XXVIII.
SUNSHINE ON THE HILLS.
"If I speak to thee in Friendship's name, Thou think'st I speak too coldly; If I mention Love's devoted flame, Thou say'st I speak too boldly."
--MOORE.
The story told by Mrs. Hamlin had a great effect upon Paula, not only onaccount of its own interest and the promise it had elicited from her,but because of the remembrances it revived of Mr. Sylvester and her lifein New York. Any vision of evil or suffering, any experience that rousedthe affections or awakened the sensibilities, could not fail to recallto her mind the forcible figure of Mr. Sylvester as he stood that day byhis own hearthstone, talking of the temptations that assail humanity;and any reminiscence of him must necessarily bring with it much thatcharmed and aroused. For a week, then, she felt the effect of a greatunsettlement. Her village home appeared a prison; she longed to run,soar--anything to escape; the horizon was full of beckoning hands. Abrooding melancholy settled upon her reveries; the prospect of a lifespent in the narrow circle to which she had endeavored to re-accustomherself, became unendurable.
Thus it is with us. We slide in a groove and seem happy, when suddenly abook we read, a story we hear, an experience we encounter, shakes us outof our content, and makes continuance in the old course a violation ofthe most demanding instincts of our nature.
In the full tide of this unrest, Paula went out for a solitary walk onthe hills. Nature can soothe if she cannot satisfy. Then the day itselfwas one to make the soul glad and the heart rejoice. As the young girltrod the meadows, she wondered that she could be sad. Earth and air wereso full of splendor. Nature seemed to be in league with the angels oflight. September stood upon the earth like a goddess of might and glory.Every tint of green that variegated the mountain-side, wooed the eyewith suggestions of unfathomable beauty. A bough of scarlet flame lithere and there amid the verdure, served to illuminate the woods as forthe passage of a king; and not Solomon in all his glory ever wore anaspect more sumptuous than the flowers that flecked the meadow andfringed the hardy roadside with imperial purple. A wind was blowing, akeen but kindly breeze, laden with sweetness and alert to awaken AEolianairs from the boughs of whistling beech and alder. Even the low fieldgrasses seemed to partake in the general cheer, and nodded to each otherwith a witching and irresistible abandon. Had a poet been at her side,or any one capable of divining the hidden things of nature, what acommentary to all their united thoughts she would have found in thedelicious tremble of the laughing leaves, in the restless music of therunaway brooks, in the lowly crickets with their single song, in thecloud-haunting birds with their trailing melodies, and in all the rolland rumble of earth's commingled noises. Alluring as was the book ofnature, she could not read it alone. She felt the lack of a loving handto turn the page. "Is it that I am lonely!" she murmured.
The thought deepened her trouble. Coming down from the hillside, sheentered a skirting of woods that ran along by the river. Here she hadalways found peace and some of her richest treasures of thought. Throughthis opaline archway she had walked with her fancies, like SaintCatherine with her lily. It was sacred to all that was sweet and deepand pure within her. "Lonely!" she whispered; "I will not be lonely. Tosome God gives years of happy companionship; to others but a day. Shallone complain because it has fallen to his portion to have the lessershare? I will remember my one day and be glad."
"My one day!" She caught herself at the utterance and literally startedat the suggestion it offered. There was but one person whom she had seenbut for a day. Could she have been thinking of him?
With a flush deep as the autumn leaves she carried, she was hurrying on,when suddenly in the opening before her, a shadow fell, and a mellowvoice exclaimed in her ear,
"Do I meet Miss Fairchild in her native woods?"
It was Clarence Ensign.
The surprise was very great and it took her a moment to steady herself.She had felt so assured that she should never see him or any other ofher New York friends again. Had not Cicely written that he had goneWest, soon after her own departure from New York. With a deepening ofhis voice Mr. Ensign repeated the question.
At once the day seemed to acquire all it had hitherto lacked. Lookingup, she met his eye fixed admiringly upon her, and all that was merry,lightsome and gay within her, leaped at once to the surface. Ignoringhis question with smiling abandon, she exclaimed,
"What shall be done to the man who delights in surprises and startlestimid maidens without a cause?"
"He shall be held in captivity by the hand of his denouncer, until hehas sued for pardon and obtained her generous forgiveness," returned he,holding out his palm.
She barely touched it with her own. "I see that your repentance issincere, so your pardon shall be speedy," laughed she.
"Your discrimination is at fault, I never felt more impenitent in mylife. I am a hardened wretch, Miss Fairchild, a hardened wretch! But youdo not ask me from what corner of the earth I have come. You take me toomuch for granted; like the chirrup of a squirrel, let me say, or thewhistle of a bullfinch. But perhaps you think I inhabit these woods?"
"No; but a day like this is so full of miracles, why should we beastonished at one more! I suppose you came on the train, but should notbe surprised to hear you started, like Pluto, from the earth. Anythingseems possible in such a sunshine."
"You are right, and I have sprung from the earth. I have been buriedfive mortal months in a law-suit out west, or else I should have beenhere before. I hope my delay has made me none the less welcome."
He was holding back a branch as he spoke, and his eyes were on a levelwith hers. She felt caught as in a net, and struggled vainly to keepdown her color. "No," said she, "welcome is a guest's due, whether hecome early or late. I should be sorry to be lacking in the duties of ahostess, though my drawing-room is somewhat more spacious than cosy,"she continued, looking around on the fields into which they had emerged,"and my facilities for bespeaking you welcome greater than my power tomake you comfortable."
"Comfort is a satisfaction of the mind, rather than of the body. I amnot _un_comfortable, Miss Fairchild." Then as he stooped to relieve herof half her burden of trailing leaves and flowers, he exclaimed in amatter-of-fact tone, "Your aunt is a notable woman, Miss Fairchild, Iadmire her greatly."
"What!" said she, "you have been to the cottage? You have seen AuntBelinda?"
"Of course," laughed he, "or how should I be here? You have been sentfor, Miss Fairchild, and I am the humble bearer of your aunt's commands.But I forget, the practical has nothing to do with such a day. I amsupposed to have sprung from the ground, and to know by instinct, justin what nook you were hiding from the sunlight. Very well. I acknowledgethat instinct is sometimes capable of going a great way."
But this time her ready answer was lacking. She was wondering what heraunt would think of this sudden appearance of a stranger whose name shehad never so much as mentioned.
"It is a pleasant rest to stand and look at a view like that, after asummer of musty labor," said he, gazing up the river with a trulyappreciative eye. "I do not wonder you carry the charm of the wild woodsin your laugh and glance, if you have been brought up in the sight ofsuch a view as that."
"It has been my meat and drink from childhood," said she, and wonderedwhy she wanted to say no more upon her favorite theme.
"Yet you tell me you love the city?"
"Too much to ever again be happy here."
It was a slip for which her cheek burned and her lids fell, the momentafter. She had been thinking of Mr. Sylvester, and unconsciously spakeas she might have done, if he had been at her side, instead of thisgenial-hearted young man. With a woman's instinctive desire to retrieveherself, she hurriedly continued, "Life is so full and large and deep ina great town, if you are only happy enough to meet those who are itsblood and brain and sinew. One misses the rush of the great wheel oftime in a spot like this. The world moves, but we do not feel it; it islike the quiet sweep of the stars over our heads. But in th
e city, days,weeks and months make themselves felt. The universe jars under the feetof hurrying masses. The story of the world is being written on pavement,corridor, and dome, so that he who runs may read. One realizes he isalive; the unit is part of the multiple. To those who are tired, Godgives the rest of the everlasting hills, but to those who are eager, heholds out the city with its innumerable opportunities and incentives.And I am eager," she said. "The flower blooms on the mountain, and itsperfume is sweet, but the chariot sings as it rushes, and the noise ofits wheels is music in my ears."
She paused, turned her face to the breeze, and seemed to forget she wasnot alone. Clarence Ensign eyed her with astonishment; he had neverheard her speak like this; the earnest side of her great nature hadnever been turned towards him before, and he felt himself shrink intoinsignificance in its presence. What was he that he should pluck a starfrom the heavens, to buckle on his breast! Wealth and position were amatch for beauty great as hers, and a kind heart current coin all theworld over, for a gentle disposition and a loving nature; but forthis--He turned away and in his abstraction switched his foot with hiscane.
"Then it was in New York that I met Cicely," exclaimed Paula.
He shook off his broodings, turned with a manful gesture, and met hersweet unfathomable eye, so brilliant with enthusiasm a moment ago, butat this instant so softly deep and tender.
"And the friendship of Miss Stuyvesant is a precious thing to you?" saidhe.
"Few things are more so," was her reply.
He bit his lip and his brow grew lighter. After all, great soulsfrequently cling to those of lesser calibre, provided they are true andunflawed. He would not be discouraged. But his tone when he spoke hadacquired a reverence that did not lessen its music. "You are, then, oneof the few women who believe in friendship?"
"As I believe in heaven."
Looking at her, he took off his hat. Her eye stole to his seriouscountenance. "Miss Stuyvesant is to be envied," said he.
"Are friends so rare?"
"Such friends are," said he.
She gave him a bright little look. "Had you been with Miss Stuyvesant,and she had expressed herself as I have done, you would have said, 'MissFairchild is to be envied,' and you would have been nearer the truththan now. Cicely's friendship is to mine what an unbroken mirror is to alittle racing brook. It reflects but one image, while mine--" She couldnot go on. How could she explain to this stranger that Cicely's heartwas undivided in its regard, while hers owned allegiance to more thanher bosom friend.
"If I were with Miss Stuyvesant now," he declared, too absorbed in hisown ideas to notice the break in hers, "I should still say in face ofthis friendship, 'Miss Stuyvesant is to be envied.' I have no mind formore than one thought to-day," exclaimed he, with a look that made hertremble.
There are some men who never know in what field to stay the current oftheir impetuosity: Clarence Ensign did. He said no more than this of allthat was seething in his mind and heart. He felt that he must provehimself a man, before he exercised a man's privilege. Besides, histemperament was mercurial, and never remained long under the bondage ofa severe thought, or an impressive tone of mind. He worshipped thelofty, but it was with tabor and cymbal and high-sounding lute. A climbover the stile at the foot of the hill was enough to restore him tohimself. It was therefore with merry eyes and laughing lips that theyapproached the house and entered Miss Belinda's presence.
There are some persons whose prerogative it is to carry sunshine withthem wherever they go. Clarence Ensign was one of these. Without aneffort, without any display of incongruous hilarity, he always succeededby the mere joyousness of his own nature, in calling forth all that wasbright and enjoyable in others. When therefore they stepped into thequaint old-fashioned parlor, all prepared to receive them, Paula was notsurprised to perceive it brighten, and her aunts' faces grow cheerfuland smiling. Who could meet Clarence Ensign's laughing eye and notsmile? What did astonish her, however, was the sight of an elegantbasket of hot-house lowers perched on a table in the centre of the room.It made her pause, and cast looks of inquiry at the demure countenanceof Miss Abby, and the quietly satisfied expression of her morethoughtful aunt.
"A remembrance from the city!" said Mr. Ensign gracefully. "I thought itmight help to recall some happy hours to you."
With a swelling of the heart which she could not understand, she leanedover the ample cluster of roses and heliotrope. She felt as though shecould embrace them; they were more than flowers, they were the visibleemblem of all she had missed, and for which she had longed these manymonths.
"I seem to receive the whole in the part," said she.
He may or may not have understood her, but he saw she was gratified, andthat was sufficient. The afternoon flew by on wings of light. MissBelinda, who was not accustomed to holidays, but who thoroughlyappreciated them when they came, entered into the conversation withzest; while Miss Abby's unconscious expressions of pleasure were too_naive_ not to add to, rather than detract from the general enjoyment.The twilight, with its good-bye, came all too soon.
"I have a request to make before I go," said Mr. Ensign. He was standingalone with Paula in the embrasure of the window, a few moments beforehis departure. "When we see a flower nodding on a ledge above our heads,we long for it; I have heard you talk of friendship, and a great desirehas seized me. Miss Fairchild will you be my friend?"
She gave him a startled glance that, however, soon settled into a mellowradiant look of sympathy and pleasure.
"That is asking for something which if I hesitate to accord, it isbecause the word, 'friend,' carries with it so much," said she, with asweet seriousness that disarmed her words of any latent sting they mightotherwise have contained.
"I know it," he replied, "and I am very bold to ask it upon so slight anacquaintance; but life is short and real treasure is so scarce. You willnot deny me, Miss Fairchild?" Then seeing her look down, hastilycontinued, "I have acquaintances by the score--friends who stylethemselves thus, by the dozen, but no _friend_. I want one; I want youfor that one. Will you be it? I shall be jealous though, I warn you," hewent on, with a cropping out of his mirthful nature; "I shall not bepleased to observe the circle widened indefinitely. I shall want my ownplace and no one else in my place."
"No one else can fill the place once given to a friend. Each one has hisown niche."
"And I am to have mine?" His look was firm, his eye steadfast.
"Yes," she breathed.
With a proud stooping of his head, he took her hand and kissed it. Theaction became him; he was tall and well made, and gallantry induced byfeeling, sat well upon him. In spite of herself, she thought of old-timestories of the Norse chivalry; he stood so radiant and bent so low.
"I shall prize my friend at her queenly value," said he; and withoutmore ado, uttered his farewell and took his departure.
* * * * *
"Paula!"
The young girl started from a reverie which had held her for a long timeenchained at that fast darkening window, and hastily looking up,perceived her Aunt Belinda standing before her, with her eye fixed uponher face, with a kind but searching glance.
"Yes, aunt."
"You have not told me who this Mr. Ensign is. In all the letters youwrote me you did not mention his name, I think."
"No, aunt. The fact is, I did not meet him until a few days before Ileft, and then only for an evening, you might say."
"Indeed! that one evening seems to have made its impression. Tell mesomething about him, Paula."
"His own countenance speaks for him better than I can, aunt. He is goodand he is kind; an honest young man, who need fear the eye of no one. Heis wealthy, I am informed, and the son of highly respected parents. Hewas first presented to me by Miss Stuyvesant, whose friend he is,afterwards by Mr. Sylvester. His coming here was a surprise to me."
Miss Belinda's firm mouth, which had expanded at this dutiful response,twitched with a certain amused expression over this last announce
ment.Eying her niece with unrelenting inquiry, she pursued, "You have notbeen happy for the last few weeks, Paula. Our life seems narrow to you;you long to fly away to larger fields and more expansive skies."
With a guilty droop of her head, Paula stole her hand into that of heraunt's.
"I do not wonder," continued Miss Belinda, still watching the flushingcheek and slightly troubled mouth of the lovely girl before her. "I oncebreathed other air myself, and know well what charms lie beyond thesemountains. In giving you up for awhile, I gave you up forever, I fear."
"No, no," whispered the young girl, "I am always yours wherever I go.Not that I am going away," she hastily murmured.
Her aunt smiled and gently stroked her niece's hand. "When the timecomes, I shall bid you God speed, Paula. I am no ogress to tie my dove'swings to her nest. Love and the home it provides are the natural lot ofwomen. None feel it more than those who have missed both."
"Aunt!" Paula was shocked and perplexed. A breaking wave full of doubtsand possibilities, seemed to dash over her at this suggestion.
"Young men of judgment and principle do not come so many miles to see ayouthful maiden, without a purpose," continued her aunt inexorably. "Youknow that, do you not, Paula?"
"Yes; but the purpose may differ in different cases," returned the younggirl hurriedly. "I would not like to believe that Mr. Ensign came herewith the one you give him credit for--not yet. You trouble me, aunt,"pursued she, glancing tremulously about. "It is like opening a greatdoor flooded with sunshine, upon eyes scarcely strong enough to bear theglimmer sifting through its cracks. I feel humiliated and--" She did notfinish, perhaps her thought itself was incomplete.
"If a light comes sifting through the cracks, I am satisfied," said heraunt in a lighter tone than common. And she kissed her niece, and wentsmiling out of the room, murmuring to herself,
"I have been over-fearful; everything is coming right."
There are moments when life's great mystery overpowers us; when theriddle of the soul flaunts itself before us unexplained, and we can dono more than stand and take the rush of the tide that comes sweepingdown upon us. Paula was not the girl she was before she went to NewYork. Love was no longer a dreamy possibility, a hazy blending of theunknown and the fancied; its tale had been too often breathed in herear, its reality made too often apparent to her eye. But love to whichshe could listen, was as new and fresh and strange, as a world intowhich her foot had never ventured. That her aunt should point to acertain masculine form, no matter how attractive or interesting, andsay, "Love and home are the lot of women," made her blood rush back onher heart, like a stream from which a dam has been ruthlessly wrenchedaway. It was too wild, too sudden; a friend's name was so much easier tospeak, or to contemplate. She did not know what to do with her ownheart, made to speak thus before its time; its beatings choked her;everything choked her; this was a worse imprisonment than the other.Looking round, her eye fell upon the flowers. Ah, was not their languageexpressive enough, without this new suggestion? They seemed to losesomething in this very gain. She liked them less she thought, and yether feet drew near, and near, and nearer, to where they stood, exhalingtheir very souls out in delicious perfume. "I am too young!" came fromPaula's lips. "I will not think of it!" quickly followed. Yet the smilewith which she bent over the fragrant blossoms, had an ethereal beautyin it, which was not all unmixed with the
"Light that never was on land or sea, The consecration and the poet's dream."
"He has asked to be my friend," murmured she, as she slowly turned away."It is enough; it must be enough." But the blossom she had stolen fromthe midst of the fragrant collection, seemed to whisper a merry nay, asit nodded against her hand, and afterwards gushed out its sweet life onher pure young breast.
The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life Page 29
