Italy. Very truly yours." The signature had been torn off.

"Why, that isn't mine," she thought. "It must be something of
Aunt Jane's." Another bit of paper lay near it, and,
unthinkingly, she read a letter which was not meant for her.

"I thank you from my heart," it began, "for understanding me. I
could not put it into words, but I believe you know. Perhaps you
think it is useless--that it is too late; but if it was, I would
know. You have been very kind, and I thank you."

There was neither date, address, nor signature. The message
stood alone, as absolutely as some far-off star whose light could
not be seen from the earth. Some one understood it--two
understood it--the writer and Aunt Jane.

Ruth put it back under the paper, with the scrap of the other
letter, and closed the drawer with a bang. "I hope," she said to
herself, "that while I stay here I'll be mercifully preserved
from finding things that are none of my business." Then, as in a
lightning flash, for an instant she saw clearly.

Fate plays us many tricks and assumes strange forms, but Ruth
knew that some day, on that New England hill, she would come face
to face with a destiny that had been ordained from the beginning.
Something waited for her there--some great change. She trembled
at the thought, but was not afraid.


V. The Rumours of the Valley