Mr. Levice, sauntering down the garden-path, saw the trio approaching. For a moment he did not recognize the gentleman in his summer attire. When he did, surprise, then pleasure, then a spirit of inquietude, took possession of him. He had been unexpectedly startled on Ruth’s birthnight by a vague something in Kemp’s eyes. The feeling, however, had vanished gradually in the knowledge that the doctor always had a peculiarly intent gaze, and, moreover, no one could have helped appreciating her loveliness that night. This, of itself, will bring a softness into a man’s manner; and without doubt his fears had been groundless,—fears that he had not dared to put into words. For old man as he was, he realized that Dr. Kemp’s strong personality was such as would prove dangerously seductive to any woman whom he cared to honor with his favor; but with a “Get thee behind me, Satan” desire, he had put the question from him. He could have taken his oath on Ruth’s heart-wholeness, yet now, as he recognized her companion, his misgivings returned threefold. The courteous gentleman, however, was at his ease as they came up.
“This is a surprise, Doctor,” he exclaimed cordially, opening the gate and extending his hand. “Who would have thought of meeting you here?”
Kemp grasped his hand heartily.
“I am a sort of surprise-party,” he answered, swinging Ethel to the ground and watching her scamper off to the hotel; “and what is more,” he continued, turning to him, “I have not brought a hamper, which makes one of me.”
“You calculate without your host,” responded Levice; “this is a veritable land of milk and honey. Come up and listen to my wife rhapsodize.”
“How is she?” he asked, turning with him and catching a glimpse of Ruth’s vanishing figure.
“Feeling quite well,” replied Levice; “she is all impatience now for a delirious winter season.”
“I thought so,” laughed the doctor; “but if you take my advice, you will draw the bit slightly.”
Mrs. Levice was delighted to see him; she said it was like the sight of a cable-car in a desert. He protested at such a stupendous comparison, and insisted that she make clear that the dummy was not included. The short afternoon glided into evening, and Dr. Kemp went over to the hotel and dined at the Levices’ table.
Ruth, in a white wool gown, sat opposite him. It was the first time he had dined with them; and he enjoyed a singular feeling over the situation. He noticed that although Mrs. Levice kept up an almost incessant flow of talk, she ate a hearty meal, and that Ruth, who was unusually quiet, tasted scarcely anything. Her father also observed it, and resolved upon a course of strict surveillance. He was glad to hear that the doctor had to leave on the early morning’s train, though, of course, he did not say so. As they strolled about afterward, he managed to keep his daughter with him and allowed Kemp to appropriate his wife.
They finally drifted to the cottage-steps, and were enjoying the beauty of the night when Will Tyrrell presented himself before them.
“Good-evening,” he said, taking off his hat as he stood at the foot of the steps. “Mr. Levice, Father says he has at last scared up two other gentlemen; and will you please come over and play a rubber of whist?”
Mr. Levice felt himself a victim of circumstances. He and Mr. Tyrrell had been looking for a couple of opponents, and had almost given up the search. Now, when he decidedly objected to moving, it would have been heartless not to go.
“Don’t consider me,” said the doctor, observing his hesitancy. “If it ill relieve you, I assure you I shall not miss you in the least.”
“Go right ahead, Jules” urged his wife; “Ruth and I will take care of the doctor.”
If she had promised to take care of Ruth, it would have been more to his mind; but since his wife was there, what harm could accrue that his presence would prevent? So with a sincere apology he went over to the hotel.
He hardly appreciated what an admirable aide he had left behind him in his wife.
Kemp sat upon the top step, and leaned his back against the railing; although outwardly he kept up a constant low run of conversation with Mrs. Levice, who swayed to and fro in her rocker, he was intently conscious of Ruth’s white figure perched on the window-sill.
How Mrs. Levice happened to broach the subject, Ruth never knew; but she was rather startled when she perceived that Kemp was addressing her.
“I should like to show my prowess to you, Miss Levice.”
“In what?” she asked, somewhat dazed.
“Ruth, Ruth,” laughed her mother, “do you mean to say you have not heard a word of all my glowing compliments on your rowing?”
“And I was telling your mother that in all modesty I was considered a fine oar at my Alma Mater.”
“And I hazarded the suggestion,” added Mrs. Levice, “that as it is such a beautiful night, there is nothing to prevent your taking a little row, and then each can judge of the other’s claim to superiority?”
“My claim has never been justly established,” said Ruth. “I have never allowed any one to usurp my oars.”
“As yet,” corrected Kemp. “Then will you wrap something about you and come down to the river?”
“Certainly she will,” answered her mother; “run in and get some wraps, Ruth.”
“You will come too, Mamma?”
“Of course; but considering Dr. Kemp’s length, a third in your little boat will be the proverbial trumpery. Still, I suppose I can rely on you two crack oarsmen, though you know the slightest tremble in the boat in the fairest weather is likely to create a squall on my part.”
If Dr. Kemp wished to row, he should row; and since the Jewish Mrs. Grundy was not on hand, anything harmlessly enjoyable was permissible.
Ruth went indoors. This was certainly something she had not bargained for. How could her mother be so blind as not to know or feel her desire to evade Dr. Kemp? She felt a positive contempt for herself that his presence should affect her as it did; she dared not look at him lest her heart should flutter to her eyes. Probably the display amused him. What was she to him anyway but a girl with whom he could flirt in his idle moments? Well (with a passionate fling of her arms), she would extinguish her uncontrollable little beater for the nonce; she would meet and answer every one of his long glances in kind.
She wound a black lace shawl around her head, and with some wraps for her mother, came out.
“Hadn’t you better put something over your shoulders?” he asked deferentially as she appeared.
“And disgust the night with lack of appreciation?”
She turned to a corner of the porch and lifted a pair of oars to her shoulder.
“Why,” he said in surprise, coming toward her, “you keep your oars at home?”
“On the principle of ‘neither a borrower nor a lender be;’ we find it saves both time and spleen.”
She held them lightly in place on her shoulder.
“Allow me,” he said, placing his hand upon the oars.
A spirit of contradiction took possession of her.
“Indeed, no,” she answered; “why should I? They are not at all heavy.”
He gently lifted her resisting fingers one by one and raised the broad bone of contention to his shoulder. Then without a look he turned and offered his arm to Mrs. Levice.
The crickets chirped in the hedges; now and then a firefly flashed before them; the trees seemed wrapped in silent awe at the majesty of the bewildering heavens. As they approached the river, the faint susurra came to them, mingled with the sound of a guitar and some one singing in the distance.
“Others are enjoying themselves also,” he remarked as their feet touched the pebbly beach. A faint crescent moon shone over the water. Ruth went straight to the little boat aground on the shore.
“It looks like a cockle-shell,” he said, as he put one foot in after shoving it off. “Will you sit in the stern or the bow, Mrs. Levice?”
“In the bow; I dislike to see dangers before we come to them.”
He helped her carefully to her place; she thanked him laughingly for his exceptionally strong arm, and he turned to Ruth.
“I was waiting for you to move from my place,” she said in defiant mischief, standing motionless beside the boat.
“Your place? Ah, yes; now,” he said, holding out his hand to her, “will you step in?”
She took his hand and stepped in; they were both standing, and as the little bark swayed he made a movement to catch hold of her.
“You had better sit down,” he said, motioning to the rower’s seat.
“And you?” she asked.
“I shall sit beside you and use the other oar,” he answered nonchalantly, smiling down at her.
With a half-pleased feeling of discomfiture Ruth seated herself in the stern, whereupon Kemp sat in the contested throne.
“You will have to excuse my turning my back on you, Mrs. Levice,” he said pleasantly.
“That is no hindrance to my volubility, I am glad to say; a back is not very inspiring or expressive, but Ruth can tell me when you look bored if I wax too discursive.”
It was a tiny boat; and seated thus, Kemp’s knees were not half a foot from Ruth’s white gown.
“Will you direct me?” he said, as he swept around. “I have not rowed on this river for two or three years.”
“You can keep straight ahead for some distance,” she said, leaning back in her seat.
She could not fail to notice the easy motion of his figure as he rowed lightly down the river. His flannel shirt, low at the throat, showed his strong white neck rising like a column from his broad shoulders, and his dark face with the steady gray eyes looked across at her with grave sweetness. She would have been glad enough to be able to turn from the short range of vision between them; but the stars and river afforded her good vantage-ground, and on them she fixed her gaze.
Mrs. Levice was in bright spirits, and seemed striving to outdo the night in brilliancy. For a while Kemp maintained a sort of Roland-for-an-Oliver conversation with her; but with his eyes continually straying to the girl before him, it became rather difficult. Some merry rowers down the river were singing college songs harmoniously; and Mrs. Levice soon began to hum with them, her voice gradually subsiding into a faint murmur. The balmy, summer-freighted air made her feel drowsy. She listened absently to Ruth’s occasional warnings to Kemp, and to the swift dip of the oars.
“Now we have clear sailing for a stretch,” said Ruth, as they came to a broad curve. “Did you think you were going to be capsized when we shot over that snag, Mamma?”
She leaned a little farther forward, looking past Kemp.
“Mamma!”
Then she straightened herself back in her seat. Kemp, noting the sudden flush that had rushed to and from her cheek, turned halfway to look at Mrs. Levice. Her head was leaning against the flag-staff; her eyes were closed, in the manner of more wary chaperones,—Mrs. Levice slept.
Dr. Kemp moved quietly back to his former position.
Far across the river a woman’s silvery voice was singing the sweet old love-song, “Juanita;” overhead, the golden crescent moon hung low from the floor of heaven pulsating with stars; it was a passionate, tender night, and Ruth, with her face raised to the holy beauty, was a dreamy part of it. Against the black lace about her head her face shone like a cameo, her eyes were brown wells of starlight; she scarcely seemed to breathe, so still she sat, her slender hands loosely clasped in her lap.
Dr. Kemp sat opposite her—and Mrs. Levice slept.
Slowly and more slowly sped the tiny boat; long gentle strokes touched the water; and presently the oars lay idle in their locks,—they were unconsciously drifting. The water dipped and lapped about the sides; the tender woman’s voice across the water stole to them, singing of love; their eyes met—and Mrs. Levice slept.
Ever, in the after time, when Ruth heard that song, she was again rocking in the frail row-boat upon the lovely river, and a man’s deep, grave eyes held hers as if they would never let them go, till under his worshipping eyes her own filled with slow ecstatic tears.
“Doctor,” called a startled voice, “row out; I am right under the trees.”
They both started. Mrs. Levice was, without doubt, awake. They had drifted into a cove, and she was cowering from the over-hanging boughs.
“I do not care to be Absalomed; where were your eyes, Ruth?” she complained, as Kemp pushed out with a happy, apologetic laugh. “Did not you see where we were going?”
“No,” she answered a little breathlessly; “I believe I am growing far-sighted.”
“It must be time to sight home now,” said her mother; “I am quite chilly.”
In five minutes Kemp had grounded the boat and helped Mrs. Levice out. When he turned for Ruth, she had already sprung ashore and had started up the slope; for the first time the oars lay forgotten in the bottom of the boat.
“Wait for us, Ruth,” called Mrs. Levice, and the slight white figure stood still till they came up.
“You are so slow,” she said with a reckless little laugh; “I feel as if I could fly home.”
“Are you light-headed, Ruth?” asked her mother, but the girl had fallen behind them. She could not yet meet his eyes again.
“Come, Ruth, either stay with us or just ahead of us.” Mrs. Levice, awake, was an exemplary duenna.
“There is nothing abroad here but the stars,” she answered, flitting before them.
“And they are stanch, silent friends on such a night,” remarked Kemp, softly.
She kept before them till they reached the gate, and stood inside of it as they drew near.
“Then you will not be home till Monday,” he said, taking Mrs. Levice’s hand and raising his hat; “and I am off on the early morning train. Good-by.”
As she turned in at the gate, he held out his hand to Ruth. His fingers closed softly, tightly over hers; she heard him say almost inaudibly,—
“Till Monday.”
She raised her shy eyes for one brief second to his glowing ones; and he passed, a tall, dark figure, down the shadowy road.
When Mr. Levice returned from his game of whist, he quietly opened the door of his daughter’s bedroom and looked in. All was well; the wolf had departed, and his lamb slept safe in the fold.
But in the dark his lamb’s eyes were mysteriously bright. Sleep! With this new crown upon her! Humble as the beautiful beggar-maid must have felt when the king raised her, she wondered why she had been thus chosen by one whom she had deemed so immeasurably above her. And this is another phase of woman’s love,—that it exalts the beloved beyond all reasoning.
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