Ruth turned to see that the door was closed, then she put the picture
to her cheek, which was crimson in the firelight, and with hesitating
shyness gradually drew it to her lips and held it there.
A noise of wheels in the avenue brought her to her feet with a little
start of joy. He had come, and she was possessed of a sudden desire to
run away. But she waited, with glad little tremors thrilling her and
her heart beating high. She was sure she heard wheels. She went to the
window, and, shading her eyes, looked out. A buggy was standing at the
gate, but no one got out.
A sudden apprehension seized her, and she hurried into the hail and
opened the front door.
"Carter," she called softly out into the night--"Carter, is it you?"
There was no answer, and she came back into the hall and closed the
door. On each side of the door was a panel of leaded glass, and she
pressed her face to one of the little square panes, and peered
anxiously out. The light from the newel-post behind her emphasized the
darkness, so that she could distinguish only the dim outline of the
buggy.
Twice she touched the knob before she turned it again; then she
resolutely gathered her long white dress in her hand, and passed down
the broad stone steps.
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