I am afraid I shall go away, and not have made you understand after all!"

There was a moment's silence. What could Ruth reply? Had he given her any opportunity of replying to him?

Her cheeks burned and tears of mortification rose to her eyes. Yes, he would go away again, just as he did before, and Mary would be disappointed, and—it was too horrid: why did her heart ache like this? She almost wished he had stayed in America.

"How is it to be, dear?" he ventured, very softly. "I loved you the first moment I saw you, and I have loved you ever since; and now I want you—" and then came what he wanted all in a breath, "I want you to be my wife!"

Ruth turned her shy eyes to his face. Must she give him her answer now? Was that what he had meant to ask her when they parted all those months ago?

"I did not understand then," she said, with deepening colour.

"But you do now?"

"Yes—"

His face had turned pale now, and the hope which had flushed into it was dying out. After all, she did not care!

But he thought of Mary's advice, and would make one more effort.

"Tell me that you will, dear!" he entreated. "Can you?"

"I think I could—if—" she said, slowly.

"There can be no 'ifs' after that!" he joyfully exclaimed, taking her hands in his and drawing her to him.

"I do not see how I can leave my father," she whispered, hanging her head.

"I settled all that with him last autumn!" exclaimed Vincent.

"You settled with my father!" she said, drawing back.

"He told me he should never stand in the way of your happiness—if you loved anyone, he would come and live near you. Oh, Ruth, if that is the only objection, his generosity has removed that!"

Ruth paused once more. She sat down on her seat again, and had turned very pale.

"It is asking a great deal of my father," she said slowly, with faltering lips.

"It is—a great deal—but he loves you better than himself, Ruth."

"And I ought to love him better than myself," she said, more steadily. "I think I would like to talk to him. I should see things more plainly then."

She rose and turned homewards, and Norman, seeing them move, sprang to her side and looked in her face wistfully.

"It's all right, darling," she whispered, bending down.

"Are you sorry about something?" he asked.

"I ought not to be," she answered, turning towards Vincent with a grateful look.

And Vincent on that took her hand in his, and would not let it go till they reached the bit of high road just by The Firs.

"I must go back to Mary now, I suppose," he said reluctantly; "but I will come again this evening. You expect Dr. Brown soon?"

"At four o'clock," said Ruth.

"What makes you sad, Cousin Ruth," asked Norman as Vincent strode off down the hill.

"Because he wants me to give him something, and I do not know whether I can."

The child put her hand against his face caressingly.

"Is it too difficult to ask God about?" he whispered.

Ruth stroked his flushed cheek tenderly. "Of course it isn't, dear!" she exclaimed. "I was so taken by surprise that I had not time. Oh, Norman, what a comforter you are!"

Mala came forward to meet them, and Ruth ran up to her own room.

She knelt by her bed, and all she could ask was that she might be taught what to do, and not be allowed to hurt her father.

Presently, she heard the carriage wheels, and she went down, afraid that her tearful eyes would not escape her father's notice.

But for the moment he was so full of his news that he did not even glance at her.

"You will be delighted to hear, my dear, that Mrs. Arundel has a fine little son!" he exclaimed.

"Oh how glad I am!" said Ruth.

Then her father caught sight of her face, and drew her into the library.

"Has anything gone wrong, my dear?"

But Ruth found it hard to tell. It was a long time before Dr. Brown could get at the bottom of it all, but with his arms round her and her head on his shoulder, he made it out at last.

"Then it's the old father that stands in the way?" he said, with a tender smile, looking down on the fair little face he loved so well.

"Oh, no! No!"

"But, you see, he isn't in the way, because he made up his mind months and months ago that he'd pack up and come and live next door to you if that would make it easy!"

"Oh, you dear, dear father! But—"

"No 'buts' at all! Dr. Arundel can manage the practice, and I must retire some day. We can easily build a double nest for us both, and have a door between! I've thought it all out, you see, and we shall enjoy planning it together. Vincent says he will not mind the old father and the Indian children next door, and I—shall be more happy than I ever thought to be again! Does that satisfy you?"

"It ought to," she answered, burying her face in his breast. "Oh, father, father, how good you are!"

"Poor, Vincent!" he responded "I am afraid you did not give him much hope from the look of him as I passed him on the hill; he did not even see me."

"He is coming presently," said Ruth, raising her head and blushing.

"I am glad of it!" said her father, heartily. "He's a good man, Ruth; and I thank God that my darling has found such an one. I pray God to bless you both."

He put his hands on her head and murmured words of blessing, and then Ruth threw herself into his arms, and though her tears rained down, she was comforted.

When Vincent came back after an hour or two, she was herself once more. She told Heston and Judith that he wanted to speak to her, and she went to him in the drawing-room, holding out her hand frankly when he looked questioningly in her face.

"It was so hard to decide," she said, "but, oh, I cannot tell you what my father has been to me!" She gave a little smile as she added, "He says I was not as kind as you deserved this afternoon! Was I very bad?"

And Vincent said "she had not been bad at all, but that he had felt so afraid—"

"But you are not afraid now?" she asked gently. "You need not be, Vincent, for you have made me very happy. Do be happy, too."

"Then I am!" he exclaimed joyfully.

And indeed he looked so, for no cloud rested on Ruth's face now.

"Have you given it?" whispered Norman to her, when they went back to the others.

"Yes."

"Does he like it?" questioned the child.

"I think he does."

"I'm so glad! I thought it would come right! I like to see you happy, Cousin Ruth."