CHAPTER XXXVIII
"CERTAINLY I REFUSE YOU"
Having heard that one of the finest views among the mountains was tobe had at Indian Head, a vast overhanging precipice facing toward theentrance to the Kaaterskill Clove, Graydon easily induced Madge toexplore with him the tangled paths which led thither.
How his eyes exulted over her as she tripped on before him down thesteep, winding, rocky paths! As he followed he often wondered whereher feet had found their secure support, so rugged was the way. Yet onshe glanced before him, swaying, bending to avoid branches, or pushingthem aside, her motions instinct with vitality and natural grace.
Once, however, he had a fright. She was taking a deep descent swiftly,when her skirt caught on a stubborn projecting stump of a sapling,and it appeared that she would fall headlong; but by some surprising,self-recovering power, which seemed exerted even in the act offalling, she lay before him in the path, almost as if reclining easilyupon her elbow, and was nearly on her feet again before he could reachher side.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, most solicitously, brushing off the dustfrom her dress.
"Not in the least," she replied, laughing.
"Well," he exclaimed, "I don't believe you or any one else could dothat so handsomely again if you tried a thousand times! Don't try,please. I carried you the other day some little distance, and foundthat you were no longer a little ghost."
"You carried me, Graydon? I thought the people from the farmhousecame."
"Oh, I didn't wait for them! I was half beside myself."
"Evidently," she replied, a little coolly.
Her tone made him falter in his purpose, and when at last they reachedIndian Head, she was so resolutely impersonal in her talk, and had somuch to say about the history and the legends of the region ofwhich she had read, that he felt that she was in no mood for what heintended to say. As the time passed he grew nervously apprehensiveover his project, and at last they started on their return with hisplan unfulfilled. They agreed to try a path to their left, which wasscarcely distinguishable, and it soon appeared to end at a point thatsloped almost perpendicularly to a wild gorge that ran up between thehills.
"That must be what is down on the map as Tamper Clove," said Madge;"and do you know, some think that it was up that valley Irving madepoor Rip carry the heavy keg? Oh, I wish we could get down into it andgo back that way!"
"Let me explore;" and he began swinging himself down by the aid ofsaplings and smaller growth. "Some one has passed here recently," hecalled back, "for trees are freshly blazed and branches broken. Yes,"he cried, a moment later; "here is a well-defined path leading up theclove toward the hotel. Do you think you dare attempt it?"
"Certainly," she answered; and before he could reach her she washalf-way down the descent.
"Madge!" he cried, in alarm.
"Oh, don't worry," she said; "I was over worse places in the West."
"Well, what can't she do!" he exclaimed, as she stood beside him inthe path.
"I can't give up my own way very easily," she replied. "You have foundthat out."
"That don't trouble me in the least. I don't wish you to give up yourown way. It's warm down here, and our walk won't be so breezy as if wehad followed the ridge."
"We will take it leisurely and have a rest by and by."
The gorge grew narrower and wilder. They passed an immense tree, underwhich Indians may have bivouacked, and in some storm long past thelightning had plowed its way from the topmost branch to its gnarledroots.
At last the path crossed a little rill that tinkled with a faintmurmur among the stones, making a limpid pool here and there. Immensebowlders, draped with varied-hued mosses and lichens, were scatteredabout, where in ages past the melting glacier had left them. The treesthat densely shaded the place seemed primeval in their age, loftiness,and shaggy girth.
"Oh, what a deliciously cool and lovely spot!" cried Madge, throwingdown her alpenstock. "Get me some oak leaves, Graydon, and I will makeyou a cup and give you a drink."
In a moment she made a fairy chalice with the aid of little twigs, andwhen she handed it to him, dripping with water, his hand trembled ashe took it.
"Why, Graydon," she exclaimed, "what on earth makes you so nervous?"
"I am not used to climbing, and I suppose my hand has a little tremorfrom fatigue."
"You poor thing! Here is a mossy rock on which you can imitate Rip.You have only to imagine that my leaf goblet is the goblin flagon ofIrving's legend."
"Where and what would you be after twenty years?"
"Probably a wrinkled spinster at Santa Barbara."
"You wouldn't go away and leave me?"
"Certainly I would, if I couldn't wake you up."
He looked into her mirthful eyes and lovely face. Oh, how lovely itwas, flushed from heat and climbing! "Madge," he said, impetuously,"you have waked me--every faculty of my soul, every longing of myheart. Will you be my wife?"
Her face grew scarlet. She sprang to her feet, and asked, with halfserious, half comic dismay, "Will I be your _what!_"
"I asked you to be my wife," he began, confusedly.
"Oh, Graydon, this is worse than asking me to be your sister!" shereplied, laughing. "Your alternations fairly make me dizzy."
"Truly, Madge," he stammered, "a man can scarcely pay a woman agreater compliment--"
"Oh, it's a compliment!" she interrupted.
"No," he burst out, with more than his first impetuosity; "I'min earnest. You, who almost read my thoughts, know that I am inearnest--that--"
By a strong yet simple gesture she checked him.
"You scarcely realize what you are asking, Graydon," she said,gravely. "I have no doubt your present emotion is unforced andsincere, but it requires time to prove earnestness. You were equallysure you were in earnest a short time since, and I had little place,comparatively, in your thoughts."
"But I did not know you then as I do now."
"You thought you did. You had vivid impressions then about me, andmore vivid about another woman. You are acting now under anotherimpression, and from impulse. If I ever give myself away it shall notbe in response to an impulse."
"Madge, you misjudge me--" he began, hotly.
"I think I know most of the facts, and you know how matter-of-factI am. You may think I do not know what love is, but I do. It is apriceless thing. It is a woman's life, and all that makes a truewoman's life. It is something that one cannot always give at will, orwisely; but if I had the power to give it at all, it should be to aman who had earned the right to ask it, and not to one who, within afew short days, had formed new impressions about me. Love is not theaffection of a friend, or even of a sister. There is no necessity forme to marry."
"Then you refuse me?" he said, a little stiffly.
"Certainly I refuse you, Graydon. Has my manner led you to think thatI was eager for a chance to accept you?"
"Oh, no, indeed! You have checked my slightest tendencies towardsentiment."
"Thank you for the assurance. I do not care in the least forsentiment."
His airy fabric of hope, of almost certainty, had been shattered sosuddenly that he was overwhelmed. There seemed but one conclusion.
"Madge," he said, in a low, hoarse voice, "answer me, yes or no. Youloved some one at Santa Barbara who did not return your love? That isyour trouble of which Mrs. Wendall spoke--I could not help hearing herwords--that is the mystery about you which has been haunting me withincreasing perplexity; that was the sorrow I heard in your voice theevening you sang in the chapel, and which has vaguely, yet strongly,moved me since? Tell me, is it not so? Tell me, as a friend, that Imay be a truer friend."
She had turned away in a manner that confirmed his thought.
"You are suggesting a humiliating confession, Graydon."
"Yes, humiliating to the man who saw you, knew you, yet did not loveyou. Tell me, Madge. It will make my own course clearer."
"Yes, then," she replied.
He sighed deep
ly, and was silent for a few moments.
"Madge," he at last resumed, "look at me. I wish to tell yousomething."
She turned slowly toward him, and he saw that her lip was trembling,and that tears were gathering in her eyes.
"You may think me cruel in wringing such a confession from you, butperhaps you will forgive me when you hear all I have to say. You maylook upon me now as a creature of impulses and impressions. The memoryof my recent infatuation is fresh in your mind, but you yourself saidI could be straightforward when once I got my bearings. I have themnow, and I take my course. As a friend you have revealed to me much ofyour woman's nature, and, having known the best, I shall not look foranything less than yours. I shall be devoted to you through life. Iwill be to you all that I can be--all that you will permit. It is saidthat time heals all wounds. Perhaps some day--well, if it ever can be,I should be content to take what you could give. You said I was kindand patient with the little ghost. I should be far kinder, gentler--"
She had felt herself going fast, and had almost yielded to the impulseto exclaim, "You, Graydon, are the one who did not return my love; andalthough your love has been so brief and untested compared with mine,I will trust you;" when voices were heard on the same path bywhich they had come, and the figures of other ramblers were seenindistinctly through the foliage.
She gave his hand a strong pressure, seized her alpenstock, andhastened swiftly forward. The path soon afterward emerged on thepublic road. The breeze cooled her hot cheeks, kissed away her tears,and half an hour later they approached the hotel, chatting as quietlyas the strictest conventionality would require.
A Young Girl's Wooing Page 38