CHAPTER XV.

by Louisa May Alcott

　　EARLY AND LATE.One of Sylvia's first acts when she rose was most significant. She shookdown her abundant hair, carefully arranged a part in thick curls overcheeks and forehead, gathered the rest into its usual coil, and said toherself, as she surveyed her face half hidden in the shining cloud--"It looks very sentimental, and I hate the weakness that drives me toit, but it must be done, because my face is such a traitor. PoorGeoffrey! he said I was no actress; I am learning fast."Why every faculty seemed sharpened, every object assumed an unwontedinterest, and that quiet hour possessed an excitement that made her ownroom and countenance look strange to her, she would not ask herself, asshe paused on the threshold of the door to ascertain if her guests werestirring. Nothing was heard but the sound of regular footfalls on thewalk before the door, and with an expression of relief she slowly wentdown. Moor was taking his morning walk bareheaded in the sun. UsuallySylvia ran to join him, but now she stood musing on the steps, until hesaw and came to her. As he offered the flower always ready for her, hesaid smiling--"Did the play last night so captivate you, that you go back to thecurls, because you cannot keep the braids?""A sillier whim than that, even. I am afraid of those two people; and asI am so quick to show my feelings in my face, I intend to hide behindthis veil if I get shy or troubled. Did you think I could be so artful?""Your craft amazes me. But, dearest child, you need not be afraid ofFaith and Adam. Both already love you for my sake, and soon will foryour own. Both are so much older, that they can easily overlook anylittle short-coming, in consideration of your youth. Sylvia, I want totell you something about Adam. I never spoke of it before, because,although no promise of silence was asked or given, I knew he consideredit a confidence. Now that it is all over, I know that I may tell mywife, and she will help me comfort him.""Tell on, Geoffrey, I hear you.""Well, dear, when we went gypsying long ago, on the night you and Adamlost the boat, as I sat drying your boots, and privately adoring them inspite of the mud, I made a discovery. Adam loved, was on some sort ofprobation, and would be married in June. He was slow to speak of it, butI understood, and last night when I went to his room with him, I askedhow he had fared. Sylvia, it would have made your heart ache to haveseen his face, as he said in that brief way of his--'Geoffrey, the womanI loved is married, ask me nothing more.' I never shall; but I know, bythe change I see in him, that the love was very dear, the wound verydeep.""Poor Adam! how can we help him?""Let him do as he likes. I will take him to his old haunts, and busy himwith my affairs till he forgets his own. In the evenings we will havePrue, Mark, and Jessie over here, will surround him with socialinfluences, and make the last hours of the day the cheerfullest; thenhe won't lie awake and think all night, as I suspect he has been doingof late. Sylvia, I should like to see that woman; though I could find itin my heart to hate her for her perfidy to such a man."Sylvia's head was bent as if to inhale the sweetness of the flower sheheld, and all her husband saw was the bright hair blowing in the wind."I pity her for her loss as well as hate her. Now, let us talk ofsomething else, or my tell-tale face will betray that we have beentalking of him, when we meet Adam."They did so, and when Warwick put up his curtain, the first sight hesaw, was his friend walking with his young wife under the red-leavedmaples, in the sunshine. The look Moor had spoken of, came into hiseyes, darkening them with the shadow of despair. A moment it gloomedthere, then passed, for Honor said reproachfully to Love--"They arehappy, should not that content you?""It shall!" answered the master of both, as he dropped the curtain andturned away.In pursuance of his kindly plan, Moor took Adam out for a long trampsoon after breakfast, and Sylvia and Miss Dane sat down to sew. In theabsence of the greater fear, Sylvia soon forgot the lesser one, andbegan to feel at ease to study her new relative and covet her esteem.Faith was past thirty, shapely and tall, with much natural dignity ofcarriage, and a face never beautiful, but always singularly attractivefrom its mild and earnest character. Looking at her, one felt assuredthat here was a right womanly woman, gentle, just, and true; possessedof a well-balanced mind, a self-reliant soul, and that fine gift whichis so rare, the power of acting as a touchstone to all who approached,forcing them to rise or fall to their true level, unconscious of thetest applied. Her presence was comfortable, her voice had motherly tonesin it, her eyes a helpful look. Even the soft hue of her dress, thebrown gloss of her hair, the graceful industry of her hands, had theirattractive influence. Sylvia saw and felt these things with thequickness of her susceptible temperament, and found herself so warmedand won, that soon it cost her an effort to withhold anything that triedor troubled her, for Faith was a born consoler, and Sylvia's heart wasfull.However gloomy her day might have been she always brightened in theevening as naturally as moths begin to flutter when candles come. On theevening of this day the friendly atmosphere about her, and theexcitement of Warwick's presence so affected her, that though the gayetyof girlhood was quite gone she looked as softly brilliant as some lateflower that has gathered the summer to itself and gives it out again inthe bloom and beauty of a single hour.When tea was over, for heroes and heroines must eat if they are to doanything worth the paper on which their triumphs and tribulations arerecorded, the women gathered about the library table, work in hand, asfemale tongues go easier when their fingers are occupied. Sylvia leftPrue and Jessie to enjoy Faith, and while she fabricated some triflewith scarlet silk and an ivory shuttle, she listened to the conversationof the gentlemen who roved about the room till a remark of Prue'sbrought the party together."Helen Chesterfield has run away from her husband in the mostdisgraceful manner."Mark and Moor drew near, Adam leaned on the chimney-piece, the workerspaused, and having produced her sensation, Prue proceeded to gratifytheir curiosity as briefly as possible, for all knew the parties inquestion and all waited anxiously to hear particulars."She married a Frenchman old enough to be her father, but very rich. Shethought she loved him, but when she got tired of her fine establishment,and the novelties of Paris, she found she did not, and was miserable.Many of her new friends had lovers, so why should not she; and presentlyshe began to amuse herself with this Louis Gustave Isadore Theodule deRoueville--There's a name for a Christian man! Well, she began in play,grew in earnest, and when she could bear her domestic trouble no longershe just ran away, ruining herself for this life, and really I don'tknow but for the next also.""Poor soul! I always thought she was a fool, but upon my word I pityher," said Mark."Remember she was very young, so far away from her mother, with no realfriend to warn and help her, and love is so sweet. No wonder she went.""Sylvia, how can you excuse her in that way? She should have done herduty whether she loved the old gentleman or not, and kept her troublesto herself in a proper manner. You young girls think so much of love, solittle of moral obligations, decorum, and the opinions of the world, youare not fit judges of the case. Mr. Warwick agrees with me, I am sure.""Not in the least.""Do you mean to say that Helen should have left her husband?""Certainly, if she could not love him.""Do you also mean to say that she did right to run off with that GustaveIsadore Theodule creature?""By no means. It is worse than folly to attempt the righting of onewrong by the commission of another.""Then what in the world should she have done?""She should have honestly decided which she loved, have frankly told thehusband the mistake both had made, and demanded her liberty. If thelover was worthy, have openly married him and borne the world'scensures. If not worthy, have stood alone, an honest woman in God'seyes, whatever the blind world might have thought."Prue was scandalized to the last degree, for with her marriage was morea law than a gospel; a law which ordained that a pair once yoked shouldabide by their bargain, be it good or ill, and preserve the proprietiesin public no matter how hot a hell their home might be for them and fortheir children."What a dreadful state society would be in if your ideas were adopted!People would constantly be finding out that they were mismatched, and gorunning about as if playing that game where every one changes places.I'd rather die at once than live to see such a state of things as that,"said the worthy spinster."So would I, and recommend prevention rather than a dangerous cure.""I really should like to hear your views, Mr. Warwick, for you quitetake my breath away."Much to Sylvia's surprise Adam appeared to like the subject, and placedhis views at Prue's disposal with alacrity."I would begin at the beginning, and teach young people that marriage isnot the only aim and end of life, yet would fit them for it, as for asacrament too high and holy to be profaned by a light word or thought.Show them how to be worthy of it and how to wait for it. Give them alaw of life both cheerful and sustaining; a law that shall keep themhopeful if single, sure that here or hereafter they will find that otherself and be accepted by it; happy if wedded, for their own integrity ofheart will teach them to know the true god when he comes, and keep themloyal to the last.""That is all very excellent and charming, but what are the poor souls todo who haven't been educated in this fine way?" asked Prue."Unhappy marriages are the tragedies of our day, and will be, till welearn that there are truer laws to be obeyed than those customsanctions, other obstacles than inequalities of fortune, rank, and age.Because two persons love, it is not always safe or wise for them tomarry, nor need it necessarily wreck their peace to live apart. Oftenwhat seems the best affection of our hearts does more for us by beingthwarted than if granted its fulfilment and prove a failure whichembitters two lives instead of sweetening one."He paused there, but Prue wanted a clearer answer, and turned to Faith,sure that the woman would take her own view of the matter."Which of us is right, Miss Dane, in Helen's case?""I cannot venture to judge the young lady, knowing so little of hercharacter or the influences that have surrounded her, and believing thata certain divine example is best for us to follow at such times. I agreewith Mr. Warwick, but not wholly, for his summary mode of adjustmentwould not be quite just nor right in all cases. If both find that theydo not love, the sooner they part the wiser; if one alone makes thediscovery the case is sadder still, and harder for either to decide. Butas I speak from observation only my opinions are of little worth.""Of great worth, Miss Dane; for to women like yourself observation oftendoes the work of experience, and despite your modesty I wait to hear theopinions."Warwick spoke, and spoke urgently, for the effect of all this uponSylvia was too absorbing a study to be relinquished yet. As he turned toher, Faith gave him an intelligent glance, and answered like onespeaking with intention and to some secret but serious issue--"You shall have them. Let us suppose that Helen was a woman possessed ofa stronger character, a deeper nature; the husband a younger, noblerman; the lover truly excellent, and above even counselling the step thispair have taken. In a case like that the wife, having promised to guardanother's happiness, should sincerely endeavor to do so, rememberingthat in making the joy of others we often find our own, and that havingmade so great a mistake the other should not bear all the loss. If therebe a strong attachment on the husband's part, and he a man worthy ofaffection and respect, who has given himself confidingly, believinghimself beloved by the woman he so loves, she should leave no effortunmade, no self-denial unexacted, till she has proved beyond all doubtthat it is impossible to be a true wife. Then, and not till then, hasshe the right to dissolve the tie that has become a sin, because whereno love lives inevitable suffering and sorrow enter in, falling not onlyupon guilty parents, but the innocent children who may be given them.""And the lover, what of him?" asked Adam, still intent upon his purpose,for, though he looked steadily at Faith, he knew that Sylvia drove theshuttle in and out with a desperate industry that made her silencesignificant to him."I would have the lover suffer and wait; sure that, however it may farewith him, he will be the richer and the better for having known the joyand pain of love.""Thank you." And to Mark's surprise Warwick bowed gravely, and Miss Daneresumed her work with a preoccupied air."Well, for a confirmed celibate, it strikes me you take a remarkableinterest in matrimony," said Mark. "Or is it merely a base desire tospeculate upon the tribulations of your fellow-beings, and congratulateyourself upon your escape from them?""Neither; I not only pity and long to alleviate them, but have a strongdesire to share them, and the wish and purpose of my life for the lastyear has been to marry."Outspoken as Warwick was at all times and on all subjects, there wassomething in this avowal that touched those present, for with the wordsa quick rising light and warmth illuminated his whole countenance, andthe energy of his desire tuned his voice to a key which caused one heartto beat fast, one pair of eyes to fill with sudden tears. Moor could notsee his friend's face, but he saw Mark's, divined the indiscreet inquiryhovering on his lips, and arrested it with a warning gesture.A pause ensued, during which each person made some mental comment on thelast speech, and to several of the group that little moment was amemorable one. Remembering the lost love Warwick had confessed to him,Moor thought with friendliest regret--"Poor Adam, he finds it impossibleto forget." Reading the truth in the keen delight the instant broughther, Sylvia cried out within herself, "Oh, Geoffrey, forgive me, for Ilove him!" and Warwick whispered to that impetuous heart of his, "Bestill, we have ventured far enough."Prue spoke first, very much disturbed by having her prejudices andopinions opposed, and very anxious to prove herself in the right."Mark and Geoffrey look as if they agreed with Mr. Warwick inhis--excuse me if I say, dangerous ideas; but I fancy the personalapplication of them would change their minds. Now, Mark, just look atit; suppose some one of Jessie's lovers should discover an affinity forher, and she for him, what would you do?""Shoot him or myself, or all three, and make a neat little tragedy ofit.""There is no getting a serious answer from you, and I wonder I ever try.Geoffrey, I put the case to you; if Sylvia should find she adored JulianHaize, who fell sick when she was married, you know, and should informyou of that agreeable fact some fine day, should you think it quitereasonable and right to say, 'Go, my dear, I'm very sorry, but it can'tbe helped.'"The way in which Prue put the case made it impossible for her hearersnot to laugh. But Sylvia held her breath while waiting for her husband'sanswer. He was standing behind her chair, and spoke with the smile stillon his lips, too confident to harbor even a passing fancy."Perhaps I ought to be generous enough to do so, but not being a Jaques,with a convenient glacier to help me out of the predicament, I am afraidI should be hard to manage. I love but few, and those few are my world;so do not try me too hardly, Sylvia.""I shall do my best, Geoffrey."She dropped her shuttle as she spoke, and stooping to pick it up, downswept the long curls over either cheek; thus, when she fell to workagain, nothing of her face was visible but a glimpse of forehead, blacklashes and faintly smiling mouth. Moor led the conversation to othertopics, and was soon deep in an art discussion with Mark and Miss Dane,while Prue and Jessie chatted away on that safe subject, dress. ButSylvia worked silently, and Warwick still leaned there watching the busyhand as if he saw something more than a pretty contrast between thewhite fingers and the scarlet silk.When the other guests had left, and Faith and himself had gone to theirrooms, Warwick, bent on not passing another sleepless night full ofunprofitable longings, went down again to get a book. The library wasstill lighted, and standing there alone he saw Sylvia, wearing anexpression that startled him. Both hands pushed back and held her hairaway as if she scorned concealment from herself. Her eyes seemed fixedwith a despairing glance on some invisible disturber of her peace. Allthe light and color that made her beautiful were gone, leaving her faceworn and old, and the language of both countenance and attitude was thatof one suddenly confronted with some hard fact, some heavy duty, thatmust be accepted and performed.This revelation lasted but a moment, Moor's step came down the hall, thehair fell, the anguish passed, and nothing but a wan and weary faceremained. But Warwick had seen it, and as he stole away unperceived hepressed his hands together, saying mournfully within himself, "I wasmistaken. God help us all."