CHAPTER XIX.

by Louisa May Alcott

　　SIX MONTHS.The ensuing half year seemed fuller of duties and events than any Sylviahad ever known. At first she found it very hard to live her life alone;for inward solitude oppressed her, and external trials were not wanting.Only to the few who had a right to know, had the whole trouble beenconfided. They were discreet from family pride, if from no tendererfeeling; but the curious world outside of that small circle was full ofshrewd surmises, of keen eyes for discovering domestic breaches, andshrill tongues for proclaiming them. Warwick escaped suspicion, being solittle known, so seldom seen; but for the usual nine days matrons andvenerable maids wagged their caps, lifted their hands, and sighed asthey sipped their dish of scandal and of tea--"Poor young man! I always said how it would be, she was so peculiar. Mydear creature, haven't you heard that Mrs. Moor isn't happy with herhusband, and that he has gone abroad quite broken-hearted?"Sylvia felt this deeply, but received it as her just punishment, andbore herself so meekly that public opinion soon turned a somersault, andthe murmur changed to--"Poor young thing! what could she expect? My dear, I have it from thebest authority, that Mr. Moor has made her miserable for a year, and nowleft her broken-hearted." After that, the gossips took up some newertragedy, and left Mrs. Moor to mend her heart as best she could, a favorvery gratefully received.As Hester Prynne seemed to see some trace of her own sin in every bosom,by the glare of the Scarlet Letter burning on her own; so Sylvia, livingin the shadow of a household grief, found herself detecting variousphases of her own experience in others. She had joined that sadsisterhood called disappointed women; a larger class than many deem itto be, though there are few of us who have not seen members of it.Unhappy wives; mistaken or forsaken lovers; meek souls, who make life along penance for the sins of others; gifted creatures kindled intofitful brilliancy by some inward fire that consumes but cannot warm.These are the women who fly to convents, write bitter books, sing songsfull of heartbreak, act splendidly the passion they have lost or neverwon. Who smile, and try to lead brave uncomplaining lives, but whosetragic eyes betray them, whose voices, however sweet or gay, contain anundertone of hopelessness, whose faces sometimes startle one with anexpression which haunts the observer long after it is gone.Undoubtedly Sylvia would have joined the melancholy chorus, and fallento lamenting that ever she was born, had she not possessed a purposethat took her out of herself and proved her salvation. Faith's wordstook root and blossomed. Intent on making her life a blessing, not areproach to her father, she lived for him entirely. He had taken herback to him, as if the burden of her unhappy past should be upon hisshoulders, the expiation of her faults come from him alone. Sylviaunderstood this now, and nestled to him so gladly, so confidingly, heseemed to have found again the daughter he had lost and be almostcontent to have her all his own.How many roofs cover families or friends who live years together, yetnever truly know each other; who love, and long and try to meet, yetfail to do so till some unexpected emotion or event performs the work.In the weeks that followed the departure of the friends, Sylviadiscovered this and learned to know her father. No one was so much toher as he; no one so fully entered into her thoughts and feelings; forsympathy drew them tenderly together, and sorrow made them equals. Asman and woman they talked, as father and daughter they loved; and thebeautiful relation became their truest solace and support.Miss Yule both rejoiced at and rebelled against this; was generous, yetmortally jealous; made no complaint, but grieved in private, and onefine day amazed her sister by announcing, that, being of no farther useat home, she had decided to be married. Both Mr. Yule and Sylvia haddesired this event, but hardly dared to expect it in spite of sundrypropitious signs and circumstances.A certain worthy widower had haunted the house of late, evidently onmatrimonial thoughts intent. A solid gentleman, both physically andfinancially speaking; possessed of an ill-kept house, bad servants, andnine neglected children. This prospect, however alarming to others, hadgreat charms for Prue; nor was the Reverend Gamaliel Bliss repugnant toher, being a rubicund, bland personage, much given to fine linen, longdinners, and short sermons. His third spouse had been suddenlytranslated, and though the years of mourning had not yet expired, thingswent so hardly with Gamaliel, that he could no longer delay casting hispastoral eyes over the flock which had already given three lambs to hisfold, in search of a fourth. None appeared whose meek graces weresufficiently attractive, or whose dowries were sufficiently large.Meantime the nine olive-branches grew wild, the servants revelled, theministerial digestion suffered, the sacred shirts went buttonless, andtheir wearer was wellnigh distraught. At this crisis he saw Prudence,and fell into a way of seating himself before the well-endowed spinster,with a large cambric pocket-handkerchief upon his knee, a frequent tearmeandering down his florid countenance, and volcanic sighs agitating hiscapacious waistcoat as he poured his woes into her ear. Prue had beendeeply touched by these moist appeals, and was not much surprised whenthe reverend gentleman went ponderously down upon his knee before her inthe good old-fashioned style which frequent use had endeared to him,murmuring with an appropriate quotation and a subterranean sob--"Miss Yule, 'a good wife is a crown to her husband;' be such an one tome, unworthy as I am, and a mother to my bereaved babes, who suffer fora tender woman's care."She merely upset her sewing-table with an appropriate start, butspeedily recovered, and with a maidenly blush murmured in return--"Dear me, how very unexpected! pray speak to papa,--oh, rise, I beg.""Call me Gamaliel, and I obey!" gasped the stout lover, divided betweenrapture and doubts of his ability to perform the feat alone."Gamaliel," sighed Prue, surrendering her hand."My Prudence, blessed among women!" responded the blissful Bliss. Andhaving saluted the fair member, allowed it to help him rise; when, aftera few decorous endearments, he departed to papa, and the bride electrushed up to Sylvia with the incoherent announcement--"My dearest child, I have accepted him! It was such a surprise, thoughso touchingly done. I was positively mortified; Maria had swept the roomso ill, his knees were white with lint, and I'm a very happy woman,bless you, love!""Sit down, and tell me all about it," cried her sister. "Don't try tosew, but cry if you like, and let me pet you, for indeed I am rejoiced."But Prue preferred to rock violently, and boggle down a seam as the bestquietus for her fluttered nerves, while she told her romance, receivedcongratulations, and settled a few objections made by Sylvia, who triedto play the prudent matron."I am afraid he is too old for you, my dear.""Just the age; a man should always be ten years older than his wife. Awoman of thirty-five is in the prime of life, and if she hasn't arrivedat years of discretion then, she never will. Shall I wear pearl-coloredsilk and a white bonnet, or just a very handsome travelling dress?""Whichever you like. But, Prue, isn't he rather stout, I won't saycorpulent?""Sylvia, how can you! Because papa is a shadow, you call a fine, manlyperson like Gam--Mr. Bliss, corpulent. I always said I would _not_ marryan invalid, (Macgregor died of apoplexy last week, I heard, at a smalldinner party; fell forward with his head upon the cheese, and expiredwithout a groan,) and where can you find a more robust and healthy manthan Mr. Bliss? Not a gray hair, and gout his only complaint. Soaristocratic. You know I've loads of fine old flannel, just the thingfor him."Sylvia commanded her countenance with difficulty, and went on with hermaternal inquiries."He is a personable man, and an excellent one, I believe, yet I shouldrather dread the responsibility of nine small children, if I were you.""They are my chief inducement to the match. Just think of the statethose dears must be in, with only a young governess, and half a dozengiddy maids to see to them. I long to be among them, and named an earlyday, because measles and scarlatina are coming round again, and onlyFanny, and the twins, Gus and Gam, have had either. I know all theirnames and ages, dispositions, and characters, and love them like amother already. He perfectly adores them, and that is very charming in alearned man like Mr. Bliss.""If that is your feeling it will all go well I have no doubt. But,Prue,--I don't wish to be unkind, dear,--do you quite like the idea ofbeing the fourth Mrs. Bliss?""Bless me, I never thought of that! Poor man, it only shows how much hemust need consolation, and proves how good a husband he must have been.No, Sylvia, I don't care a particle. I never knew those estimableladies, and the memory of them shall not keep me from making Gamalielhappy if I can. What he goes through now is almost beyond belief. Mychild, just think!--the coachman drinks; the cook has tea-partieswhenever she likes, and supports her brother's family out of herperquisites, as she calls her bare-faced thefts; the house maids rompwith the indoor man, and have endless followers; three old maids settheir caps at him, and that hussy, (I must use a strong expression,)that hussy of a governess makes love to him before the children. It ismy duty to marry him; I shall do it, and put an end to this fearfulstate of things."Sylvia asked but one more question--"Now, seriously, do you love him very much? Will he make you as happy asmy dear old girl should be?"Prue dropped her work, and hiding her face on Sylvia's shoulder,answered with a plaintive sniff or two, and much real feeling--"Yes, my dear, I do. I tried to love him, and I did not fail. I shall behappy, for I shall be busy. I am not needed here any more, and so I amglad to go away into a home of my own, feeling sure that you can fill myplace; and Maria knows my ways too well to let things go amiss. Now,kiss me, and smooth my collar, for papa may call me down."The sisters embraced and cried a little, as women usually find itnecessary to do at such interesting times; then fell to planning thewedding outfit, and deciding between the "light silk and white bonnet,"or the "handsome travelling suit."Miss Yule made a great sacrifice to the proprieties by relinquishing herdesire for a stately wedding, and much to Sylvia's surprise and relief,insisted that, as the family was then situated, it was best to have nostir or parade, but to be married quietly at church and slipunostentatiously out of the old life into the new. Her will was law, andas the elderly bridegroom felt that there was no time to spare, and themeasles continued to go about seeking whom they might devour, Prue didnot keep him waiting long. "Three weeks is very little time, and nothingwill be properly done, for one must have everything new when one ismarried of course, and mantua-makers are but mortal women (exorbitant intheir charges this season, I assure you), so be patient, Gamaliel, andspend the time in teaching my little ones to love me before I come.""My dearest creature, I will." And well did the enamored gentlemanperform his promise.Prue kept hers so punctually that she was married with the bastings inher wedding gown and two dozen pocket-handkerchiefs still unhemmed;facts which disturbed her even during the ceremony. A quiet timethroughout; and after a sober feast, a tearful farewell, Mrs. GamalielBliss departed, leaving a great void behind and carrying joy to theheart of her spouse, comfort to the souls of the excited nine,destruction to the "High Life Below Stairs," and order, peace, andplenty to the realm over which she was to know a long and prosperousreign.Hardly had the excitement of this event subsided when another occurredto keep Sylvia from melancholy and bring an added satisfaction to herlonely days. Across the sea there came to her a little book, bearing hername upon its title-page. Quaintly printed, and bound in some foreignstyle, plain and unassuming without, but very rich within, for there shefound Warwick's Essays, and between each of these one of the poems fromMoor's Diary. Far away there in Switzerland they had devised thispleasure for her, and done honor to the woman whom they both loved, bydedicating to her the first fruits of their lives. "Alpen Rosen" was itstitle, and none could have better suited it in Sylvia's eyes, for to herWarwick was the Alps and Moor the roses. Each had helped the other;Warwick's rugged prose gathered grace from Moor's poetry, and Moor'ssmoothly flowing lines acquired power from Warwick's prose. Each hadgiven her his best, and very proud was Sylvia of the little book, overwhich she pored day after day, living on and in it, eagerly collectingall praises, resenting all censures, and thinking it the one perfectvolume in the world.Others felt and acknowledged its worth as well, for though fashionablelibraries were not besieged by inquiries for it, and no short-livedenthusiasm welcomed it, a place was found for it on many study tables,where real work was done. Innocent girls sang the songs and loved thepoet, while thoughtful women, looking deeper, honored the man. Young menreceived the Essays as brave protests against the evils of the times,and old men felt their faith in honor and honesty revive. The wise sawgreat promise in it, and the most critical could not deny its beauty andits power.Early in autumn arrived a fresh delight; and Jessie's little daughterbecame peacemaker as well as idol. Mark forgave his enemies, and sworeeternal friendship with all mankind the first day of his baby's life;and when his sister brought it to him he took both in his arms, makingatonement for many hasty words and hard thoughts by the broken whisper--"I have two little Sylvias now."This wonderful being absorbed both households, from grandpapa to thedeposed sovereign Tilly, whom Sylvia called her own, and kept much withher; while Prue threatened to cause a rise in the price of stationery bythe daily and copious letters full of warning and advice which she sent,feeling herself a mother in Israel among her tribe of nine, now safelycarried through the Red Sea of scarlatina. Happy faces made perpetualsunshine round the little Sylvia, but to none was she so dear a boon asto her young god-mother. Jessie became a trifle jealous of "old Sylvia,"as she now called herself, for she almost lived in baby's nursery;hurrying over in time to assist at its morning ablutions, hovering aboutits crib when it slept, daily discovering beauties invisible even to itsmother's eyes, and working early and late on dainty garments, rich inthe embroidery which she now thanked Prue for teaching her against herwill. The touch of the baby hands seemed to heal her sore heart; thesound of the baby voice, even when most unmusical, had a soothing effectupon her nerves; the tender cares its helplessness demanded absorbed herthoughts, and kept her happy in a new world whose delights she had neverknown till now.From this time a restful expression replaced the patient hopelessnessher face had worn before, and in the lullabys she sang the listenerscaught echoes of the cheerful voice they had never thought to hearagain. Gay she was not, but serene. Quiet was all she asked; andshunning society seemed happiest to sit at home with baby and its gentlemother, with Mark, now painting as if inspired, or with her father, whorelinquished business and devoted himself to her. A pleasant pauseseemed to have come after troublous days; a tranquil hush in which shesat waiting for what time should bring her. But as she waited the womanseemed to bloom more beautifully than the girl had done. Light and colorrevisited her countenance clearer and deeper than of old; fine linesennobled features faulty in themselves; and the indescribable refinementof a deep inward life made itself manifest in look, speech, and gesture,giving promise of a gracious womanhood.Mr. Yule augured well from this repose, and believed the dawningloveliness to be a herald of returning love. He was thinking hopefulthoughts one day as he sat writing to Moor, whose faithful correspondenthe had become, when Sylvia came in with one of the few notes she senther husband while away."Just in time. God bless me, child! what is it?"Well might he exclaim, for in his daughter's face he saw an expressionwhich caused his hope to suddenly become a glad belief. Her lips smiled,though in her eyes there lay a shadow which he could not comprehend, andher answer did not enlighten him as she put her arm about his neck andlaid her slip of paper in his hand."Enclose my note, and send the letter; then, father, we will talk."