Some One Who Loved Her

The summer waned and each day, as it slipped away, took a little of Miss
Ainslie's strength with it. There was neither disease nor pain--it
was simply a letting go. Carl sent to the city for a physician of wide
repute, but he shook his head. "There's nothing the matter with her," he
said, "but she doesn't want to live. Just keep her as happy as you can."

For a time she went about the house as usual, but, gradually, more
and more of her duties fell to Ruth. Hepsey came in every day after
breakfast, and again in the late afternoon.

Ruth tried to get her to go out for a drive, but she refused. "No,
deary," she said, smiling, "I've never been away, and I'm too old to
begin now." Neighbours, hearing of her illness, came to offer sympathy
and help, but she would see none of them--not even Aunt Jane.

One night, she sat at the head of the table as usual; for she would
not surrender her place as hostess, even though she ate nothing, and
afterward a great weakness came upon her. "I don't know how I'll ever
get upstairs," she said, frightened; "it seems such a long way!"

Winfield took her in his arms and carried her up, as gently and easily
as if she had been a child. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright
when he put her down. "I never thought it would be so easy," she said,
in answer to his question. "You'll stay with me, won't you, Carl? I
don't want you to go away."