“There is something serious the matter,” said Ruth. They were in the house by this time, and sheltered from observation. “You are trembling and your hands are cold. Let me get you a glass of wine.” Aunt Rachel stood erect before her, and answered with frozen rebuke, “In my young days girls were not encouraged to contradict their seniors. I have said there is nothing the matter.” Ruth bent forward and took the two cold, dry little hands in her own warm grasp, and looked into her aunt's eyes with tender solicitude. The hands were suddenly snatched away, and Aunt Rachel dropped into a seat, and without preface began to cry. Ruth knelt beside her, twining a firm arm and supple hand about her waist, and drawing down her head softly until its gray curls were pressed against her own ripe cheek. Not a word was spoken, and in five minutes the old maid's tears were over. “Say nothing of this, my dear,” she said, as she kissed Ruth, and began to smooth her ruffled ribbons and curls. Her manner was less artificial than common, but the veneer of affectation was too firmly fixed to be peeled off at a moment's notice. “We are all foolish at times. You will find that out for yourself, child, as you grow older. I have been greatly disturbed, my dear, but I shall not again permit my equilibrium to be shaken by the same causes. Tell me, child, is Mr. Ezra Gold often to be found here?” “Not often,” said Ruth; “he seems scarcely ever to move from home.” “I am glad to know it,” said Aunt Rachel. “I cannot permit myself to move in the same society with Mr. Ezra Gold.” “We all like him very much,” Ruth answered, tentatively. “Ah!” said Aunt Rachel, pinching her lips and nodding. “You do not know him. _I_ know him. A most despicable person. They will tell you that I am a little flighty.” “My dear aunt! What nonsense!” “It is not nonsense, and you know it. I _am_ a little flighty--at times. And I owe that to Mr. Ezra Gold. I owe a great deal to Mr. Ezra Gold, and that among it. Now, dear, not a word of this to anybody. Will you tell dear Mr. Ferdinand that I shall be honored if he will grace my humble cottage with his presence? Thank you. Good-night, child. And remember, not a word to anybody.” She dropped her veil and walked to the front door with her usual crisp and bird-like carriage. At the door she turned. “Shun Mr. Ezra Gold, my dear. Shun all people who bear his name. I know them. I have cause to know them. They are cheats! deceivers! villains!” She closed her lips tightly after this, and nodded many times. Then turning abruptly she hopped down the steps which led towards the garden gate, and disappeared. Ruth stood looking into the quiet street a moment, then closed the door and returned to the garden. “Not all,” she said to herself, as she paused in sight and hearing of the quartette party, who were by this time deep in an andante of Haydn's--“not all.” CHAPTER VII.