I would not come without my stick to look at it; for the front was inlaid with two fiery dragons, and a glass which distorted everything, making even Annie look hideous; and when it was opened, a woman’s skeleton, all in white, revealed itself, in the midst of three standing women.  “It is only to keep my best frocks in shape,” Annie had explained to me; “hanging them up does ruin them so.  But I own that I was afraid of it, John, until I had got all my best clothes there, and then I became very fond of it.  But even now it frightens me sometimes in the moonlight.”

Having made poor Ruth a little cheerful, with a full account of all Annie’s frocks, material, pattern, and fashion (of which I had taken a list for my mother, and for Lizzie, lest they should cry out at man’s stupidity about anything of real interest), I proceeded to tell her about my own troubles, and the sudden departure of Lorna; concluding with all the show of indifference which my pride could muster, that now I never should see her again, and must do my best to forget her, as being so far above me.  I had not intended to speak of this, but Ruth’s face was so kind and earnest, that I could not stop myself.

“You must not talk like that, Cousin Ridd,” she said, in a low and gentle tone, and turning away her eyes from me; “no lady can be above a man, who is pure, and brave, and gentle.  And if her heart be worth having, she will never let you give her up, for her grandeur, and her nobility.”

She pronounced those last few words, as I thought, with a little bitterness, unperceived by herself perhaps, for it was not in her appearance.  But I, attaching great importance to a maiden’s opinion about a maiden (because she might judge from experience), would have led her further into that subject.  But she declined to follow, having now no more to say in a matter so removed from her.  Then I asked her full and straight, and looking at her in such a manner that she could not look away, without appearing vanquished by feelings of her own—­which thing was very vile of me; but all men are so selfish,—­

“Dear cousin, tell me, once for all, what is your advice to me?”

[Illustration:  572.jpg What is your advice to me?]

“My advice to you,” she answered bravely, with her dark eyes full of pride, and instead of flinching, foiling me,—­“is to do what every man must do, if he would win fair maiden.  Since she cannot send you token, neither is free to return to you, follow her, pay your court to her; show that you will not be forgotten; and perhaps she will look down—­I mean, she will relent to you.”

“She has nothing to relent about.  I have never vexed nor injured her.  My thoughts have never strayed from her.  There is no one to compare with her.”

“Then keep her in that same mind about you.  See now, I can advise no more.  My arm is swelling painfully, in spite of all your goodness, and bitter task of surgeonship.  I shall have another poultice on, and go to bed, I think, Cousin Ridd, if you will not hold me ungrateful.  I am so sorry for your long walk.  Surely it might be avoided.  Give my love to dear Lizzie:  oh, the room is going round so.”