Moods
first red streaks were visible in the east, and a dim light found its
way into the barn through the great door which had been left ajar for
air. An instant Sylvia lay collecting herself, then rose on her arm,
looked resolutely behind her, stared with round eyes a moment, and
dropped down again, laughing with a merriment, which coming on the heels
of her long alarm was rather hysterical. All she saw was a little
soft-eyed Alderney, which lifted its stag-like head, and regarded her
with a confiding aspect that won her pardon for its innocent offence.
Through the relief of both mind and body which she experienced in no
small degree, the first thought that came was a thankful "what a mercy I
didn't call Mark, for I should never have heard the last of this;" and
having fought her fears alone she enjoyed her success alone, and
girl-like resolved to say nothing of her first night's adventures.
Gathering herself up she crept nearer and caressed her late terror,
which stretched its neck toward her with a comfortable sound, and
munched her shawl like a cosset lamb. But before this new friendship was
many minutes old, Sylvia's heavy lids fell together, her head dropped
lower and lower, her hand lay still on the dappled neck, and with a long
sigh of weariness she dropped back upon the hay, leaving little Alderney
to watch over her much more tranquilly than she had watched over it.
CHAPTER IV.
THROUGH FLOOD AND FIELD AND FIRE.
Very early were they afloat again, and as they glided up the stream
Sylvia watched the earth's awakening, seeing in it what her own should
be. The sun was not yet visible above the hills, but the sky was ready
for his coming, with the soft flush of color dawn gives only to her
royal lover. Birds were chanting matins as if all the jubilance of their
short lives must be poured out at once. Flowers stirred and brightened
like children after sleep. A balmy wind came whispering from the wood,
bringing the aroma of pines, the cool breath of damp nooks, the
healthful kiss that leaves a glow behind. Light mists floated down the
river like departing visions that had haunted it by night, and every
ripple breaking on the shore seemed to sing a musical good morrow.
Sylvia could not conceal the weariness her long vigil left behind; and
after betraying herself by a drowsy lurch that nearly took her
overboard, she made herself comfortable, and slept till the grating of
the keel on a pebbly shore woke her to find a new harbor reached under
the lee of a cliff, whose deep shadow was very grateful after the glare
of noon upon the water.
"How do you intend to dispose of yourself this afternoon, Adam?" asked
Mark, when dinner was over and his sister busy feeding the birds.
"In this way," answered Warwick, producing a book and settling himself
in a commodious cranny of the rock.
"Moor and I want to climb the cliff and sketch the view; but it is too
rough a road for Sylvia. Would you mind mounting guard for an hour or
two? Read away, and leave her to amuse herself; only pray don't let her
get into any mischief by way of enjoying her liberty, for she fears
nothing and is fond of experiments."
"I'll do my best," replied Warwick, with an air of resignation.
Having slung the hammock and seen Sylvia safely into it, the climbers
departed, leaving her to enjoy the luxury of motion. For half an hour
she swung idly, looking up into the green pavilion overhead, where many
insect families were busy with their small joys and cares, or out over
the still landscape basking in the warmth of a cloudless afternoon. Then
she opened a book Mark had brought for his own amusement, and began to
read as intently as her companion, who leaned against the boulder slowly
turning his pages, with leafy shadows flickering over his uncovered head
and touching it with alternate sun and shade. The book proved
interesting, and Sylvia was rapidly skimming into the heart of the
story, when an unguarded motion caused her swing to slope perilously to
one side, and in saving herself she lost her book. This produced a
predicament, for being helped into a hammock and getting out alone are
two very different things. She eyed the distance from her nest to the
ground, and fancied it had been made unusually great to keep her
stationary. She held fast with one hand and stretched downward with the
other, but the book insolently flirted its leaves just out of reach.
She took a survey of Warwick; he had not perceived her plight, and she
felt an unwonted reluctance to call for help, because he did not look
like one used to come and go at a woman's bidding. After several
fruitless essays she decided to hazard an ungraceful descent; and,
gathering herself up, was about to launch boldly out, when Warwick
cried, "Stop!" in a tone that nearly produced the catastrophe he wished
to avert. Sylvia subsided, and coming up he lifted the book, glanced at
the title, then keenly at the reader.
"Do you like this?"
"So far very much."
"Are you allowed to read what you choose?"
"Yes, sir. That is Mark's choice, however; I brought no book."
"I advise you to skim it into the river; it is not a book for you."
Sylvia caught a glimpse of the one he had been reading himself, and
impelled by a sudden impulse to see what would come of it, she answered
with a look as keen as his own--
"You disapprove of my book; would you recommend yours?"
"In this case, yes; for in one you will find much falsehood in purple
and fine linen, in the other some truth in fig-leaves. Take your
choice."
He offered both; but Sylvia took refuge in civility.
"I thank you, I'll have neither; but if you will please steady the
hammock, I will try to find some more harmless amusement for myself."
He obeyed with one of the humorous expressions which often passed over
his face. Sylvia descended as gracefully as circumstances permitted, and
went roving up and down the cliffs. Warwick resumed his seat and the
"barbaric yawp," but seemed to find Truth in demi-toilet less
interesting than Youth in a gray gown and round hat, for which his taste
is to be commended. The girl had small scope for amusement, and when she
had gathered moss for pillows, laid out a white fungus to dry for a
future pin-cushion, harvested penny-royal in little sheaves tied with
grass-blades, watched a battle between black ants and red, and learned
the landscape by heart; she was at the end of her resources, and leaning
on a stone surveyed earth and sky with a somewhat despondent air.
"You would like something to do, I think."
"Yes, sir; for being rather new to this sort of life, I have not yet
learned how to dispose of my time."
"I see that, and having deprived you of one employment will try to
replace it by another."
Warwick rose, and going to the single birch that glimmered among the
pines like a delicate spirit of the wood, he presently returned with
strips of silvery bark.
"You were wishing for baskets to hold your spoils, yesterday; shall we
make some now?" he asked.
"How stupid in me not to think of that! Yes, thank you, I should like it
very much;" and producing her housewife, Sylvia fell to work with a
brightening face.
Warwick sat a little below her on the rock, shaping his basket in
perfect silence. This did not suit Sylvia, for feeling lively and
loquacious she wanted conversation to occupy her thoughts as pleasantly
as the birch rolls were occupying her hands, and there sat a person who,
she was sure, could do it perfectly if he chose. She reconnoitered with
covert glances, made sundry overtures, and sent out envoys in the shape
of scissors, needles, and thread. But no answering glance met hers; her
remarks received the briefest replies, and her offers of assistance were
declined with an absent "No, thank you." Then she grew indignant at this
seeming neglect, and thought, as she sat frowning over her work, behind
his back--
"He treats me like a child,--very well, then, I'll behave like one, and
beset him with questions till he is driven to speak; for he can talk, he
ought to talk, he shall talk."
"Mr. Warwick, do you like children?" she began, with a determined
aspect.
"Better than men or women."
"Do you enjoy amusing them?"
"Exceedingly, when in the humor."
"Are you in the humor now?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Then why don't you amuse me?"
"Because you are not a child."
"I fancied you thought me one."
"If I had, I probably should have put you on my knee, and told you fairy
tales, or cut dolls for you out of this bark, instead of sitting
respectfully silent and making a basket for your stores."
There was a curious smile about Warwick's mouth as he spoke, and Sylvia
was rather abashed by her first exploit. But there was a pleasure in the
daring, and choosing another topic she tried again.
"Mark was telling me last night about the great college you had chosen;
I thought it must be a very original and interesting way to educate
one's self, and wanted very much to know what you had been studying
lately. May I ask you now?"
"Men and women," was the brief answer.
"Have you got your lesson, sir?"
"A part of it very thoroughly, I believe."
"Would you think me rude if I asked which part?"
"The latter."
"And what conclusions do you arrive at concerning this branch of the
subject?" asked Sylvia, smiling and interested.
"That it is both dangerous and unsatisfactory."
He spoke so gravely, looked so stern, that Sylvia obeyed a warning
instinct and sat silent till she had completed a canoe-shaped basket,
the useful size of which produced a sudden longing to fill it. Her eye
had already spied a knoll across the river covered with vines, and so
suggestive of berries that she now found it impossible to resist the
desire for an exploring trip in that direction. The boat was too large
for her to manage alone, but an enterprising spirit had taken possession
of her, and having made one voyage of discovery with small success she
resolved to try again, hoping a second in another direction might prove
more fruitful.
"Is your basket done, sir?" she asked.
"Yes; will you have it?"
"Why, you have made it as an Indian would, using grass instead of
thread. It is much more complete than mine, for the green stitches
ornament the white bark, but the black ones disfigure it. I should know
a man made your basket and a woman mine."
"Because one is ugly and strong, the other graceful but unable to stand
alone?" asked Warwick, rising, with a gesture that sent the silvery
shreds flying away on the wind.
"One holds as much as the other, however; and I fancy the woman would
fill hers soonest if she had the wherewithal to do it. Do you know there
are berries on that hillside opposite?"
"I see vines, but consider fruit doubtful, for boys and birds are
thicker than blackberries."
"I've a firm conviction that they have left some for us; and as Mark
says you like frankness, I think I shall venture to ask you to row me
over and help me fill the baskets on the other side."
Sylvia looked up at him with a merry mixture of doubt and daring in her
face, and offered him his hat.
"Very good, I will," said Warwick, leading the way to the boat with an
alacrity which proved how much pleasanter to him was action than repose.
There was no dry landing-place just opposite, and as he rowed higher,
Adam fixed his eyes on Sylvia with a look peculiar to himself, a gaze
more keen than soft, which seemed to search one through and through with
its rapid discernment. He saw a face full of contradictions,--youthful,
maidenly, and intelligent, yet touched with the unconscious melancholy
which is born of disappointment and desire. The mouth was sweet and
tender as a woman's should be, the brow spirited and thoughtful; but the