CHAPTER IV.

by Louisa May Alcott

　　THROUGH FLOOD AND FIELD AND FIRE.Very early were they afloat again, and as they glided up the streamSylvia watched the earth's awakening, seeing in it what her own shouldbe. The sun was not yet visible above the hills, but the sky was readyfor his coming, with the soft flush of color dawn gives only to herroyal lover. Birds were chanting matins as if all the jubilance of theirshort lives must be poured out at once. Flowers stirred and brightenedlike children after sleep. A balmy wind came whispering from the wood,bringing the aroma of pines, the cool breath of damp nooks, thehealthful kiss that leaves a glow behind. Light mists floated down theriver like departing visions that had haunted it by night, and everyripple breaking on the shore seemed to sing a musical good morrow.Sylvia could not conceal the weariness her long vigil left behind; andafter betraying herself by a drowsy lurch that nearly took heroverboard, she made herself comfortable, and slept till the grating ofthe keel on a pebbly shore woke her to find a new harbor reached underthe lee of a cliff, whose deep shadow was very grateful after the glareof noon upon the water."How do you intend to dispose of yourself this afternoon, Adam?" askedMark, when dinner was over and his sister busy feeding the birds."In this way," answered Warwick, producing a book and settling himselfin a commodious cranny of the rock."Moor and I want to climb the cliff and sketch the view; but it is toorough a road for Sylvia. Would you mind mounting guard for an hour ortwo? Read away, and leave her to amuse herself; only pray don't let herget into any mischief by way of enjoying her liberty, for she fearsnothing and is fond of experiments.""I'll do my best," replied Warwick, with an air of resignation.Having slung the hammock and seen Sylvia safely into it, the climbersdeparted, leaving her to enjoy the luxury of motion. For half an hourshe swung idly, looking up into the green pavilion overhead, where manyinsect families were busy with their small joys and cares, or out overthe still landscape basking in the warmth of a cloudless afternoon. Thenshe opened a book Mark had brought for his own amusement, and began toread as intently as her companion, who leaned against the boulder slowlyturning his pages, with leafy shadows flickering over his uncovered headand touching it with alternate sun and shade. The book provedinteresting, and Sylvia was rapidly skimming into the heart of thestory, when an unguarded motion caused her swing to slope perilously toone side, and in saving herself she lost her book. This produced apredicament, for being helped into a hammock and getting out alone aretwo very different things. She eyed the distance from her nest to theground, and fancied it had been made unusually great to keep herstationary. She held fast with one hand and stretched downward with theother, but the book insolently flirted its leaves just out of reach.She took a survey of Warwick; he had not perceived her plight, and shefelt an unwonted reluctance to call for help, because he did not looklike one used to come and go at a woman's bidding. After severalfruitless essays she decided to hazard an ungraceful descent; and,gathering herself up, was about to launch boldly out, when Warwickcried, "Stop!" in a tone that nearly produced the catastrophe he wishedto avert. Sylvia subsided, and coming up he lifted the book, glanced atthe title, then keenly at the reader."Do you like this?""So far very much.""Are you allowed to read what you choose?""Yes, sir. That is Mark's choice, however; I brought no book.""I advise you to skim it into the river; it is not a book for you."Sylvia caught a glimpse of the one he had been reading himself, andimpelled by a sudden impulse to see what would come of it, she answeredwith a look as keen as his own--"You disapprove of my book; would you recommend yours?""In this case, yes; for in one you will find much falsehood in purpleand fine linen, in the other some truth in fig-leaves. Take yourchoice."He offered both; but Sylvia took refuge in civility."I thank you, I'll have neither; but if you will please steady thehammock, I will try to find some more harmless amusement for myself."He obeyed with one of the humorous expressions which often passed overhis face. Sylvia descended as gracefully as circumstances permitted, andwent roving up and down the cliffs. Warwick resumed his seat and the"barbaric yawp," but seemed to find Truth in demi-toilet lessinteresting than Youth in a gray gown and round hat, for which his tasteis to be commended. The girl had small scope for amusement, and when shehad gathered moss for pillows, laid out a white fungus to dry for afuture pin-cushion, harvested penny-royal in little sheaves tied withgrass-blades, watched a battle between black ants and red, and learnedthe landscape by heart; she was at the end of her resources, and leaningon a stone surveyed earth and sky with a somewhat despondent air."You would like something to do, I think.""Yes, sir; for being rather new to this sort of life, I have not yetlearned how to dispose of my time.""I see that, and having deprived you of one employment will try toreplace it by another."Warwick rose, and going to the single birch that glimmered among thepines like a delicate spirit of the wood, he presently returned withstrips of silvery bark."You were wishing for baskets to hold your spoils, yesterday; shall wemake some now?" he asked."How stupid in me not to think of that! Yes, thank you, I should like itvery much;" and producing her housewife, Sylvia fell to work with abrightening face.Warwick sat a little below her on the rock, shaping his basket inperfect silence. This did not suit Sylvia, for feeling lively andloquacious she wanted conversation to occupy her thoughts as pleasantlyas the birch rolls were occupying her hands, and there sat a person who,she was sure, could do it perfectly if he chose. She reconnoitered withcovert glances, made sundry overtures, and sent out envoys in the shapeof scissors, needles, and thread. But no answering glance met hers; herremarks received the briefest replies, and her offers of assistance weredeclined with an absent "No, thank you." Then she grew indignant at thisseeming neglect, and thought, as she sat frowning over her work, behindhis back--"He treats me like a child,--very well, then, I'll behave like one, andbeset him with questions till he is driven to speak; for he can talk, heought to talk, he shall talk.""Mr. Warwick, do you like children?" she began, with a determinedaspect."Better than men or women.""Do you enjoy amusing them?""Exceedingly, when in the humor.""Are you in the humor now?""Yes, I think so.""Then why don't you amuse me?""Because you are not a child.""I fancied you thought me one.""If I had, I probably should have put you on my knee, and told you fairytales, or cut dolls for you out of this bark, instead of sittingrespectfully silent and making a basket for your stores."There was a curious smile about Warwick's mouth as he spoke, and Sylviawas rather abashed by her first exploit. But there was a pleasure in thedaring, and choosing another topic she tried again."Mark was telling me last night about the great college you had chosen;I thought it must be a very original and interesting way to educateone's self, and wanted very much to know what you had been studyinglately. May I ask you now?""Men and women," was the brief answer."Have you got your lesson, sir?""A part of it very thoroughly, I believe.""Would you think me rude if I asked which part?""The latter.""And what conclusions do you arrive at concerning this branch of thesubject?" asked Sylvia, smiling and interested."That it is both dangerous and unsatisfactory."He spoke so gravely, looked so stern, that Sylvia obeyed a warninginstinct and sat silent till she had completed a canoe-shaped basket,the useful size of which produced a sudden longing to fill it. Her eyehad already spied a knoll across the river covered with vines, and sosuggestive of berries that she now found it impossible to resist thedesire for an exploring trip in that direction. The boat was too largefor her to manage alone, but an enterprising spirit had taken possessionof her, and having made one voyage of discovery with small success sheresolved to try again, hoping a second in another direction might provemore fruitful."Is your basket done, sir?" she asked."Yes; will you have it?""Why, you have made it as an Indian would, using grass instead ofthread. It is much more complete than mine, for the green stitchesornament the white bark, but the black ones disfigure it. I should knowa man made your basket and a woman mine.""Because one is ugly and strong, the other graceful but unable to standalone?" asked Warwick, rising, with a gesture that sent the silveryshreds flying away on the wind."One holds as much as the other, however; and I fancy the woman wouldfill hers soonest if she had the wherewithal to do it. Do you know thereare berries on that hillside opposite?""I see vines, but consider fruit doubtful, for boys and birds arethicker than blackberries.""I've a firm conviction that they have left some for us; and as Marksays you like frankness, I think I shall venture to ask you to row meover and help me fill the baskets on the other side."Sylvia looked up at him with a merry mixture of doubt and daring in herface, and offered him his hat."Very good, I will," said Warwick, leading the way to the boat with analacrity which proved how much pleasanter to him was action than repose.There was no dry landing-place just opposite, and as he rowed higher,Adam fixed his eyes on Sylvia with a look peculiar to himself, a gazemore keen than soft, which seemed to search one through and through withits rapid discernment. He saw a face full of contradictions,--youthful,maidenly, and intelligent, yet touched with the unconscious melancholywhich is born of disappointment and desire. The mouth was sweet andtender as a woman's should be, the brow spirited and thoughtful; but theeyes were by turns eager, absent, or sad, and there was much pride inthe carriage of the small head with its hair of wavy gold gathered intoa green snood, whence little tendrils kept breaking loose to dance uponher forehead, or hang about her neck. A most significant but not abeautiful face, because of its want of harmony. The dark eyes, amongtheir fair surroundings, disturbed the sight as a discord in music jarsupon the ear; even when the lips smiled the sombre shadow of blacklashes seemed to fill them with a gloom that was never wholly lost. Thevoice, too, which should have been a girlish treble, was full and low asa matured woman's, with now and then a silvery ring to it, as if anotherand a blither creature spoke.Sylvia could not be offended by the grave penetration of this glance,though an uncomfortable consciousness that she was being analyzed andtested made her meet it with a look intended to be dignified, but whichwas also somewhat defiant, and more than one smile passed over Warwick'scountenance as he watched her. The moment the boat glided with a softswish among the rushes that fringed the shore, she sprang up the bank,and leaving a basket behind her by way of hint, hurried to the sandyknoll, where, to her great satisfaction, she found the vines heavy withberries. As Warwick joined her she held up a shining cluster, sayingwith a touch of exultation in her voice--"My faith is rewarded; taste and believe."He accepted them with a nod, and said pleasantly--"As my prophecy has failed, let us see if yours will be fulfilled.""I accept the challenge." And down upon her knees went Sylvia among thevines, regardless of stains, rents, or wounded hands.Warwick strolled away to leave her "claim" free, and silence fellbetween them; for one was too busy with thorns, the other with thoughts,to break the summer stillness. Sylvia worked with as much energy as if asilver cup was to be the reward of success. The sun shone fervently andthe wind was cut off by the hill, drops gathered on her forehead and hercheeks glowed; but she only pushed off her hat, thrust back her hair,and moved on to a richer spot. Vines caught at her by sleeve and skirtas if to dishearten the determined plunderer, but on she went with awrench and a rip, an impatient "Ah!" and a hasty glance at damagedfabrics and fingers. Lively crickets flew up in swarms about her, surlywasps disputed her right to the fruit, and drunken bees blunderedagainst her as they met zigzagging homeward much the worse forblackberry wine. She never heeded any of them, though at another timeshe would gladly have made friends with all, but found compensation forher discomforts in the busy twitter of sand swallows perched on themullein-tops, the soft flight of yellow butterflies, and the rapiditywith which the little canoe received its freight of "Ethiop sweets." Asthe last handful went in she sprung up crying "Done!" with a suddennessthat broke up the Long Parliament and sent its members skimming away asif a second "Noll" had appeared among them. "Done!" came back Warwick'sanswer like a deep echo from below, and hurrying down to meet him shedisplayed her success, saying archly--"I am glad we both won, though to be perfectly candid I think mine isdecidedly the fullest." But as she swung up her birch pannier the handlebroke, and down went basket, berries and all, into the long grassrustling at her feet.Warwick could not restrain a laugh at the blank dismay that fell uponthe exultation of Sylvia's face, and for a moment she was both piquedand petulant. Hot, tired, disappointed, and, hardest of all, laughed at,it was one of those times that try girls' souls. But she was too old tocry, too proud to complain, too well-bred to resent, so the little gustpassed over unseen, she thought, and joining in the merriment she said,as she knelt down beside the wreck--"This is a practical illustration of the old proverb, and I deserve itfor my boasting. Next time I'll try to combine strength and beauty in mywork."To wise people character is betrayed by trifles. Warwick stoppedlaughing, and something about the girlish figure in the grass,regathering with wounded hands the little harvest lately lost, seemed totouch him. His face softened suddenly as he collected several broadleaves, spread them on the grass, and sitting down by Sylvia, lookedunder her hat-brim with a glance of mingled penitence and friendliness."Now, young philosopher, pile up your berries in that green platterwhile I repair the basket. Bear this in mind when you work in bark: makeyour handle the way of the grain, and choose a strip both smooth andbroad."Then drawing out his knife he fell to work, and while he tied greenwithes, as if the task were father to the thought, he told her somethingof a sojourn among the Indians, of whom he had learned much concerningtheir woodcraft, arts, and superstitions; lengthening the legend tillthe little canoe was ready for another launch. With her fancy full ofwar-trails and wampum, Sylvia followed to the river-side, and as theyfloated back dabbled her stained fingers in the water, comforting theirsmart with its cool flow till they swept by the landing-place, when sheasked, wonderingly--"Where are we going now? Have I been so troublesome that I must be takenhome?""We are going to get a third course to follow the berries, unless youare afraid to trust yourself to me.""Indeed, I'm not; take me where you like, sir."Something in her frank tone, her confiding look, seemed to pleaseWarwick; he sat a moment looking into the brown depths of the water, andlet the boat drift, with no sound but the musical drip of drops from theoars."You are going upon a rock, sir.""I did that three months ago."He spoke as if to himself, his face darkened, and he shook the hair offhis forehead with an impatient gesture. A swift stroke averted theshock, and the boat shot down the stream, leaving a track of foam behindit as Warwick rowed with the energy of one bent on outstripping someimportunate remembrance or dogging care. Sylvia marvelled greatly at thechange which came upon him, but held fast with flying hair and lipsapart to catch the spray, enjoying the breezy flight along a pathtessellated with broad bars of blue and gold. The race ended as abruptlyas it began, and Warwick seemed the winner, for when they touched thecoast of a floating lily-island, the cloud was gone. As he shipped hisoars he turned, saying, with very much the look and manner of a pleasantboy--"You were asleep when we passed this morning; but I know you likelilies, so let us go a fishing.""That I do!" cried Sylvia, capturing a great white flower with a clutchthat nearly took her overboard. Warwick drew her back and did thegathering himself."Enough, sir, quite enough. Here are plenty to trim our table andourselves with; leave the rest for other voyagers who may come thisway."As Warwick offered her the dripping nosegay he looked at the white handscored with scarlet lines."Poor hand! let the lilies comfort it. You are a true woman, MissSylvia, for though your palm is purple there's not a stain upon yourlips, and you have neither worked nor suffered for yourself it seems.""I don't deserve that compliment, because I was only intent on outdoingyou if possible; so you are mistaken again you see.""Not entirely, I think. Some faces are so true an index of characterthat one cannot be mistaken. If you doubt this look down into the river,and such an one will inevitably smile back at you."Pleased, yet somewhat abashed, Sylvia busied herself in knotting up thelong brown stems and tinging her nose with yellow pollen as she inhaledthe bitter-sweet breath of the lilies. But when Warwick turned to resumethe oars, she said--"Let us float out as we floated in. It is so still and lovely here Ilike to stay and enjoy it, for we may never see just such a sceneagain."He obeyed, and both sat silent, watching the meadows that lay green andlow along the shore, feeding their eyes with the beauty of thelandscape, till its peaceful spirit seemed to pass into their own, andlend a subtle charm to that hour, which henceforth was to stand apart,serene and happy, in their memories forever. A still August day, with ashimmer in the air that veiled the distant hills with the mellow haze,no artist ever truly caught. Midsummer warmth and ripeness brooded inthe verdure of field and forest. Wafts of fragrance went wandering byfrom new-mown meadows and gardens full of bloom. All the sky wore itsserenest blue, and up the river came frolic winds, ruffling the lilyleaves until they showed their purple linings, sweeping shadowy ripplesthrough the long grass, and lifting the locks from Sylvia's foreheadwith a grateful touch, as she sat softly swaying with the swaying of theboat. Slowly they drifted out into the current, slowly Warwick cleft thewater with reluctant stroke, and slowly Sylvia's mind woke from itstrance of dreamy delight, as with a gesture of assent she said--"Yes, I am ready now. That was a happy little moment, and I am glad tohave lived it, for such times return to refresh me when many a morestirring one is quite forgotten." A moment after she added, eagerly, asa new object of interest appeared: "Mr. Warwick, I see smoke. I knowthere is a wood on fire; I want to see it; please land again."He glanced over his shoulder at the black cloud trailing away before thewind, saw Sylvia's desire in her face, and silently complied; for beinga keen student of character, he was willing to prolong an interview thatgave him glimpses of a nature in which the woman and the child werecuriously blended."I love fire, and that must be a grand one, if we could only see itwell. This bank is not high enough; let us go nearer and enjoy it," saidSylvia, finding that an orchard and a knoll or two intercepted the viewof the burning wood."It is too far.""Not at all. I am no helpless, fine lady. I can walk, run, and climblike any boy; so you need have no fears for me. I may never see such asight again, and you know you'd go if you were alone. Please come, Mr.Warwick.""I promised Mark to take care of you, and for the very reason that youlove fire, I'd rather not take you into that furnace, lest you nevercome out again. Let us go back immediately."The decision of his tone ruffled Sylvia, and she turned wilful at once,saying in a tone as decided as his own--"No; I wish to see it. I am always allowed to do what I wish, so I shallgo;" with which mutinous remark she walked straight away towards theburning wood.Warwick looked after her, indulging a momentary desire to carry her backto the boat, like a naughty child. But the resolute aspect of the figuregoing on before him, convinced him that the attempt would be a failure,and with an amused expression he leisurely followed her.Sylvia had not walked five minutes before she was satisfied that it_was_ too far; but having rebelled, she would not own herself in thewrong, and being perverse, insisted upon carrying her point, though shewalked all night. On she went over walls, under rails, across brooks,along the furrows of more than one ploughed field, and in among therustling corn, that turned its broad leaves to the sun, always inadvance of her companion, who followed with exemplary submission, butalso with a satirical smile, that spurred her on as no otherdemonstration could have done. Six o'clock sounded from the churchbehind the hill; still the wood seemed to recede as she pursued, stillclose behind her came the steady footfalls, with no sound of wearinessin them, and still Sylvia kept on, till, breathless, but successful, shereached the object of her search.Keeping to the windward of the smoke, she gained a rocky spot still warmand blackened by the late passage of the flames, and pausing there,forgot her own pranks in watching those which the fire played beforeher eyes. Many acres were burning, the air was full of the rush and roarof the victorious element, the crash of trees that fell before it, andthe shouts of men who fought it unavailingly."Ah, this is grand! I wish Mark and Mr. Moor were here. Aren't you gladyou came, sir?"Sylvia glanced up at her companion, as he stood regarding the scene withthe intent, alert expression one often sees in a fine hound when hescents danger in the air. But Warwick did not answer, for as she spoke along, sharp cry of human suffering rose above the tumult, terriblydistinct and full of ominous suggestion."Someone was killed when that tree fell! Stay here till I come back;"and Adam strode away into the wood as if his place were where the perillay.For ten minutes Sylvia waited, pale and anxious; then her patience gaveout, and saying to herself, "I can go where he does, and women arealways more helpful than men at such times," she followed in thedirection whence came the fitful sound of voices. The ground was hotunderneath her feet, red eyes winked at her from the blackened sod, andfiery tongues darted up here and there, as if the flames were lurkingstill, ready for another outbreak. Intent upon her charitable errand,and excited by the novel scene, she pushed recklessly on, leapingcharred logs, skirting still burning stumps, and peering eagerly intothe dun veil that wavered to and fro. The appearance of an impassableditch obliged her to halt, and pausing to take breath, she became awarethat she had lost her way. The echo of voices had ceased, a red glarewas deepening in front, and clouds of smoke enveloped her in a stiflingatmosphere. A sense of bewilderment crept over her; she knew not whereshe was; and after a rapid flight in what she believed a safe directionhad been cut short by the fall of a blazing tree before her, she stoodstill, taking counsel with herself. Darkness and danger seemed toencompass her, fire flickered on every side, and suffocating vaporsshrouded earth and sky. A bare rock suggested one hope of safety, andmuffling her head in her skirt, she lay down faint and blind, with adull pain in her temples, and a fear at her heart fast deepening intoterror, as her breath grew painful and her head began to swim."This is the last of the pleasant voyage! Oh, why does no one think ofme?"As the regret rose, a cry of suffering and entreaty broke from her. Shehad not called for help till now, thinking herself too remote, her voicetoo feeble to overpower the din about her. But some one had thought ofher, for as the cry left her lips steps came crashing through the wood,a pair of strong arms caught her up, and before she could collect herscattered senses she was set down beyond all danger on the green bank ofa little pool."Well, salamander, have you had fire enough?" asked Warwick, as hedashed a handful of water in her face with such energetic goodwill thatit took her breath away."Yes, oh yes,--and of water, too! Please stop, and let me get mybreath!" gasped Sylvia, warding off a second baptism and staring dizzilyabout her."Why did you quit the place where I left you?" was the next question,somewhat sternly put."I wanted to know what had happened.""So you walked into a bonfire to satisfy your curiosity, though you hadbeen told to keep out of it? You'd never make a Casabianca.""I hope not, for of all silly children, that boy was the silliest, andhe deserved to be blown up for his want of common sense," cried thegirl, petulantly."Obedience is an old-fashioned virtue, which you would do well tocultivate along with your common sense, young lady."Sylvia changed the subject, for Warwick stood regarding her with anirate expression that was somewhat alarming. Fanning herself with thewet hat, she asked abruptly--"Was the man hurt, sir?""Yes.""Very much?""Yes.""Can I not do something for him? He is very far from any house, and Ihave some experience in wounds.""He is past all help, above all want now.""Dead, Mr. Warwick?""Quite dead."Sylvia sat down as suddenly as she had risen, and covered her face witha shiver, remembering that her own wilfulness had tempted a like fate,and she too, might now have been 'past help, above all want.' Warwickwent down to the pool to bathe his hot face and blackened hands; as hereturned Sylvia met him with a submissive--"I will go back now if you are ready, sir."If the way had seemed long in coming it was doubly so in returning, forneither pride nor perversity sustained her now, and every step cost aneffort. "I can rest in the boat," was her sustaining thought; greattherefore was her dismay when on reaching the river no boat was to beseen."Why, Mr. Warwick, where is it?""A long way down the river by this time, probably. Believing that welanded only for a moment, I did not fasten it, and the tide has carriedit away.""But what shall we do?""One of two things,--spend the night here, or go round by the bridge.""Is it far?""Some three or four miles, I think.""Is there no shorter way? no boat or carriage to be had?""If you care to wait, I can look for our runaway, or get a wagon fromthe town.""It is growing late and you would be gone a long time, I suppose?""Probably.""Which had we better do?""I should not venture to advise. Suit yourself, I will obey orders.""If you were alone what would you do?""Swim across."Sylvia looked disturbed, Warwick impenetrable, the river wide, the roadlong, and the cliffs the most inaccessible of places. An impressivepause ensued, then she said frankly--"It is my own fault and I'll take the consequences. I choose the bridgeand leave you the river. If I don't appear till dawn, tell Mark I senthim a good night," and girding up her energies she walked bravely offwith much external composure and internal chagrin.As before, Warwick followed in silence. For a time she kept in advance,then allowed him to gain upon her, and presently fell behind, ploddingdoggedly on through thick and thin, vainly trying to conceal the hungerand fatigue that were fast robbing her of both strength and spirits.Adam watched her with a masculine sense of the justice of theretribution which his wilful comrade had brought upon herself. But as hesaw the elasticity leave her steps, the color fade from her cheeks, theresolute mouth relax, and the wistful eyes dim once or twice with tearsof weariness and vexation, pity got the better of pique, and herelented. His steady tramp came to a halt, and stopping by a waysidespring, he pointed to a mossy stone, saying with no hint of superiorpowers--"We are tired, let us rest."Sylvia dropped down at once, and for a few minutes neither spoke, forthe air was full of sounds more pertinent to the summer night than humanvoices. From the copse behind them, came the coo of wood-pigeons, fromthe grass at their feet the plaintive chirp of crickets; a busy breezewhispered through the willow, the little spring dripped musically fromthe rock, and across the meadows came the sweet chime of a bell.Twilight was creeping over forest, hill, and stream, and seemed to droprefreshment and repose upon all weariness of soul and body, moregrateful to Sylvia, than the welcome seat and leafy cup of water Warwickbrought her from the spring.The appearance of a thirsty sparrow gave her thoughts a pleasant turn,for, sitting motionless, she watched the little creature trip down tothe pool, drink and bathe, then flying to a willow spray, dress itsfeathers, dry its wings, and sit chirping softly as if it sang itsevening hymn. Warwick saw her interest, and searching in his pocket,found the relics of a biscuit, strewed a few bits upon the ground beforehim, and began a low, sweet whistle, which rose gradually to a variedstrain, alluring, spirited, and clear as any bird voice of the wood.Little sparrow ceased his twitter, listened with outstretched neck andeager eye, hopping restlessly from twig to twig, until he hung just overthe musician's head, agitated with a small flutter of surprise, delight,and doubt. Gathering a crumb or two into his hand, Warwick held ittoward the bird, while softer, sweeter, and more urgent rose theinvitation, and nearer and nearer drew the winged guest, fascinated bythe spell.Suddenly a belated blackbird lit upon the wall, surveyed the group andburst into a jubilant song, that for a moment drowned his rival's notes.Then, as if claiming the reward, he fluttered to the grass, ate hisfill, took a sip from the mossy basin by the way, and flew singing overthe river, leaving a trail of music behind him. There was a dash anddaring about this which fired little sparrow with emulation. His lastfear seemed conquered, and he flew confidingly to Warwick's palm,pecking the crumbs with grateful chirps and friendly glances from itsquick, bright eye. It was a pretty picture for the girl to see; the man,an image of power, in his hand the feathered atom, that, with unerringinstinct, divined and trusted the superior nature which had not yet lostits passport to the world of innocent delights that Nature gives tothose who love her best. Involuntarily Sylvia clapped her hands, and,startled by the sudden sound, little sparrow skimmed away."Thank you for the pleasantest sight I've seen for many a day. How didyou learn this gentle art, Mr. Warwick?""I was a solitary boy, and found my only playmates in the woods andfields. I learned their worth, they saw my need, and when I asked theirfriendship, gave it freely. Now we should go; you are very tired, let mehelp you."He held his hand to her, and she put her own into it with a confidenceas instinctive as the bird's. Then, hand in hand they crossed the bridgeand struck into the wilderness again; climbing slopes still warm andodorous, passing through dells full of chilly damps, along meadowsspangled with fire-flies, and haunted by sonorous frogs; over rockscrisp with pale mosses, and between dark firs, where shadows brooded,and melancholy breezes rocked themselves to sleep. Speaking seldom, yetfeeling no consciousness of silence, no sense of restraint, for they nolonger seemed like strangers to one another, and this spontaneousfriendliness lent an indefinable charm to the dusky walk. Warwick foundsatisfaction in the knowledge of her innocent faith in him, the touch ofthe little hand he held, the sight of the quiet figure at his side.Sylvia felt that it was pleasant to be the object of his care, fanciedthat they would learn to know each other better in three days of thisfree life than in as many months at home, and rejoiced over thediscovery of unsuspected traits in him, like the soft lining of thechestnut burr, to which she had compared him more than once thatafternoon. So, mutually and unconsciously yielding to the influence ofthe hour and the mood it brought them, they walked through the twilightin that eloquent silence which often proves more persuasive than themost fluent speech.The welcome blaze of their own fire gladdened them at length, and whenthe last step was taken, Sylvia sat down with an inward conviction shenever could get up again. Warwick told their mishap in the fewestpossible words, while Mark, in a spasm of brotherly solicitude, goadedthe fire to a roar that his sister's feet might be dried, administered acordial as a preventive against cold, and prescribed her hammock theinstant supper was done. She went away with him, but a moment after shecame to Warwick with a box of Prue's ointment and a soft handkerchiefstripped into bandages."What now?" he asked."I wish to dress your burns, sir.""They will do well enough with a little water; go you and rest.""Mr. Warwick, you know you ate your supper with your left hand, and putboth behind you when you saw me looking at them. Please let me make themeasier; they were burnt for me, and I shall get no sleep till I have hadmy way."There was a curious mixture of command and entreaty in her manner, andbefore their owner had time to refuse or comply, the scorched hands weretaken possession of, the red blisters covered with a cool bandage, andthe frown of pain smoothed out of Warwick's forehead by the prospect ofrelief. As she tied the last knot, Sylvia glanced up with a look thatmutely asked pardon for past waywardness, and expressed gratitude forpast help; then, as if her heart were set at rest, she was gone beforeher patient could return his thanks.She did not reappear, Mark went to send a lad after the lost boat, andthe two friends were left alone; Warwick watching the blaze, Moorwatching him, till, with a nod toward a pair of diminutive boots thatstood turning out their toes before the fire, Adam said--"The wearer of those defiant-looking articles is the most capriciouspiece of humanity it was ever my fortune to see. You have no idea of thelife she has led me since you left.""I can imagine it.""She is as freakish, and wears as many shapes as Puck; a gnat, awill-o'-the-wisp, a Sister of Charity, a meek-faced child; and one doesnot know in which guise she pleases most. Hard the task of him who hasand tries to hold her.""Hard yet happy; for a word will tame the high spirit, a look touch thewarm heart, a kind act be repaid with one still kinder. She is a womanto be studied well, taught tenderly, and, being won, cherished with anaffection that knows no shadow of a change."Moor spoke low, and on his face the fire-light seemed to shed a ruddierglow than it had done before. Warwick eyed him keenly for a moment, thensaid, with his usual abruptness--"Geoffrey, you should marry.""Set me the example by mortgaging your own heart, Adam.""I have.""I thought so. Tell me the romance.""It is the old story--a handsome woman, a foolish man; a few weeks ofdoubt, a few of happiness; then the two stand apart to view the leapbefore they take it; after that, peace or purgatory, as they choose wellor ill.""When is the probation over, Adam?""In June, God willing."The hope of deliverance gave to Warwick's tone the fervor of desire, andled his friend to believe in the existence of a passion deep and strongas the heart he knew so well. No further confessions disturbed hissatisfaction, for Warwick scorned complaint; pity he would not receive,sympathy was powerless to undo the past, time alone would mend it, andto time he looked for help. He rose presently as if bedward bound, butpaused behind Moor, turned his face upward, and said, bending on it alook given to this friend alone--"If my confidence were a good gift, you should have it. But myexperience must not mar your faith in womankind. Keep it as chivalrousas ever, and may God send you the mate whom you deserve. Geoffrey, goodnight.""Good night, Adam."And with a hand-shake more expressive of affection than many a tendererdemonstration, they parted--Warwick to watch the stars for hours, andMoor to muse beside the fire till the little boots were dry.