Dawn

As Miss Ainslie became weaker, she clung to Carl, and was never
satisfied when he was out of her sight. When she was settled in bed for
the night, he went in to sit by her and hold her hand until she dropped
asleep. If she woke during the night she would call Ruth and ask where
he was.

"He'll come over in the morning, Miss Ainslie," Ruth always said; "you
know it's night now."

"Is it?" she would ask, drowsily. "I must go to sleep, then, deary, so
that I may be quite rested and refreshed when he comes."

Her room, in contrast to the rest of the house, was almost Puritan in
its simplicity. The bed and dresser were mahogany, plain, but highly
polished, and she had a mahogany rocker with a cushion of old blue
tapestry. There was a simple white cover on the bed and another on
the dresser, but the walls were dead white, unrelieved by pictures or
draperies. In the east window was a long, narrow footstool, and a prayer
book and hymnal lay on the window sill, where this maiden of half a
century, looking seaward, knelt to say her prayers.

One morning, when Ruth went in, she said: "I think I won't get up this
morning, dear; I am so very tired. If Carl should come over, will you
say that I should like to see him?"

She would see no one but Carl and Ruth, and Mrs. Ball was much offended
because her friend did not want her to come upstairs. "Don't be harsh
with her, Aunt Jane," pleaded Ruth, "you know people often have strange
fancies when they are ill. She sent her love to you, and asked me to say
that she thanked you, but you need not put the light in the attic window
any more."