The Hidden Children by Robert W. Chambers (books to improve english .TXT) 📗

laughed at me and led the way across the dreary strip of clearing, moving with a swift confidence in her knowledge of the place, which imitating, I ran foul of a charred stump, and she heard what I said.

"Poor lad!" she exclaimed contritely, slipping her hand into mine. "I should have guided you. Does it pain you?"

"Not much."

Our hands were clasped, and she pressed mine with all the sweet freedom of a comradeship which means nothing deeper. For I now had learned from her own lips, sadly enough, how it was with her—how she regarded our friendship. It was to her a deep and living thing—a noble emotion, not a passion—a belief founded on gratitude and reason, not a confused, blind longing and delight possessing every waking moment, ever creating for itself a thousand tender dreams or fanciful and grotesque apprehensions.

Clear-headed so far, reasonable in her affection, gay or tender as the mood happened, convinced that what I declared to be my love for her was but a boy's exaggeration for the same sentiments she entertained toward me, how could she have rightly understood the symptoms of this amazing malady that possessed me—these reasonless extremes of ardour, of dejection, of a happiness so keen and thrilling that it pained sometimes, and even at moments seemed to make me almost drunk.

Nor did I myself entirely comprehend what ailed me, never having been able to imagine myself in love, or ever dreamed that I possessed the capacity for such a violent devotion to any woman. I think now, at that period, somewhere under all the very real excitement and emotion of an adolescent encountering for the first time the sweet appeal of youthful mind and body, that I seemed to feel there might be in it all something not imperishable. And caught myself looking furtively and a little fearfully at her, at times, striving to conceive myself indifferent.

When we came to the Spring Waiontha I had walked straight into the water except for her, so dark it was around us. And:

"How can you ever get back alone?" said she.

"Oho!" said I, laughing, "I left the willow-tips a-dangle, breaking them with my left hand. I am woodsman enough to feel my way out."

"But not woodsman enough to spare your shins in the clearing," she said saucily.

"Shall we sit and talk?" I said.

"Oh, Euan! And my bath! I am fairly melting as I stand here."

"But I have not seen you for two entire nights, Lois."

"I know, poor boy, but you seem to have survived."

"When I do not see you every day I am most miserable."

"So am I—but I am reasonable, too. I say to myself, if I don't see Euan today I will nevertheless see him to-morrow, or the day after, or the next, God willing——"

"Lois!"

"What?"

"How can you reason so coldly?"

"I—reason coldly? There is nothing cold in me where you are concerned. But I have to console myself for not seeing you——"

"I am inconsolable," said I fervently.

"No more than am I," she retorted hotly, as though jealous that I should arrogate to myself a warmer feeling concerning her than she entertained for me.

"I care so much for you, Lois," said I.

"And I for you."

"Not as I care for you."

"Exactly as you care for me. Do you think me insensible to gratitude and affection?"

"I do not desire your gratitude for a few articles——"

"It isn't for them—though I'm grateful for those things too! It's gratitude to God for giving me you, Euan Loskiel! And you ought to take shame to yourself for doubting it!"

I said nothing, being unable to see her in the darkness, much less perceive what expression she wore for her rebuke to me. Then as I stood silent, I felt her little hands groping on my arm; and my own closed on them and I laid my lips to them.

"Ai-me!" she said softly. "Why do we fight and fret each other? Why do I, who adore you so, let you vex me and stir me to say what I do not mean at all. Always remember, Euan—always, always—that whatever I am unkind enough to say or do to vex you, in my secret mind I know that no other man on earth is comparable to you—and that you reign first in my heart—first, and all by yourself, alone."

"And will you try to love me some day, Lois?"

"I do."

"I mean——"

"Oh, Euan, I do—I do! Only—you know—not in the manner you once spoke of——"

"But I love you in that manner."

"No, you do not! If you did, doubtless I would respond; no doubt at all that I also would confess such sentiments in your regard. But it isn't true for either of us. You're a man. All men are prone to harp on those strings.... But—there is no harmony in them to me.... I know my own mind, although you say I don't—and—I do know yours, too. And if a day ever comes that neither you nor I are longer able to think clearly and calmly with our minds, but begin to reason with our emotions, then I shall consider that we are really entering into a state of love—such as you sometimes have mentioned to me—and will honestly admit as much to you.... And if you then desire to wed me, no doubt that I shall desire it, too. And I promise in that event to love you—oh, to death, Euan!" she said, pressing my hands convulsively. "If ever I love—that way—it truly will be love! Are you content with what I say?"

"I must be."

"What an ungracious answer! I could beat you soundly for it! Euan, you sometimes vex me so that I could presently push you into that pool.... I do not mean it, dearest lad. You know you already have my heart—perhaps only a child's heart yet, though I have seen ages pass away.... And my eyes have known tears.... Perhaps for that reason I am come out into this new sunshine which you have made for me, to play as children play—having never done so in my youth. Bear with me, Euan. You would not want me if there were nothing in me to respond to you. If there ever is, it will not remain silent. But first I want my play-day in the sunshine you have promised me—the sunlight of a comrade's kindness. Be not too blunt with me. You have my heart, I tell you. Let it lie quiet and safe in your keeping, like some strange, frail chrysalis. I myself know there is a miracle within it; but what that miracle may be, I may not guess till it reveals itself."

"I am a fool," I said. "God never before sent any man such a comrade as He has sent in you to me."

"That was said sweetly and loyally. Thank you. If hearts are to be awakened and won, I think it might be done that way—with such pleasant phrases—given always time."

Presently she withdrew her hands and slipped away from me in the dark.

"Be careful," said I, "or you will slip overboard."

"I mean to presently."

"Then—must I go so soon?"

She did not answer. Once I thought I heard her moving softly, but the sound came from the wrong direction.

"Lois!"

No reply.

"Lois!" I repeated uneasily.

There was a ripple in the pool, silence, then somewhere in the darkness a faint splash.

"Good Lord!" said I. "Have you fallen in?"

"Not fallen in. But I am truly in, Euan. I couldn't endure it any longer; and you didn't seem to want to go.... So please remain where you now are."

"Do you mean to say——" I began incredulously.

And, "Yes, I do!" she said, defiant. "And I think this ought to teach you what a comrade's perfect confidence can be. Never complain to me of my want of trust in you again."

In astonished and uneasy silence, I stood listening. The unseen pool rippled in the darkness with a silvery sound, as though a great fish were swirling there in the pallid lustre of the stars.

After a while she laughed outright—the light, mischievous laughter of a child.

"I feel like one of those smooth and lurking naiads which haunt lost pools—or like some ambushed water-sprite meditating malice, and slyly alert to do you a harm. Have a care, else I transform you into a fish and chase you under the water, and pinch and torment you!"

And presently her voice came again from the more distant darkness somewhere:

"Has the box which you commanded arrived yet, Euan?"

"It is at my hut. A wagon will bring it to you in the morning."

I could hear her clap her wet little hands; and she cried out softly:

"Oh!" and "Oh!" Then she said: "I did not understand at first how much I wished for everything you offered. Only when I saw the ladies at Croghan's house, as I was coming with my mending from the fort—then I knew I wanted everything you have bespoken for me.... Everything, dear lad! Oh, you don't know how truly grateful I shall be. No, you don't, Euan! And if the box is really come, when am I going with you to be made known to Mistress Bleecker?"

"I think it is better that I first bring her to you."

"Would she condescend to come?"

"I think so."

There was a pause. I seated myself. Then the soft and indecisive sound of ripples stirred by an idle hand broke the heated silence.

"You say they all are your good friends?" she remarked thoughtfully.

"I know them all. Lana Helmer I have known intimately since we were children."

"Then why is it not better to present me to her first—if you know her so very well?"

"Mrs. Bleecker is older."

"Oh! Is this Miss Helmer then so young?"

"Your age."

"Oh! My age.... And pretty?"

"The world thinks so."

"Oh! And what do you think, Euan?"

"Yes, she is pretty," said I carelessly.

There was a long silence. I sat there, my knees gathered in my arms, staring up at the stars.

Then, faintly came her voice:

"Good-night, Euan."

I rose, laid hold of the willow bush that scraped my shoulders, felt over it until I found the dangling broken branch; stepped forward, groping, until I touched the next broken branch. Then, knowing I was on my trail, I turned around and called back softly through the darkness:

"Good-night, little Lois!"

"Good-night, and sweet dreams, Euan. I will be dressed and waiting for you in the morning to go to Mrs. Bleecker, or to receive her as you and she think fitting.... Is there a looking glass in that same wonder-box?"

"Two, Lois."

"You dear and generous lad!... And are there hair-pegs? Heaven knows if my clipped poll will hold them. Anyway, I can powder and patch, and—oh, Euan! Is there lip-red and curd-lily lotion for the skin? Not that I shall love you any less if there be none——"

"I bespoke of Mr. Hake," said I, laughing, "a full beauty battery, such as I once saw Betty Schuyler show to Walter Butler, having but then received it from New York. And all I know, Lois, is that it was full of boxes, jars, and flasks, and smelled like a garden in late June. And if Mr. Hake has not chosen with discretion I shall go South and scalp him!"

"Euan, I adore you!"

"You adore your battery," said I, not convinced.

"That, too. But you more than my mirrors, and my lip-red, and the lily lotion—more than my darling shifts and stays and shoon and gowns!... I had never dreamed I could accept them from you. But you had become so dear to me—and I could read you through and through—and found you so like myself—and it gave me a new pleasure to humble my pride to your desires. That is how it came about. Also, I saw those ladies.... And I do not think I shall be great friends with your Lana Helmer—even when I am fine and brave in gown and powder to face her on equal terms——"

"Lois, what in the world are you babbling?"

"Let me babble, Euan. Never have I been so happy, so content, so excited yet so confident.... Listen; do you dread tomorrow?"

"I?"

"Yes—that I might not do you honour before your fashionable friends?... And I say to you, have no fear. If my gowns are truly what I think they are, I shall conduct without a tremour—particularly if your Lana be there, and that careless, rakish friend of yours, Lieutenant Boyd."

"Do you remember what you are to say to Boyd if he seems in any wise to think he has met you elsewhere?"

"I can avoid a lie and deal with him," she said with calm contempt. "But there is not a chance he'd know me in my powder."

There was a silence. Then the unseen water rippled and splashed.

"Poor Euan!" she said. "I wish you might dare swim here in this heavenly place with me. But