Far down the hill, where the road became level again, and on the left
as she looked toward the village, was the white house, surrounded by a
garden and a hedge, which she supposed was Miss Ainslie's. A timid
chirp came from the grass, and the faint, sweet smell of growing things
floated in through the open window at the other end of the room.
A train from the city sounded a warning whistle as it approached the
station, and then a light shone on the grass in front of Miss Ainslie's
house. It was a little gleam, evidently from a candle.
"So she's keeping a lighthouse, too," thought Ruth. The train pulled out
of the station and half an hour afterward the light disappeared.
She meditated upon the general subject of illumination while she got
ready for bed, but as soon as her head touched the pillow she lost
consciousness and knew no more until the morning light crept into her
room.