CHAPTER XIII.

by Louisa May Alcott

　　SYLVIA'S HONEYMOON.It began with a pleasant journey. Day after day they loitered alongcountry roads that led them through many scenes of summer beauty;pausing at old-fashioned inns and wayside farmhouses, or gipsying atnoon in some green nook where their four-footed comrades dined off theirtablecloth while they made merry over the less simple fare their lasthostess had provided for them. When the scenery was uninteresting, aswas sometimes the case, for Nature will not disturb her domesticarrangements for any bridal pair, one or the other read aloud, or bothsang, while conversation was a never-failing pastime and silence hadcharms which they could enjoy. Sometimes they walked a mile or two, randown a hillside, rustled through a grain field, strolled into anorchard, or feasted from fruitful hedges by the way, as care-free as thesquirrels on the wall, or the jolly brown bees lunching at the sign of"The Clover-top." They made friends with sheep in meadows, cows at thebrook, travellers morose or bland, farmers full of a sturdy sense thatmade their chat as wholesome as the mould they delved in; schoolchildren barefooted and blithe, and specimens of womankind, from thebuxom housewife who took them under her motherly wing at once, to thesour, snuffy, shoe-binding spinster with "No Admittance" written allover her face.To Moor the world was glorified with the purple light which seldomtouches it but once for any of us; the journey was a wedding march, madebeautiful by summer, victorious by joy; his young wife the queen ofwomen, and himself an equal of the gods because no longer conscious of awant. Sylvia could not be otherwise than happy, for finding unboundedliberty and love her portion, she had nothing to regret, and regardedmarriage as an agreeable process which had simply changed her name andgiven her protector, friend, and lover all in one. She was therefore hersweetest and sincerest self, miraculously docile, and charmingly gay;interested in all she saw, and quite overflowing with delight when thelast days of the week betrayed the secret that her destination was themountains.Loving the sea so well, her few flights from home had given her onlymarine experiences, and the flavor of entire novelty was added to thefeast her husband had provided for her. It came to her not only when shecould enjoy it most, but when she needed it most, soothing the unquiet,stimulating the nobler elements which ruled her life by turns andfitting her for what lay before her. Choosing the quietest roads, Moorshowed her the wonders of a region whose wild grandeur and beauty makeits memory a life-long satisfaction. Day after day they followedmountain paths, studying the changes of an ever-varying landscape,watching the flush of dawn redden the granite fronts of these Titansscarred with centuries of storm, the lustre of noon brood over themuntil they smiled, the evening purple wrap them in its splendor, ormoonlight touch them with its magic; till Sylvia, always looking up atthat which filled her heart with reverence and awe, was led to lookbeyond, and through the medium of the friend beside her learned thathuman love brings us nearer to the Divine, and is the surest means tothat great end.The last week of the honeymoon came all too soon, for then they hadpromised to return. The crowning glory of the range was left until thelast, and after a day of memorable delights Sylvia sat in the sunsetfeasting her eyes upon the wonders of a scene which is indescribable,for words have limits and that is apparently illimitable. Presently Moorcame to her asking--"Will you join a party to the great ice palace, and see three acres ofsnow in August, worn by a waterfall into a cathedral, as white if not asdurable as any marble?""I sit so comfortably here I think I had rather not. But you must gobecause you like such wonders, and I shall rest till you come back.""Then I shall take myself off and leave you to muse over the pleasuresof the day, which for a few hours has made you one of the most eminentwomen this side the Rocky Mountains. There is a bugle at the house herewith which to make the echoes, I shall take it with me, and from time totime send up a sweet reminder that you are not to stray away and loseyourself."Sylvia sat for half an hour, then wearied by the immensity of the widelandscape she tried to rest her mind by examining the beauties close athand. Strolling down the path the sight-seers had taken, she foundherself in a rocky basin, scooped in the mountain side like a cup for alittle pool, so clear and bright it looked a diamond set in jet. Afringe of scanty herbage had collected about its brim, russet mosses,purple heath, and delicate white flowers, like a band of tiny hillpeople keeping their revels by some fairy well. The spot attracted her,and remembering that she was not to stray away, she sat down beside thepath to wait for her husband's return.In the act of bending over the pool to sprinkle the thirsty littlecompany about it, her hand was arrested by the tramp of approachingfeet, and looking up to discover who was the disturber of her retreat,she saw a man pausing at the top of the path opposite to that by whichshe had come. He seemed scrutinizing the solitary occupant of the dellbefore descending; but as she turned her face to him he flung awayknapsack, hat, and staff, and then with a great start she saw nostranger, but Adam Warwick. Coming down to her so joyfully, soimpetuously, she had only time to recognise him, and cry out, when shewas swept up in an embrace as tender as irresistible, and lay thereconscious of nothing, but that happiness like some strong swift angelhad wrapt her away into the promised land so long believed in, hungeredfor, and despaired of, as forever lost. Soon she heard his voice,breathless, eager, but so fond it seemed another voice than his."My darling! did you think I should never come?""I thought you had forgotten me, I knew you were married. Adam, put medown."But he only held her closer, and laughed such a happy laugh that Sylviafelt the truth before he uttered it."How could I marry, loving you? How could I forget you even if I hadnever come to tell you this? Sylvia, I know much that has passed.Geoffrey's failure gave me courage to hope for success, and that themute betrothal made with a look so long ago had been to you all it hasbeen to me.""Adam, you are both right and wrong,--you do not know all,--let me tellyou,"--began Sylvia, as these proofs of ignorance brought her to herselfwith a shock of recollection and dismay. But Warwick was as absolute inhis happiness as he had been in his self-denial, and took possession ofher mentally as well as physically with a despotism too welcome andentire to be at once resisted."You shall tell me nothing till I have shown the cause of myhard-seeming silence. I must throw off that burden first, then I willlisten to you until morning if you will. I have earned this moment by ayear of effort, let me keep you here and enjoy it without alloy."The old charm had lost none of its power, for absence seemed to havegifted it with redoubled potency, the confirmation of that early hope tograce it with redoubled warmth. Sylvia let him keep her, feeling that hehad earned that small reward for a year's endeavor, resolving to grantall now left her to bestow, a few moments more of blissful ignorance,then to show him his loss and comfort him, sure that her husband wouldfind no disloyalty in a compassion scarcely less deep and self-forgetfulthan his own would have been had he shared their secret. Only pausing toplace himself upon the seat she had left, Warwick put off her hat, andturning her face to his regarded it with such unfeigned and entirecontent her wavering purpose was fixed by a single look. Then as hebegan to tell the story of the past she forgot everything but the rapidwords she listened to, the countenance she watched, so beautifullychanged and softened, it seemed as if she had never seen the man before,or saw him now as we sometimes see familiar figures glorified in dreams.In the fewest, kindest words Warwick told her of Ottila, the promise andthe parting; then, as if the dearer theme deserved less brevity, helingered on it as one lingers at a friend's door, enjoying inanticipation the welcome he is sure awaits him."The night we walked together by the river--such a wilful yet winningcomrade as I had that day, and how I enjoyed it all!--that night Isuspected that Geoffrey loved you, Sylvia, and was glad to think it. Amonth later I was sure of it, and found in that knowledge the greathardship of my life, because I loved you myself. Audacious thing! howdared you steal into my heart and take possession when I had turned mylast guest out and barred the door? I thought I had done with thesentiment that had so nearly wrecked me once, but see how blind Iwas--the false love only made me readier for the true. You never seemeda child to me, Sylvia, because you have an old soul in a young body, andyour father's trials and temptations live again in you. This firstattracted me. I liked to watch, to question, to study the human enigmato which I had found a clue from its maker's lips. I liked your candorand simplicity, your courage and caprice. Even your faults found favorin my eyes; for pride, will, impetuosity were old friends of mine, and Iliked to see them working in another shape. At first you were acuriosity, then an amusement, then a necessity. I wanted you, notoccasionally, but constantly. You put salt and savor into life for me;for whether you spoke or were silent, were sweet or sour, friendly orcold, I was satisfied to feel your nearness, and always took away aninward content which nothing else could give me. This affection was sounlike the other that I deceived myself for a time--not long. I soonknew what had befallen me, soon felt that this sentiment was good tofeel, because I forgot my turbulent and worser self and felt the noblerregenerated by the innocent companionship you gave me. I wanted you, butit was not the touch of hands or lips, the soft encounter of eyes, thetones of tenderness, I wanted most. It was that something beyond myreach, vital and vestal, invisible, yet irresistible; that something, beit heart, soul, or mind, which drew me to you by an attraction genialand genuine as itself. My Sylvia, that was love, and when it came to meI took it in, sure that whether its fruition was granted or denied Ishould be a manlier man for having harbored it even for an hour. Whyturn your face away? Well, hide it if you will, but lean here as you didonce so long ago."She let him lay it on his shoulder, still feeling that Moor was one tolook below the surface of these things and own that she did well ingiving so pure a love a happy moment before its death, as she would havecherished Warwick had he laid dying."On that September evening, as I sat alone, I had been thinking of whatmight be and what must be. Had decided that I would go away forGeoffrey's sake. He was fitter than I to have you, being so gentle, andin all ways ready to possess a wife. I was so rough, such a vagrant, sofull of my own purposes and plans, how could I dare to take into mykeeping such a tender little creature as yourself? I thought you did notcare for me; I knew any knowledge of my love would only mar his own; soit was best to go at once and leave him to the happiness he so welldeserved. Just then you came to me, as if the wind had blown my desireto my arms. Such a loving touch that was! it nearly melted my resolve,it seemed hard not to take the one thing I wanted, when it came to me soopportunely. I yearned to break that idle promise, made when I was vainin my own conceit, and justly punished for its folly; but you said keepit, and I did. You could not understand my trouble, and when I satbefore you so still, perhaps looking grim and cold, you did not know howI was wrestling with my unruly self. I am not truly generous, for therelinquishment of any cherished object always costs a battle, and I toooften find I am worsted. For the first time I dared not meet your eyestill you dived into mine with that expression wistful and guileless,which has often made me feel as if we stood divested of our bodies, soulto soul."Tongue I could control, heart I could not. Up it sprung stronger thanwill, swifter than thought, and answered you. Sylvia, had there been oneray of self-consciousness in those steady eyes of yours, one atom ofmaiden shame, or fear, or trouble, I should have claimed you as my own.There was not; and though you let me read your face like an open book,you never dreamed what eloquence was in it. Innocent heart, that lovedand had not learned to know it. I saw this instantly, saw that a fewmore such encounters would show it to you likewise, and felt morestrongly than before that if ever the just deed to you, the generous oneto Geoffrey were done, it should be then. For that was the one momentwhen your half-awakened heart could fall painlessly asleep again, if Idid not disturb it, and dream on till Geoffrey woke it, to find agentler master than I could be to it.""It could not, Adam; you had wholly roused it, and it cried for you solong, so bitterly, oh, why did you not come to answer it before?""How could I till the year was over? Was I not obeying you in keepingthat accursed promise? God knows I have made many blunders, but I thinkthe most senseless was that promise; the most short-sighted, thatbelief. What right had I to fetter my tongue, or try to govern love?Shall I ever learn to do my own work aright, and not meddle with theLord's? Sylvia, take this presumptuous and domineering devil out of mein time, lest I blunder as blindly after you are mine as I have before.Now let me finish before Mark comes to find us. I went away, you know,singing the farewell I dared not speak, and for nine months kept myselfsane and steady with whatever my hands found to do. If ever work of mineis blessed it will be that, for into it I put the best endeavor of mylife. Though I had renounced you, I kept my love; let it burn day andnight, fed it with labor and with prayer, trusting that this selfishheart of mine might be recast and made a fitter receptacle for anenduring treasure. In May, far at the West, I met a woman who knewGeoffrey; had seen him lately, and learned that he had lost you. She washis cousin, I his friend, and through our mutual interest in him thisconfidence naturally came about. When she told me this hope blazed up,and all manner of wild fancies haunted me. Love is arrogant, and Inourished a belief that even I might succeed where Geoffrey failed. Youwere so young, you were not likely to be easily won by any other, ifsuch a man had asked in vain, and a conviction gradually took possessionof me that you _had_ understood, _had_ loved, and were yet waiting forme. A month seemed an eternity to wait, but I left myself no moment fordespair, and soon turned my face to Cuba, finding renewed hope on theway. Gabriel went with me, told me how Ottila had searched for me, andfailing to find me had gone back to make ready for my coming. How shehad tried to be all I desired, and how unworthy I was of her. This waswell, but the mention of your name was better, and much closequestioning gave me the scene which he remembered, because Ottila hadchidden him sharply for his disclosures to yourself. Knowing you sowell, I gathered much from trifles which were nothing in Gabriel's eyes.I felt that regard for me, if nothing warmer, had prompted your interestin them; and out of the facts given me by Faith and Gabriel I builtmyself a home, which I have inhabited as a guest till now, when I knowmyself its master, and welcome its dear mistress, so my darling."He bent to give her tender greeting, but Sylvia arrested him."Not yet, Adam! not yet! Go on, before it is too late to tell me as youwish."He thought it was some maidenly scruple, and though he smiled at it herespected it, for this same coyness in the midst of all her whims hadalways been one of her attractions in his eye."Shy thing! I will tame you yet, and draw you to me as confidingly as Idrew the bird to hop into my hand and eat. You must not fear me, Sylvia,else I shall grow tyrannical; for I hate fear, and like to trample onwhatever dares not fill its place bravely, sure that it will receive itsdue as trustfully as these little mosses sit among the clouds and find aspring to feed them even in the rock. Now I will make a speedy end ofthis, pleasant as it is to sit here feeling myself no longer a solitarywaif. I shall spare you the stormy scenes I passed through with Ottila,because I do not care to think of my Cleopatra while I hold 'my finespirit Ariel' in my arms. She had done her best, but had I been stillheart-free I never could have married her. She is one of those tamelessnatures which only God can govern; I dared not, even when I thought Iloved her, for much as I love power I love truth more. I told her this,heard prayers, reproaches, threats, and denunciations; tried to leaveher kindly, and then was ready for my fate with you. But I was not tohave my will so easily. I had fallen into the net, and was not to leaveit till the scourging had been given. So like that other wanderingChristian, I cried out, submitted, and was the meeker for it. I had towait a little before the ship sailed; I would not stay at El Labarinto,Gabriel's home, for Ottila was there; and though the fever raged atHavana, I felt secure in my hitherto unbroken health. I returned there,and paid the penalty; for weeks of suffering taught me that I could nottrifle with this body of mine, sturdy as it seemed.""Oh, Adam, who took care of you? Where did you lie and suffer all thattime?""Never fret yourself concerning that; I was not neglected. A sister ofthe 'Sacred Heart' took excellent care of me, and a hospital is as goodas a palace when one neither knows nor cares where he is. It went hardlywith me, I believe; but being resolved to live, I fought it through.Death looked at me, had compassion, and passed by. There is a Haytienproverb which must comfort you if I am a gaunt ghost of my former self:'A lean freeman is better than a fat slave.' There comes the first smileI have seen; but my next bit of news will bring a frown, I think. When Iwas well enough to creep out, I learned that Ottila was married. Youheard the rumor, doubtless, but not the name, for Gabriel's and minewere curiously blended in many minds by the suddenness of mydisappearance and his appearance as the bridegroom. It was likeher,--she had prepared for me as if sure I was to fill the place I hadleft, hoping that this confidence of hers would have its due effect uponme. It did try me sorely, but an experience once over is as if it hadnever been, as far as regret or indecision is concerned; thereforewedding gowns and imperious women failed to move me. To be left agroomless bride stung that fiery pride of hers more than many an actualshame or sin would have done. People would pity her, would see her loss,deride her wilful folly. Gabriel loved her as she desired to be loved,blindly and passionately; few knew of our later bond, many of ourbetrothal, why not let the world believe me the rejected party come backfor a last appeal? I had avoided all whom I once knew, for I loathed theplace; no one had discovered me at the hospital, she thought me gone,she boldly took the step, married the poor boy, left Cuba before I wasmyself again, and won herself an empty victory which I never shalldisturb.""How strange! Yet I can believe it of her, she looked a woman who woulddare do anything. Then you came back, Adam, to find me? What led youhere, hoping so much and knowing so little?""Did you ever know me do anything in the accustomed way? Do I not alwaysaim straight at the thing I want and pursue it by the shortest road? Itfails often, and I go back to the slower surer way; but my own is alwaystried first, as involuntarily as I hurled myself down that slope, as ifstorming a fort instead of meeting my sweetheart. That is a pretty oldword beloved of better men than I, so let me use it once. Among thefirst persons I met on landing was a friend of your father's; he wasjust driving away in hot haste, but catching a glimpse of the familiarface, I bethought me that it was the season for summer travel, you mightbe away, and no one else would satisfy me; he might know, and time besaved. I asked one question, 'Where are the Yules?' He answered, as hevanished, 'The young people are all at the mountains.' That was enough,and congratulating myself on the forethought which would save me somehundred miles of needless delay, away I went, and for days have beensearching for you every where on that side of these hills which I knowso well. But no Yules had passed, and feeling sure you were on this sideI came, not around, but straight over, for this seemed a royal road tomy love, and here I found her waiting for me by the way. Now Sylvia, areyour doubts all answered, your fears all laid, your heart at rest onmine?"As the time drew nearer Sylvia's task daunted her. Warwick was soconfident, so glad and tender over her, it seemed like pronouncing thedeath doom to say those hard words, "It is too late." While shestruggled to find some expression that should tell all kindly yetentirely, Adam, seeming to read some hint of her trouble, asked, withthat gentleness which now overlaid his former abruptness, and was themore alluring for the contrast--"Have I been too arrogant a lover? too sure of happiness, too blind tomy small deserts? Sylvia, have I misunderstood the greeting you havegiven me?""Yes, Adam, utterly."He knit his brows, his eye grew anxious, his content seemed rudelybroken, but still hopefully he said--"You mean that absence has changed you, that you do not love me as youdid, and pity made you kind? Well, I receive the disappointment, but Ido not relinquish my desire. What has been may be; let me try again toearn you; teach me to be humble, patient, all that I should be to makemyself more dear to you. Something disturbs you, be frank with me; Ihave shown you all my heart, what have you to show me in return?""Only this."She freed herself entirely from his hold and held up her hand beforehim. He did not see the ring; he thought she gave him all he asked, andwith a glow of gratitude extended both his own to take it. Then she sawthat delay was worse than weak, and though she trembled she spoke outbravely ending his suspense at once."Adam, I do _not_ love you as I did, nor can I wish or try to bring itback, because--I am married."He sprung up as if shot through the heart, nor could a veritable bulletfrom her hand have daunted him with a more intense dismay than thosethree words. An instant's incredulity, then conviction came to him, andhe met it like a man, for though his face whitened and his eye burnedwith an expression that wrung her heart, he demanded steadily,--"To whom?"This was the hardest question of all, for well she knew the name wouldwound the deeper for its dearness, and while it lingered pitifully uponher lips its owner answered for himself. Clear and sweet came up themusic of the horn, bringing them a familiar air they all loved, and hadoften sung together. Warwick knew it instantly, felt the hard truth butrebelled against it, and put out his arm as if to ward it off as heexclaimed, with real anguish in countenance and voice--"Oh, Sylvia! it is not Geoffrey?""Yes."Then, as if all strength had gone out of her, she dropped down upon themossy margin of the spring and covered up her face, feeling that thefirst sharpness of a pain like this was not for human eyes to witness.How many minutes passed she could not tell, the stillness of the spotremained unbroken by any sound but the whisper of the wind, and in thissilence Sylvia found time to marvel at the calmness which came to her.Self had been forgotten in surprise and sympathy, and still her onethought was how to comfort Warwick. She had expected some outburst offeeling, some gust of anger or despair, but neither sigh nor sob,reproach nor regret reached her, and soon she stole an anxious glance tosee how it went with him. He was standing where she left him, both handslocked together till they were white with the passionate pressure. Hiseyes fixed on some distant object with a regard as imploring asunseeing, and through those windows of the soul he looked out darkly,not despairingly; but as if sure that somewhere there was help for him,and he waited for it with a stern patience more terrible to watch thanthe most tempestuous grief. Sylvia could not bear it, and rememberingthat her confession had not yet been made, seized that instant for thepurpose, prompted by an instinct which assured her that the knowledge ofher pain would help him to bear his own.She told him all, and ended saying--"Now, Adam, come to me and let me try to comfort you."Sylvia was right; for through the sorrowful bewilderment that brought abrief eclipse of hope and courage, sympathy reached him like a friendlyhand to uphold him till he found the light again. While speaking, shehad seen the immobility that frightened her break up, and Warwick'swhole face flush and quiver with the rush of emotions controllable nolonger. But the demonstration which followed was one she had neverthought to see from him, for when she stretched her hands to him withthat tender invitation, she saw the deep eyes fill and overflow. Then hethrew himself down before her, and for the first time in her short lifeshowed her that sad type of human suffering, a man weeping like a woman.Warwick was one of those whose passions, as his virtues, were in unisonwith the powerful body they inhabited, and in such a crisis as thepresent but one of two reliefs were possible to him; either wrathfuldenunciation, expostulation and despair, or the abandon of a child.Against the former he had been struggling dumbly till Sylvia's words hadturned the tide, and too entirely natural to feel a touch of shame atthat which is not a weakness but a strength, too wise to reject so safean outlet for so dangerous a grief, he yielded to it, letting themerciful magic of tears quench the fire, wash the first bitterness away,and leave reproaches only writ in water. It was better so, and Sylviaacknowledged it within herself as she sat mute and motionless, softlytouching the brown hair scattered on the moss, her poor consolationsilenced by the pathos of the sight, while through it all rose and fellthe fitful echo of the horn, in very truth "a sweet reminder not tostray away and lose herself." An hour ago it would have been a welcomesound, for peak after peak gave back the strain, and airy voiceswhispered it until the faintest murmur died. But now she let it soar andsigh half heard, for audible to her alone still came its sadaccompaniment of bitter human tears. To Warwick it was far more; formusic, the comforter, laid her balm on his sore heart as no mortal pitycould have done, and wrought the miracle which changed the friend whoseemed to have robbed him of his love to an unconscious Orpheus, whosubdued the savage and harmonized the man. Soon he was himself again,for to those who harbor the strong virtues with patient zeal, no lastingill can come, no affliction can wholly crush, no temptation whollyvanquish. He rose with eyes the clearer for their stormy rain, twice aman for having dared to be a child again. Humbler and happier for theknowledge that neither vain resentment nor unjust accusation haddefrauded of its dignity, the heavy hour that left him desolate but notdegraded."I _am_ comforted, Sylvia, rest assured of that. And now there is littlemore to say, but one thing to do. I shall not see your husband yet, andleave you to tell him what seems best, for, with the instinct of ananimal, I always go away to outlive my hurts alone. But remember that Iacquit you of blame, and believe that I will yet be happy in yourhappiness. I know if Geoffrey were here, he would let me do this,because he has suffered as I suffer now."Bending, he gathered her to an embrace as different from that other asdespair is from delight, and while he held her there, crowding into oneshort minute, all the pain and passion of a year, she heard a low, butexceeding bitter cry--"Oh, my Sylvia! it is hard to give you up." Thenwith a solemn satisfaction, which assured her as it did himself, hespoke out clear and loud--"Thank God for the merciful Hereafter, in which we may retrieve theblunders we make here."With that he left her, never turning till the burden so joyfully castdown had been resumed. Then, staff and hat in hand, he paused on themargin of that granite cup, to him a cup of sorrow, and looked into itsdepths again. Clouds were trooping eastward, but in that pause the sunglanced full on Warwick's figure, lifting his powerful head into a floodof light, as he waved his hand to Sylvia with a gesture of courage andgood cheer. The look, the act, the memories they brought her, made herheart ache with a sharper pang than pity, and filled her eyes with tearsof impotent regret, as she turned her head as if to chide the blitheclamor of the horn. When she looked again, the figure and the sunshinewere both gone, leaving her alone and in the shadow.