Moods
by
_Louisa M. Alcott._
MOODS.
BY
LOUISA M. ALCOTT.
AUTHOR OF "LITTLE WOMEN," "AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL," "HOSPITAL SKETCHES."
"Life is a train of moods like a string of beads; and as we pass
through them they prove to be many colored lenses, which paint the
world their own hue, and each shows us only what lies in its own
focus." EMERSON.
LORING, Publisher,
319 WASHINGTON STREET,
BOSTON.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by
A. K. LORING,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
CHAPTER I.
IN A YEAR 7
CHAPTER II.
WHIMS 21
CHAPTER III.
AFLOAT 39
CHAPTER IV.
THROUGH FLOOD, AND FIELD, AND FIRE 57
CHAPTER V.
A GOLDEN WEDDING 81
CHAPTER VI.
WHY SYLVIA WAS HAPPY 102
CHAPTER VII.
DULL, BUT NECESSARY 113
CHAPTER VIII.
NO 120
CHAPTER IX.
HOLLY 130
CHAPTER X.
YES 141
CHAPTER XI.
WOOING 149
CHAPTER XII.
WEDDING 158
CHAPTER XIII.
SYLVIA'S HONEYMOON 165
CHAPTER XIV.
A FIRESIDE FETE 183
CHAPTER XV.
EARLY AND LATE 195
CHAPTER XVI.
IN THE TWILIGHT 206
CHAPTER XVII.
ASLEEP AND AWAKE 223
CHAPTER XVIII.
WHAT NEXT? 238
CHAPTER XIX.
SIX MONTHS 259
CHAPTER XX.
COME 270
CHAPTER XXI.
OUT OF THE SHADOW 285
MOODS.
CHAPTER I.
IN A YEAR.
The room fronted the west, but a black cloud, barred with red, robbed
the hour of twilight's tranquil charm. Shadows haunted it, lurking in
corners like spies set there to watch the man who stood among them mute
and motionless as if himself a shadow. His eye turned often to the
window with a glance both vigilant and eager, yet saw nothing but a
tropical luxuriance of foliage scarcely stirred by the sultry air heavy
with odors that seemed to oppress not refresh. He listened with the same
intentness, yet heard only the clamor of voices, the tramp of feet, the
chime of bells, the varied turmoil of a city when night is defrauded of
its peace by being turned to day. He watched and waited for something;
presently it came. A viewless visitant, welcomed by longing soul and
body as the man, with extended arms and parted lips received the
voiceless greeting of the breeze that came winging its way across the
broad Atlantic, full of healthful cheer for a home-sick heart. Far out
he leaned; held back the thick-leaved boughs already rustling with a
grateful stir, chid the shrill bird beating its flame-colored breast
against its prison bars, and drank deep draughts of the blessed wind
that seemed to cool the fever of his blood and give him back the vigor
he had lost.
A sudden light shone out behind him filling the room with a glow that
left no shadow in it. But he did not see the change, nor hear the step
that broke the hush, nor turn to meet the woman who stood waiting for a
lover's welcome. An indefinable air of sumptuous life surrounded her,
and made the brilliant room a fitting frame for the figure standing
there with warm-hued muslins blowing in the wind. A figure full of the
affluent beauty of womanhood in its prime, bearing unmistakable marks of
the polished pupil of the world in the grace that flowed through every
motion, the art which taught each feature to play its part with the ease
of second nature and made dress the foil to loveliness. The face was
delicate and dark as a fine bronze, a low forehead set in shadowy waves
of hair, eyes full of slumberous fire, and a passionate yet haughty
mouth that seemed shaped alike for caresses and commands.
A moment she watched the man before her, while over her countenance
passed rapid variations of pride, resentment, and tenderness. Then with
a stealthy step, an assured smile, she went to him and touched his hand,
saying, in a voice inured to that language which seems made for lovers'
lips--
"Only a month betrothed, and yet so cold and gloomy, Adam!"
With a slight recoil, a glance of soft detestation veiled and yet
visible, Warwick answered like a satiric echo--
"Only a month betrothed, and yet so fond and jealous, Ottila!"
Unchilled by the action, undaunted by the look, the white arm took him
captive, the beautiful face drew nearer, and the persuasive voice asked
wistfully--
"Was it of me you thought when you turned with that longing in your
eye?"
"No."
"Was it of a fairer or a dearer friend than I?"
"Yes."
The black brows contracted ominously, the mouth grew hard, the eyes
glittered, the arm became a closer bond, the entreaty a command.
"Let me know the name, Adam."
"Self-respect."
She laughed low to herself, and the mobile features softened to their
former tenderness as she looked up into that other face so full of an
accusing significance which she would not understand.
"I have waited two long hours; have you no kinder greeting, love?"
"I have no truer one. Ottila, if a man has done unwittingly a weak,
unwise, or wicked act, what should he do when he discovers it?"
"Repent and mend his ways; need I tell you that?"
"I have repented; will you help me mend my ways?"
"Confess, dear sinner; I will shrive you and grant absolution for the
past, whatever it may be."
"How much would you do for love of me?"
"Anything for you, Adam."
"Then give me back my liberty."
He rose erect and stretched his hands to her with a gesture of entreaty,
an expression of intense desire. Ottila fell back as if the forceful
words and action swept her from him. The smile died on her lips, a
foreboding fear looked out at her eyes, and she asked incredulously--
"Do you mean it?"
"Yes; now, entirely, and forever!"
If he had lifted his strong arm and struck her, it would not have
daunted with such pale dismay. An instant she stood like one who saw a
chasm widening before her, which she had no power to cross. Then as if
disappointment was a thing impossible and unknown, she seized the
imploring hands in a grasp that turned them white with its passionate
pressure as she cried--
"No, I will not! I have waited for your love so long I cannot give it
up; you shall not take it from me!"
But as if the words had made the deed irrevocable, Warwick put her away,
speaking with the stern accent of one who fears a traitor in himself.
"I cannot take from you what you never had. Stand there and hear me. No;
I will have no blandishments to keep me from my purpose, no soft words
to silence the hard ones I mean to speak, no more illusions to hide us
from each other and ourselves."
"Adam, you are cruel."
"Better seem cruel than be treacherous; better wound your pride now than
your heart hereafter, when too late you discover that I married you
without confidence, respect, or love. For once in your life you shall
hear the truth as plain as words can make it. You shall see me at my
best as at my worst; you shall know what I have learned to find in you;
shall look back into the life behind us, forward into the life before
us, and if there be any candor in you I will wring from you an
acknowledgment that you have led me into an unrighteous compact.
Unrighteous, because you have deceived me in yourself, appealed to the
baser, not the nobler instincts in me, and on such a foundation there
can be no abiding happiness."
"Go on, I will hear you." And conscious that she could not control the
will now thoroughly aroused, Ottila bent before it as if meekly ready to
hear all things for love's sake.
A disdainful smile passed over Warwick's face, as with an eye that fixed
and held her own, he rapidly went on, never pausing to choose smooth
phrases or soften facts, but seeming to find a relish in the utterance
of bitter truths after the honeyed falsehood he had listened to so long.
Yet through all the harshness glowed the courage of an upright soul, the
fervor of a generous heart.
"I know little of such things and care less; but I think few lovers pass
through a scene such as this is to be, because few have known lives like
ours, or one such as we. You a woman stronger for good or ill than those
about you, I a man untamed by any law but that of my own will. Strength
is royal, we both possess it; as kings and queens drop their titles in
their closets, let us drop all disguises and see each other as God sees
us. This compact must be broken; let me show you why. Three months ago I
came here to take the chill of an Arctic winter out of blood and brain.
I have done so and am the worse for it. In melting frost I have kindled
fire; a fire that will burn all virtue out of me unless I quench it at
once. I mean to do so, because I will not keep the ten commandments
before men's eyes and break them every hour in my heart."
He paused a moment, as if hotter words rose to his lips than generosity
would let him utter, and when he spoke again there was more reproach
than anger in his voice.
"Ottila, till I knew you I loved no woman but my mother; I wooed no
wife, bought no mistress, desired no friend, but led a life austere as
any monk's, asking only freedom and my work. Could you not let me keep
my independence? Were there not men enough who would find no degradation
in a spiritual slavery like this? Would nothing but my subjection
satisfy your unconquerable appetite for power?"
"Did I seek you, Adam?"
"Yes! Not openly, I grant, your art was too fine for that; you shunned
me that I might seek you to ask why. In interviews that seemed to come
by chance, you tried every wile a woman owns, and they are many. You
wooed me as such as you alone can woo the hearts they know are hardest
to be won. You made your society a refreshment in this climate of the
passions; you hid your real self and feigned that for which I felt most
honor. You entertained my beliefs with largest hospitality; encouraged
my ambitions with a sympathy so genial that I thought it genuine;
professed my scorn for shammery, and seemed an earnest woman, eager to
find the true, to do the right; a fit wife for any man who desired a
helpmate, not a toy. It showed much strength of wit and will to conceive
and execute the design. It proved your knowledge of the virtues you
could counterfeit so well, else I never should have been where I am
now."
"Your commendation is deserved, though so ungently given, Adam."
"There will be no more of it. If I am ungentle, it is because I despise
deceit, and you possess a guile that has given me my first taste of
self-contempt, and the draught is bitter. Hear me out; for this
reminiscence is my justification; you must listen to the one and accept
the other. You seemed all this, but under the honest friendliness you
showed lurked the purpose you have since avowed, to conquer most
entirely the man who denied your right to rule by the supremacy of
beauty or of sex alone. You saw the unsuspected fascination that