CHAPTER XI.

by Louisa May Alcott

　　WOOING.Nothing could have been more unlike than the two pairs of lovers whofrom April to August haunted Mr. Yule's house. One pair was of thepopular order, for Mark was tenderly tyrannical, Jessie adoringlysubmissive, and at all hours of the day they were to be seen makingtableaux of themselves. The other pair were of the peculiar order,undemonstrative and unsentimental, but quite as happy. Moor knew hispower, but used it generously, asking little while giving much. Sylviaas yet found nothing to regret, for so gently was she taught, the lessoncould not seem hard, and when her affection remained unchanged in kind,although it deepened in degree, she said within herself--"That strong and sudden passion was not true love, but an unwise,unhappy delusion of my own. I should be glad that it is gone, because Iknow I am not fit to be Warwick's wife. This quiet feeling whichGeoffrey inspires must be a safer love for me, and I should be gratefulthat in making his happiness I may yet find my own."She tried heartily to forget herself in others, unconscious that thereare times when the duty we owe ourselves is greater than that we owe tothem. In the atmosphere of cheerfulness that now surrounded her shecould not but be cheerful, and soon it would have been difficult to finda more harmonious household than this. One little cloud alone remainedto mar the general sunshine. Mark was in a frenzy to be married, but hadset his heart on a double wedding, and Sylvia would not fix the time,always pleading--"Let me be quite sure of myself before I take this step, and do notwait."Matters stood thus till Mark, having prepared his honeymoon cottage, asa relief to his impatience, found it so irresistible that he announcedhis marriage for the first of August, and declared no human power shouldchange his purpose. Sylvia promised to think of it, but gave no decidedanswer, for though she would hardly own it to herself she longed toremain free till June was past. It came and went without a sign, andJuly began before the longing died a sudden death, and she consented tobe married.Mark and Jessie came in from the city one warm morning and found Sylviasitting idly in the hall. She left her preparations all to Prue, whorevelled in such things, and applied herself diligently to her lesson asif afraid she might not learn it as she should. Half way up stairs Markturned and said, laughing--"Sylvia, I saw Searle to-day,--one of the fellows whom we met on theriver last summer,--and he began to tell me something about André andthe splendid cousin, who is married and gone abroad it seems. I did nothear much, for Jessie was waiting; but you remember the handsome Cubanswe saw at Christmas, don't you?""Yes, I remember.""Well, I thought you'd like to know that the lad had gone home toCleopatra's wedding, so you cannot have him to dance at yours. Have youforgotten how you waltzed that night?""No, I've not forgotten."Mark went off to consult Prue, and Jessie began to display her purchasesbefore eyes that only saw a blur of shapes and colors, and expatiateupon their beauties to ears that only heard the words--"The splendidcousin is married and gone abroad.""I should enjoy these pretty things a thousand times more if you wouldplease us all by being married when we are," sighed Jessie, looking ather pearls."I will.""What, really? Sylvia, you are a perfect darling! Mark! Prue! she saysshe will!"Away flew Jessie to proclaim the glad tidings, and Sylvia, with acurious expression of relief, regret, and resolve, repeated to herselfthat decided--"I will."Every one took care that Miss Caprice should not have time to change hermind. The whole house was soon in a bustle, for Prue ruled supreme. Mr.Yule fled from the din of women's tongues, the bridegrooms were kept ona very short allowance of bride, and Sylvia and Jessie were almostinvisible, for milliners and mantua-makers swarmed about them till theyfelt like animated pin-cushions. The last evening came at length, andSylvia was just planning an escape into the garden when Prue, whosetongue wagged as rapidly as her hands worked, exclaimed--"How can you stand staring out of window when there is so much to do?Here are all these trunks to pack, Maria in her bed with every tooth ina frightful state of inflammation, and that capable Jane What's-her-namegone off while I was putting a chamomile poultice on her face. If youare tired sit down and try on all your shoes, for though Mr. Peggit hasyour measure, those absurd clerks seem to think it a compliment to sendchildren's sizes to grown women. I'm sure my rubbers were a perfectinsult."Sylvia sat down, tugged on one boot and fell into a reverie with theother in her hand, while Prue clacked on like a wordmill in fulloperation."How I'm ever to get all these gowns into that trunk passes mycomprehension. There's a tray for each, of course; but a ball dress issuch a fractious thing. I could shake that Antoinette Roche fordisappointing you at the last minute; and what you are to do for a maid,I don't know. You'll have so much dressing to do you will be quite wornout; and I want you to look your best on all occasions, for you willmeet everybody. This collar won't wear well; Clara hasn't a particle ofjudgment, though her taste is sweet. These hose, now, are a good, firmarticle; I chose them myself. Do be sure you get all your things fromthe wash. At those great hotels there's a deal of pilfering, and you areso careless."Here Sylvia came out of her reverie with a sigh that was almost a groan."Don't they fit? I knew they wouldn't!" said Prue, with an air oftriumph."The boots suit me, but the hotels do not; and if it was not ungrateful,after all your trouble, I should like to make a bonfire of this roomfulof haberdashery, and walk quietly away to my new home by the light ofit."As if the bare idea of such an awful proceeding robbed her of allstrength, Miss Yule sat suddenly down in the trunk by which she wasstanding. Fortunately it was nearly full, but her appearance wasdecidedly ludicrous as she sat with the collar in one uplifted hand, thehose in the other, and the ball dress laid over her lap like a faintinglady; while she said, with imploring solemnity, which changed abruptlyfrom the pathetic to the comic at the end of her speech--"Sylvia, if I ever cherished a wish in this world of disappointment, itis that your wedding shall have nothing peculiar about it, because everyfriend and relation you've got expects it. Do let me have the comfort ofknowing that every one was surprised and pleased; for if the expressionwas elegant (which it isn't, and only suggested by my trials with thosedressmakers), I should say I was on pins and needles till it's all over.Bless me! and so I am, for here are three on the floor and one in myshoe." Prue paused to extract the appropriate figure of speech which shehad chosen, and Sylvia said--"If we have everything else as you wish it, would you mind if we didn'tgo the journey?""Of course I should. Every one goes a wedding trip, it's part of theceremony; and if two carriages and two bridal pairs don't leave hereto-morrow, I shall feel as if all my trouble had been thrown away.""I'll go, Prue, I'll go; and you shall be satisfied. But I thought wemight go from here in style, and then slip off on some quieter trip. Iam so tired I dread the idea of frolicking for a whole month, as Markand Jessie mean to do."It was Prue's turn to groan now, and she did so dismally. But Sylvia hadnever asked a favor in vain, and this was not the moment to refuse toher anything, so worldly pride yielded to sisterly affection, and Pruesaid with resignation, as she fell to work more vigorously than ever,because she had wasted five good minutes--"Do as you like, dear, you shall not be crossed on your last day athome. Ask Geoffrey, and if you are happy I'm satisfied."Before Sylvia could thank her sister there came a tap and a voiceasking--"Might I come in?""If you can get in," answered Prue, as, reversing her plan in her hurry,she whisked the collar into a piecebag and the hose into a bandbox.Moor paused on the threshold in a masculine maze, that one small personcould need so much drapery."May I borrow Sylvia for a little while? A breath of air will do hergood, and I want her bright and blooming for to-morrow, else young Mrs.Yule will outshine young Mrs. Moor.""What a thoughtful creature you are, Geoffrey. Take her and welcome,only pray put on a shawl, Sylvia, and don't stay out late, for a bridewith a cold in her head is the saddest of spectacles."Glad to be released Sylvia went away, and, dropping the shawl as soon asshe was out of Prue's sight, paced up and down the garden walks upon herlover's arm. Having heard her wish and given a hearty assent Moorasked--"Where shall we go? Tell me what you would like best and you shall haveit. You will not let me give you many gifts, but this pleasure you willaccept from me I know.""You give me yourself, that is more than I deserve. But I should like tohave you take me to the place you like best. Don't tell me beforehand,let it be a surprise.""I will, it is already settled, and I know you will like it. Is there noother wish to be granted, no doubt to be set at rest, or regret withheldthat I should know? Tell me, Sylvia, for if ever there should beconfidence between us it is now."As he spoke the desire to tell him of her love for Adam rose within her,but with the desire came a thought that modified the form in whichimpulse prompted her to make confession. Moor was both sensitive andproud, would not the knowledge of the fact mar for him the friendshipthat was so much to both? From Warwick he would never learn it, from herhe should have only a half confidence, and so love both friend and wifewith an untroubled heart. Few of us can always control the rebelliousnature that so often betrays and then reproaches, few always weigh themoment and the act that bans or blesses it, and where is the life thathas not known some turning-point when a fugitive emotion has decidedgreat issues for good or ill? Such an emotion came to Sylvia then, andanother temptation, wearing the guise of generosity, urged her toanother false step, for when the first is taken a second inevitablyfollows."I have no wish, no regret, nothing but the old doubt of my unstableself, and the fear that I may fail to make you happy. But I should liketo tell you something. I don't know that you will care for it, or thatthere is any need to tell it, but when you said there should beconfidence between us, I felt that I wanted you to know that I had lovedsome one before I loved you."He did not see her face, he only heard her quiet voice. He had nothought of Adam, whom she had known so short a time, who was alreadybound; he only fancied that she spoke of some young lover who hadtouched her heart, and while he smiled at the nice sense of honor thatprompted the innocent confession, he said, with no coldness, nocuriosity in voice or face--"No need to tell it, dear. I have no jealousy of any one who has gonebefore me. Rest assured of this, for if I could not share so large aheart with one who will never claim my share I should not deserve it.""That is so like you! Now I am quite at ease."He looked down at her as she went beside him, thinking that of all thebrides he had ever seen his own looked least like one."I always thought that you would make a very ardent lover, Sylvia. Thatyou would be excited, gay, and brilliant at a time like this. But youare so quiet, so absorbed, and so unlike your former self that I beginto think I do not know you yet.""You will in time. I am passionate and restless by nature, but I am alsovery sensitive to all influences, personal or otherwise, and were youdifferent from your tranquil, sunshiny self, I too should change. I amquiet because I seem in a pleasant state, half-waking, half dreaming,from which I never wish to wake. I am tired of the past, contented withthe present, and to you I leave the future.""It shall be a happy one if I can make it so, and to-morrow you willgive me the dear right to try.""Yes," she said, and thinking of the solemn promises to be then made,she added, thoughtfully, "I think I love, I know I honor, I will try toobey. Can I do more?"Well for them both if they could have known that friendship is love'stwin, and the gentle sisters are too often mistaken for each other.That Sylvia was innocently deceiving both her lover and herself, bywrapping her friendship in the garb her lost love had worn, forgettingthat the wanderer might return and claim its own, leaving the other tosuffer for the borrowed warmth. They did not know it, and walkedtranquilly together in the summer night, planning the new life as theywent, and when they parted Moor pointed to a young moon hanging in thesky."See, Sylvia, our honeymoon has risen.""May it be a happy one!""It will be, and when the anniversary of this glad night comes round itshall be shining still. God bless my little wife."