CHAPTER XIV.

by Louisa May Alcott

　　A FIRESIDE FETE."No cousin Faith to-night. The rain has prevented her from taking thisboat, and she is not likely to come later as she comes alone," saidMoor, returning from a fruitless drive to meet his expected guest oneOctober evening."It always rains when I want anything very much. I seem to have a greatdeal of bad weather in my life," answered Sylvia, despondingly."Never mind the rain; let us make sunshine for ourselves, and forget itas children do.""I wish I was a child again, they are always happy.""Let us play at being children, then. Let us sit down upon the rug,parch corn, crack nuts, roast apples, and be merry in spite of wind orweather."Sylvia's face brightened, for the fancy pleased her, and she wantedsomething new and pleasant to divert her thoughts from herself. Glancingat her dress, which was unusually matronly in honor of the occasion, shesaid smiling--"I don't look much like a child, but I should like to try and feel likeone again if I can.""Let us both look and feel so as much as possible. You likemasquerading; go make a little girl of yourself, while I turn boy, andprepare for our merry making."No lad could have spoken with a blither face, for Moor had preservedmuch of the boy in spite of his thirty years. His cheerfulness was soinfectious, that Sylvia already began to forget her gloom, and hurriedaway to do her part. Putting on a short, girlish gown, kept forscrambles among the rocks, she improvised a pinafore, and braided herlong hair a la Morlena Kenwigs, with butterfly bows at the ends. Whenshe went down, she found her husband in garden jacket, collar turnedover a ribbon, hair in a curly tumble, and jackknife in hand, seated onthe rug before a roaring fire, and a semicircle of apples, whittling andwhistling like a very boy. They examined one another with mirthfulcommendations, and Moor began his part by saying--"Isn't this jolly? Now come and cuddle down here beside me, and seewhich will keep it up the longest.""What would Prue say? and who would recognize the elegant Mr. Moor inthis big boy? Putting dignity and broadcloth aside makes you look abouteighteen, and very charming I find you," said Sylvia, looking abouttwelve herself, and also very charming."Here is a wooden fork for you to tend the roast with, while I see tothe corn laws and prepare a vegetable snowstorm. What will you have,little girl, you look as if you wanted something?""I was only thinking that I should have a doll to match your knife. Ifeel as if I should enjoy trotting a staring fright on my knee, andsinging Hush-a-by. But I fancy even your magic cannot produce such athing,--can it, my lad?""In exactly five minutes a lovely doll will appear, though such a thinghas not been seen in my bachelor establishment for years."With which mysterious announcement Moor ran off, blundering over theottomans and slamming the doors as a true boy should. Sylvia prickedchestnuts, and began to forget her bosom trouble as she wondered whatwould appear with the impatient curiosity appropriate to the charactershe had assumed. Presently her husband reappeared with much breezinessof aspect, rain drops in his hair, and a squirming bundle in his arms.Triumphantly unfolding many wraps, he displayed little Tilly in hernight-gown."There is sorcery for you, and a doll worth having; being one of thesort that can shut its eyes; it was going to bed, but its mamma relentedand lends it to us for the night. I told Mrs. Dodd you wanted her, andcouldn't wait, so she sent her clothes; but the room is so warm let thedear play in her pretty bed-gown."Sylvia received her lovely plaything with enthusiasm, and Tilly feltherself suddenly transported to a baby's Paradise, where beds wereunknown and fruit and freedom were her welcome portion. Merrily poppedthe corn, nimbly danced the nuts upon the shovel, lustily remonstratedthe rosy martyrs on the hearth, and cheerfully the minutes slipped away.Sylvia sung every jubilant air she knew, Moor whistled astonishingaccompaniments, and Tilly danced over the carpet with nut-shells on hertoes, and tried to fill her little gown with "pitty flowers" from itsgarlands and bouquets. Without the wind lamented, the sky wept, and thesea thundered on the shore; but within, youth, innocence, and love heldtheir blithe revel undisturbed."How are the spirits now?" asked one playmate of the other."Quite merry, thank you; and I should think I was little Sylvia againbut for the sight of this."She held up the hand that wore a single ornament; but the hand had grownso slender since it was first put on, that the ring would have fallenhad she not caught it at her finger-tip. There was nothing of the boy inher companion's face, as he said, with an anxious look--"If you go on thinning so fast I shall begin to fear that the littlewife is not happy with her old husband. Is she, dear?""She would be a most ungrateful woman if she were not. I always get thinas winter comes on, but I'm so careless I'll find a guard for my ringto-morrow.""No need to wait till then; wear this to please me, and let Marion'scipher signify that you are _mine_."With a gravity that touched her more than the bestowal of so dear arelic, Moor unslung a signet ring from his watchguard, and with somedifficulty pressed it to its place on Sylvia's finger, a most effectualkeeper for that other ring whose tenure seemed so slight. She shrunk alittle and glanced up at him, because his touch was more firm thantender, and his face wore a masterful expression seldom seen there; forinstinct, subtler than perception, prompted both act and aspect. Thenher eye fell and fixed upon the dark stone with the single letterengraved upon its tiny oval, and to her it took a double significance asher husband held it there, claiming her again, with that emphatic"Mine." She did not speak, but something in her manner caused the foldbetween his brows to smooth itself away as he regarded the small handlying passively in his, and said, half playfully, half earnestly--"Forgive me if I hurt you, but you know my wooing is not over yet; andtill you love me with a perfect love I cannot feel that my wife iswholly mine.""I am so young, you know; when I am a woman grown I can give you awoman's love; now it is a girl's, you say. Wait for me, Geoffrey, alittle longer, for indeed I do my best to be all you would have me."Something brought tears into her eyes and made her lips tremble, but ina breath the smile came back, and she added gayly--"How can I help being grave sometimes, and getting thin, with so manyhousekeeping cares upon my shoulders, and such an exacting, tyrannicalhusband to wear upon my nerves. Don't I look like the most miserable ofwives?"She did not certainly as she shook the popper laughingly, and lookedover her shoulder at him, with the bloom of fire-light on her cheeks,its cheerfulness in her eyes."Keep that expression for every day wear, and I am satisfied. I want notame Griselda, but the little girl who once said she was always happywith me. Assure me of that, and, having won my Leah, I can work and waitstill longer for my Rachel. Bless the baby! what has she done to herselfnow?"Tilly had retired behind the sofa, after she had swarmed over everychair and couch, examined everything within her reach, on _étagère_ andtable, embraced the Hebe in the corner, played a fantasia on the piano,and choked herself with the stopper of the odor bottle. A doleful wailbetrayed her hiding place, and she now emerged with a pair ofnutcrackers, ditto of pinched fingers, and an expression of great mentaland bodily distress. Her woes vanished instantaneously, however, whenthe feast was announced, and she performed an unsteady _pas seul_ aboutthe banquet, varied by skirmishes with her long night-gown and darts atany unguarded viand that tempted her.No ordinary table service would suit the holders of this fireside_fête_. The corn was heaped in a bronze urn, the nuts in a gracefulbasket, the apples lay on a plate of curiously ancient china, and thewater turned to wine through the medium of a purple flagon of Bohemianglass. The refection was spread upon the rug as on a flowery table, andall the lustres were lighted, filling the room with a festal glow. Pruewould have held up her hands in dismay, like the benighted piece ofexcellence she was, but Mark would have enjoyed the picturesque groupand sketched a mate to the Golden Wedding. For Moor, armed with thewooden fork, did the honors; Sylvia, leaning on her arm, dropped cornafter corn into a baby mouth that bird-like always gaped for more; andTilly lay luxuriously between them, warming her little feet as she ateand babbled to the flames.The clock was on the stroke of eight, the revel at its height, when thedoor opened and a servant announced--"Miss Dane and Mr. Warwick."An impressive pause followed, broken by a crow from Tilly, who seizedthis propitious moment to bury one hand in the nuts and with the othercapture the big red apple which had been denied her. The sound seemed todissipate the blank surprise that had fallen on all parties, and broughtboth host and hostess to their feet, the former exclaiming, heartily--"Welcome, friends, to a modern saturnalia and the bosom of the HappyFamily!""I fear you did not expect me so late," said Miss Dane. "I was detainedat the time fixed upon and gave it up, but Mr. Warwick came, and we setoff together. Pray don't disturb yourselves, but let us enjoy the gamewith you.""You and Adam are guests who never come too early or too late. We areplaying children to-night, so just put yourselves back a dozen years andlet us all be merry together. Sylvia, this our cousin, Faith here isyour new kinswoman. Please love one another as little people arecommanded to do."A short stir ensued while hands were shaken, wraps put off, and somedegree of order restored to the room, then they all sat down and beganto talk. With well bred oblivion of the short gown and long braids ofher bashful-looking hostess, Miss Dane suggested and discussed varioussubjects of mutual interest, while Sylvia tried to keep her eyes fromwandering to the mirror opposite, which reflected the figures of herhusband and his friend.Warwick sat erect in the easy-chair, for he never lounged; and Moor,still supporting his character, was perched upon the arm, talking withboyish vivacity. Every sense being unwontedly alert, Sylvia foundherself listening to both guests at once, and bearing her own part inone conversation so well that occasional lapses were only attributed tonatural embarrassment. What she and Miss Dane said she never remembered;what the other pair talked of she never forgot. The first words shecaught were her husband's."You see I have begun to live for myself, Adam.""I also see that it agrees with you excellently.""Better than with you, for you are not looking like your old self,though June made you happy, I hope?""If freedom is happiness it did.""Are you still alone?""More so than ever."Sylvia lost the next words, for a look showed her Moor's hand on Adam'sshoulder, and that for the first time within her memory Warwick did notmeet his friend's glance with one as open, but bent his eyes upon theground, while his hand went to and fro across his lips as if to steadythem. It was a gesture she remembered well, for though self-controlcould keep the eye clear, the voice firm, that half-hidden mouth of hissometimes rebelled and grew tremulous as a woman's. The sight and theanswer set her heart beating with the thought, "Why has he come?" Therepetition of a question by Miss Dane recalled her from a dangerousmemory, and when that friendly lady entered upon another long sentenceto relieve her young hostess, she heard Moor say--"You have had too much solitude, Adam; I am sure of it, for no man canlive long alone and not get the uncanny look you have. What have youbeen at?""Fighting the old fight with this unruly self of mine, and getting readyfor another tussle with the Adversary, in whatever shape he may appear.""And now you are come to your friend for the social solace which thehaughtiest heart hungers for when most alone. You shall have it. Staywith us, Adam, and remember that whatever changes come to me my home isalways yours.""I know it, Geoffrey. I wanted to see your happiness before I go awayagain, and should like to stay with you a day or so if you are surethat--that she would like it."Moor laughed and pulled a lock of the brown mane, as if to tease thelion into a display of the spirit he seemed to have lost."How shy you are of speaking the new name! 'She' will like it, I assureyou, for she makes my friends hers. Sylvia, come here, and tell Adam heis welcome; he dares to doubt it. Come and talk over old times, while Ido the same with Faith."She went, trembling inwardly, but outwardly composed, for she tookrefuge in one of those commonplace acts which in such moments we gladlyperform, and bless in our secret souls. She had often wondered wherethey would next meet, and how she should comport herself at such atrying time. She had never imagined that he would come in this way, orthat a hearth-brush would save her from the betrayal of emotion. So itwas, however, and an involuntary smile passed over her face as shemanaged to say quite naturally, while brushing the nutshells tidily outof sight--"You know you are always welcome, Mr. Warwick. 'Adam's Room,' as we callit, is always ready, and Geoffrey was wishing for you only yesterday.""I am sure of his satisfaction at my coming, can I be equally sure ofyours. May I, ought I to stay?"He leaned forward as he spoke, with an eager yet submissive look, thatSylvia dared not meet, and in her anxiety to preserve herself-possession, she forgot that to this listener every uttered wordbecame a truth, because his own were always so."Why not, if you can bear our quiet life, for we are a Darby and Joanalready, though we do not look so to-night, I acknowledge."Men seldom understand the subterfuges women instinctively use to concealmany a natural emotion which they are not strong enough to control, notbrave enough to confess. To Warwick, Sylvia seemed almost careless, herwords a frivolous answer to the real meaning of his question, her smileone of tranquil welcome. Her manner wrought an instant change in him,and when he spoke again he was the Warwick of a year ago."I hesitated, Mrs. Moor, because I have sometimes heard young wivescomplain that their husbands' friends were marplots, and I have nodesire to be one."This speech, delivered with frosty gravity, made Sylvia as cool andquiet as itself. She put her ally down, looked full at Warwick, and saidwith a blending of dignity and cordiality which even the pinafore couldnot destroy--"Please to consider yourself a specially invited guest, now and always.Never hesitate, but come and go as freely as you used to do, for nothingneed be changed between us three because two of us have one home tooffer you.""Thanks; and now that the hearth is scrupulously clean may I offer you achair?"The old keenness was in his eye, the old firmness about the mouth, theold satirical smile on his lips as Warwick presented the seat, with aninclination that to her seemed ironical. She sat down, but when she castabout her mind for some safe and easy topic to introduce, every idea hadfled; even memory and fancy turned traitors; not a lively sally could befound, not a pleasant remembrance returned to help her, and she satdumb. Before the dreadful pause grew awkward, however, rescue came inthe form of Tilly. Nothing daunted by the severe simplicity of herattire she planted herself before Warwick, and shaking her hair out ofher eyes stared at him with an inquiring glance and cheeks as red as herapple. She seemed satisfied in a moment, and climbing to his kneeestablished herself there, coolly taking possession of his watch, andexamining the brown beard curiously as it parted with the white flash ofteeth, when Warwick smiled his warmest smile."This recalls the night you fed the sparrow in your hand. Do youremember, Adam?" and Sylvia looked and spoke like her old self again."I seldom forget anything. But pleasant as that hour was this is more tome, for the bird flew away, the baby stays and gives me what I need."He wrapt the child closer in his arms, leaned his dark head on thebright one, and took the little feet into his hand with a fatherly lookthat caused Tilly to pat his cheek and begin an animated recital of somenursery legend, which ended in a sudden gape, reminding Sylvia that oneof her guests was keeping late hours."What comes next?" asked Warwick."Now I lay me and byelow in the trib," answered Tilly, stretchingherself over his arm with a great yawn.Warwick kissed the rosy half-open mouth and seemed loth to part with thepious baby, for he took the shawl Sylvia brought and did up the drowsybundle himself. While so busied she stole a furtive glance at him,having looked without seeing before. Thinner and browner, but strongerthan ever was the familiar face she saw, yet neither sad nor stern, forthe grave gentleness which had been a fugitive expression before nowseemed habitual. This, with the hand at the lips and the slow droppingof the eyes, were the only tokens of the sharp experience he had beenpassing through. Born for conflict and endurance, he seemed to havemanfully accepted the sweet uses of adversity and grown the richer forhis loss.Those who themselves are quick to suffer, are also quick to see themarks of suffering in others; that hasty scrutiny assured Sylvia of allshe had yearned to know, yet wrung her heart with a pity the deeper forits impotence. Tilly's heavy head drooped between her bearer and thelight as they left the room, but in the dusky hall a few hot tears fellon the baby's hair, and her new nurse lingered long after the lullabywas done. When she reappeared the girlish dress was gone, and she wasMadam Moor again, as her husband called her when she assumed her statelyair. All smiled at the change, but he alone spoke of it."I win the applause, Sylvia; for I sustain my character to the end,while you give up before the curtain falls. You are not so good anactress as I thought you."Sylvia's smile was sadder than her tears as she briefly answered--"No, I find I cannot be a child again."