Moods
infectious, that Sylvia already began to forget her gloom, and hurried
away to do her part. Putting on a short, girlish gown, kept for
scrambles among the rocks, she improvised a pinafore, and braided her
long hair a la Morlena Kenwigs, with butterfly bows at the ends. When
she went down, she found her husband in garden jacket, collar turned
over a ribbon, hair in a curly tumble, and jackknife in hand, seated on
the rug before a roaring fire, and a semicircle of apples, whittling and
whistling like a very boy. They examined one another with mirthful
commendations, and Moor began his part by saying--
"Isn't this jolly? Now come and cuddle down here beside me, and see
which will keep it up the longest."
"What would Prue say? and who would recognize the elegant Mr. Moor in
this big boy? Putting dignity and broadcloth aside makes you look about
eighteen, and very charming I find you," said Sylvia, looking about
twelve herself, and also very charming.
"Here is a wooden fork for you to tend the roast with, while I see to
the corn laws and prepare a vegetable snowstorm. What will you have,
little girl, you look as if you wanted something?"
"I was only thinking that I should have a doll to match your knife. I
feel as if I should enjoy trotting a staring fright on my knee, and
singing Hush-a-by. But I fancy even your magic cannot produce such a
thing,--can it, my lad?"
"In exactly five minutes a lovely doll will appear, though such a thing
has not been seen in my bachelor establishment for years."
With which mysterious announcement Moor ran off, blundering over the
ottomans and slamming the doors as a true boy should. Sylvia pricked
chestnuts, and began to forget her bosom trouble as she wondered what
would appear with the impatient curiosity appropriate to the character
she had assumed. Presently her husband reappeared with much breeziness
of aspect, rain drops in his hair, and a squirming bundle in his arms.
Triumphantly unfolding many wraps, he displayed little Tilly in her
night-gown.
"There is sorcery for you, and a doll worth having; being one of the
sort that can shut its eyes; it was going to bed, but its mamma relented
and lends it to us for the night. I told Mrs. Dodd you wanted her, and
couldn't wait, so she sent her clothes; but the room is so warm let the
dear play in her pretty bed-gown."
Sylvia received her lovely plaything with enthusiasm, and Tilly felt
herself suddenly transported to a baby's Paradise, where beds were
unknown and fruit and freedom were her welcome portion. Merrily popped
the corn, nimbly danced the nuts upon the shovel, lustily remonstrated
the rosy martyrs on the hearth, and cheerfully the minutes slipped away.
Sylvia sung every jubilant air she knew, Moor whistled astonishing
accompaniments, and Tilly danced over the carpet with nut-shells on her
toes, and tried to fill her little gown with "pitty flowers" from its
garlands and bouquets. Without the wind lamented, the sky wept, and the
sea thundered on the shore; but within, youth, innocence, and love held
their blithe revel undisturbed.
"How are the spirits now?" asked one playmate of the other.
"Quite merry, thank you; and I should think I was little Sylvia again
but for the sight of this."
She held up the hand that wore a single ornament; but the hand had grown
so slender since it was first put on, that the ring would have fallen
had she not caught it at her finger-tip. There was nothing of the boy in
her companion's face, as he said, with an anxious look--
"If you go on thinning so fast I shall begin to fear that the little
wife is not happy with her old husband. Is she, dear?"
"She would be a most ungrateful woman if she were not. I always get thin
as winter comes on, but I'm so careless I'll find a guard for my ring
to-morrow."
"No need to wait till then; wear this to please me, and let Marion's
cipher signify that you are _mine_."
With a gravity that touched her more than the bestowal of so dear a
relic, Moor unslung a signet ring from his watchguard, and with some
difficulty pressed it to its place on Sylvia's finger, a most effectual
keeper for that other ring whose tenure seemed so slight. She shrunk a
little and glanced up at him, because his touch was more firm than
tender, and his face wore a masterful expression seldom seen there; for
instinct, subtler than perception, prompted both act and aspect. Then
her eye fell and fixed upon the dark stone with the single letter
engraved upon its tiny oval, and to her it took a double significance as
her husband held it there, claiming her again, with that emphatic
"Mine." She did not speak, but something in her manner caused the fold
between his brows to smooth itself away as he regarded the small hand
lying passively in his, and said, half playfully, half earnestly--
"Forgive me if I hurt you, but you know my wooing is not over yet; and
till you love me with a perfect love I cannot feel that my wife is
wholly mine."
"I am so young, you know; when I am a woman grown I can give you a
woman's love; now it is a girl's, you say. Wait for me, Geoffrey, a
little longer, for indeed I do my best to be all you would have me."
Something brought tears into her eyes and made her lips tremble, but in
a breath the smile came back, and she added gayly--
"How can I help being grave sometimes, and getting thin, with so many
housekeeping cares upon my shoulders, and such an exacting, tyrannical
husband to wear upon my nerves. Don't I look like the most miserable of
wives?"
She did not certainly as she shook the popper laughingly, and looked
over her shoulder at him, with the bloom of fire-light on her cheeks,
its cheerfulness in her eyes.
"Keep that expression for every day wear, and I am satisfied. I want no
tame Griselda, but the little girl who once said she was always happy
with me. Assure me of that, and, having won my Leah, I can work and wait
still longer for my Rachel. Bless the baby! what has she done to herself
now?"
Tilly had retired behind the sofa, after she had swarmed over every
chair and couch, examined everything within her reach, on _etagere_ and
table, embraced the Hebe in the corner, played a fantasia on the piano,
and choked herself with the stopper of the odor bottle. A doleful wail
betrayed her hiding place, and she now emerged with a pair of
nutcrackers, ditto of pinched fingers, and an expression of great mental
and bodily distress. Her woes vanished instantaneously, however, when
the feast was announced, and she performed an unsteady _pas seul_ about
the banquet, varied by skirmishes with her long night-gown and darts at
any unguarded viand that tempted her.
No ordinary table service would suit the holders of this fireside
_fete_. The corn was heaped in a bronze urn, the nuts in a graceful
basket, the apples lay on a plate of curiously ancient china, and the
water turned to wine through the medium of a purple flagon of Bohemian
glass. The refection was spread upon the rug as on a flowery table, and
all the lustres were lighted, filling the room with a festal glow. Prue
would have held up her hands in dismay, like the benighted piece of
excellence she was, but Mark would have enjoyed the picturesque group
and sketched a mate to the Golden Wedding. For Moor, armed with the
wooden fork, did the honors; Sylvia, leaning on her arm, dropped corn
after corn into a baby mouth that bird-like always gaped for more; and
Tilly lay luxuriously between them, warming her little feet as she ate
and babbled to the flames.
The clock was on the stroke of eight, the revel at its height, when the
door opened and a servant announced--
"Miss Dane and Mr. Warwick."
An impressive pause followed, broken by a crow from Tilly, who seized
this propitious moment to bury one hand in the nuts and with the other
capture the big red apple which had been denied her. The sound seemed to
dissipate the blank surprise that had fallen on all parties, and brought
both host and hostess to their feet, the former exclaiming, heartily--
"Welcome, friends, to a modern saturnalia and the bosom of the Happy
Family!"
"I fear you did not expect me so late," said Miss Dane. "I was detained
at the time fixed upon and gave it up, but Mr. Warwick came, and we set
off together. Pray don't disturb yourselves, but let us enjoy the game
with you."
"You and Adam are guests who never come too early or too late. We are
playing children to-night, so just put yourselves back a dozen years and
let us all be merry together. Sylvia, this our cousin, Faith here is
your new kinswoman. Please love one another as little people are
commanded to do."
A short stir ensued while hands were shaken, wraps put off, and some
degree of order restored to the room, then they all sat down and began
to talk. With well bred oblivion of the short gown and long braids of
her bashful-looking hostess, Miss Dane suggested and discussed various
subjects of mutual interest, while Sylvia tried to keep her eyes from
wandering to the mirror opposite, which reflected the figures of her
husband and his friend.
Warwick sat erect in the easy-chair, for he never lounged; and Moor,
still supporting his character, was perched upon the arm, talking with
boyish vivacity. Every sense being unwontedly alert, Sylvia found
herself listening to both guests at once, and bearing her own part in
one conversation so well that occasional lapses were only attributed to
natural embarrassment. What she and Miss Dane said she never remembered;
what the other pair talked of she never forgot. The first words she
caught were her husband's.
"You see I have begun to live for myself, Adam."
"I also see that it agrees with you excellently."
"Better than with you, for you are not looking like your old self,
though June made you happy, I hope?"
"If freedom is happiness it did."
"Are you still alone?"
"More so than ever."
Sylvia lost the next words, for a look showed her Moor's hand on Adam's
shoulder, and that for the first time within her memory Warwick did not
meet his friend's glance with one as open, but bent his eyes upon the
ground, while his hand went to and fro across his lips as if to steady
them. It was a gesture she remembered well, for though self-control
could keep the eye clear, the voice firm, that half-hidden mouth of his
sometimes rebelled and grew tremulous as a woman's. The sight and the
answer set her heart beating with the thought, "Why has he come?" The
repetition of a question by Miss Dane recalled her from a dangerous
memory, and when that friendly lady entered upon another long sentence
to relieve her young hostess, she heard Moor say--
"You have had too much solitude, Adam; I am sure of it, for no man can
live long alone and not get the uncanny look you have. What have you
been at?"
"Fighting the old fight with this unruly self of mine, and getting ready
for another tussle with the Adversary, in whatever shape he may appear."
"And now you are come to your friend for the social solace which the
haughtiest heart hungers for when most alone. You shall have it. Stay
with us, Adam, and remember that whatever changes come to me my home is
always yours."
"I know it, Geoffrey. I wanted to see your happiness before I go away
again, and should like to stay with you a day or so if you are sure
that--that she would like it."
Moor laughed and pulled a lock of the brown mane, as if to tease the
lion into a display of the spirit he seemed to have lost.
"How shy you are of speaking the new name! 'She' will like it, I assure
you, for she makes my friends hers. Sylvia, come here, and tell Adam he
is welcome; he dares to doubt it. Come and talk over old times, while I
do the same with Faith."
She went, trembling inwardly, but outwardly composed, for she took