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.
