CHAPTER VIII
THE MYSTERY OF MYSTERIES
"Is it a task, then, to show me the right paths and proper ways?" Iasked, as we strolled away, leaving Adah looking as if--in hercuriosity to know more of the new species, a night editor--she wishedSilas Jones in the depths of the Dead Sea.
"That may depend on how apt and interesting a scholar you prove. I'm ateacher, you know, and teaching some of my scholars is drudgery, andothers a pleasure."
"So I'm put on my good behavior at once."
"You ought to be on your good behavior anyway--this is Sunday."
"Yes, and June. If a man is not good now he'll never be. And yet suchpeople as Mrs. Yocomb--nor will I except present company--make me awarethat I am not good--far from it."
"I am glad Mrs. Yocomb made just that impression on you."
"Why?"
"Because it proves you a better man than your words suggest, and, whatis of more consequence, a receptive man. I should have little hope forany one who came from a quiet talk with Mrs. Yocomb in a complacentmood or merely disposed to indulge in a few platitudes on the sweetnessand quaintness of her character, and some sentimentalities in regard toFriends. If the depths of one's nature were not stirred, then I wouldbelieve that there were no depths. She is doing me much good, andgiving me just the help I needed."
"I can honestly say that she uttered one sentence that did findsoundings in such shallow depths as exist in my nature, and I ought tobe a better man for it hereafter."
"She may have found you dreadfully bad, Mr. Morton: but I saw from herface that she did not find you shallow. If she had, you would not havetouched her so deeply."
"I touched her?"
"Yes. Women understand each other. Something you said--but do not thinkI'm seeking to learn what it was--moved her sympathies."
"Oh, she's kind and sympathetic toward every poor mortal."
"Very true; but she's intensely womanly; and a woman is incapable of abenevolence and sympathy that are measured out by the yard--so much toeach one, according to the dictates of judgment. You were so fortunateas to move Mrs. Yocomb somewhat as she touched your feelings; and youhave cause to be glad; for she can be a friend that will make lifericher."
"I think I can now recall what excited her sympathies, and may tell yousome time, that is, if you do not send me away."
"I send you away?"
"Yes, I told you that you were the one obstacle to my remaining."
She looked at me as if perplexed and a little hurt. I did not reply atonce, for her countenance was so mobile, so obedient to her thought andfeeling, that I watched its varied expressions with an interest thatconstantly deepened. In contrast to Adah Yocomb's her face was usuallypale; and yet it had not the sickly pallor of ill-health, but theclear, transparent complexion that is between the brunette and theblonde. Her eyes were full, and the impression of largeness, when shelooked directly at you, was increased by a peculiar outward curve oftheir long lashes.
Whether her eyes could be called blue I could not yet decide, and theyseemed to darken and grow a little cold as she now looked at me; butshe merely said, quietly:
"I do not understand you."
"This was your chosen resting-place for the summer, was it not, MissWarren?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, what right have I, an entire stranger, to come blunderingalong like a June beetle and disturb your rest? You did not lookforward to associations with night editors and like disreputable peoplewhen you chose this sheltered nook of the world, and nestled under Mrs.Yocomb's wing. You have the prior right here."
As I spoke, her face so changed that it reminded me of the morning ofthis eventful day when I first looked out upon its brightness, and as Iceased her laugh rang out heartily.
"So after all your fate is in my hands."
"It is. You have pre-empted this claim."
"Suppose I am a little non-committal, and should say, You may spend theevening, you may stay till to-morrow; would you be content?"
"No, indeed, but I would have to submit."
"Well, this is rich. Who ever heard of an editor--and the shrewd,alert, night editor at that--in such a dilemma! Do you realize what anunwise step you have taken? Mr. Yocomb justly complimented yourshrewdness in getting Mrs. Yocomb on your side, and having won her overyou were safe, and might have remained in this Eden as long as youchose. Now you place it within the power--the caprice even--of an utterstranger to send you out into the wilderness again."
I said, with a smile, "I am satisfied that you differ from your motherEve in one respect."
"Ah! in what respect?"
"You are not the kind of woman that causes banishment from Eden."
"You know very little about me, Mr. Morton."
"I know that."
She smiled and looked pleased in spite of herself.
"I think I'll let you stay till--till to-morrow," she said, with anarch side glance; then added, with a laugh, "What nonsense we aretalking! As if you had not as good a right to be here as I have."
"I beg your pardon. I spoke in downright sincerity. You found thisquiet place first. In a large hotel, all kinds of people can meetalmost as they do on Broadway; but here we must dwell together as onefamily, and I feel that I have no right to force on you any associationwithout your leave, especially as you are here alone. In a certainsense I introduce myself, and compel you to meet me socially withoutyour permission. You may have formed a very different plan for yoursummer's rest."
"It is rather rare for a music-teacher to receive so muchconsideration. It bewilders me a little."
"Pardon me. I soon discovered that you possessed woman's highest rank."
"Indeed! Am I a princess in disguise?"
"You are more than many princesses have been--a lady. And, as I saidbefore, you are here alone."
She turned and looked at me intently, and I felt that if I had not beensincere she would have known it. It was a peculiar and, I eventuallylearned, a characteristic act. I am now inclined to think that she sawthe precise attitude of my mind and feeling toward her; but myawakening interest was as far removed from curiosity as is our naturaldesire to have a melody completed, the opening strains of which arecaptivating.
Her face quickly lost its aspect of grave scrutiny, and she lookedaway, with a slight accession of color.
"Do you want to stay very much?" she asked.
"Miss Warren," I exclaimed, and my expression must have been eager andglad, "you looked at me then as you would at a doubtful stranger, andyour glance was searching. You looked as only a woman can--as one whowould see her way rather than reason it out. Now tell me in sinceritywhat you saw."
"You know from my manner what I saw," she said, smiling and blushingslightly.
"No, I only hoped; I have not a woman's eyesight."
She bit her lip, contracted her wide, low brow for a moment, thenturned and said frankly:
"I did not mean to be rude in my rather direct glance. Even though amusic-teacher, I have had compliments before, and I have usually foundthem as empty and insincere as the people who employed them. I amsomewhat alone in the world, Mr. Morton, and I belong to that class oftimid and rather helpless creatures whose safety lies in theirreadiness to run to cover. I have found truth the best cover for me,situated as I am. I aim to be just what I seem--neither more nor less;and I am very much afraid of people who do not speak the truth,especially when they are disposed to say nice things."
"And you saw?"
"I saw that bad as you are, I could trust you," she said, laughing; "afact that I was glad to learn since you are so bent on forcing yoursociety upon us all for a time."
"Thank Heaven!" I exclaimed, "I thought yesterday that I was abankrupt, but I must have a little of the man left in me to have passedthis ordeal. Had I seen distrust in your eyes and consequent reserve inyour manner, I should have been sorely wounded."
"No," she replied, shaking her head, "when a man's character is such asto excite distrust, he could not be so
sorely wounded as you suggest."
"I'm not sure of that," I said. "I think a man may know himself to beweak and wicked, and yet suffer greatly from such consciousness."
"Why should he weakly suffer? Why not simply do right? I can endure acertain amount of honest wickedness, but there is a phase of moralweakness that I detest," and for a moment her face wore an aspect thatwould have made any one wronging her tremble, for it was pure, strong,and almost severe.
"I do believe," I said, "that men are more merciful to the foibles ofhumanity than women." "You are more tolerant, perhaps. Ah! there'sDapple," and she ran to meet the spirited horse that was coming fromthe farmyard. Reuben, driving, sat confidently in his light open wagon,and his face indicated that he and the beautiful animal he couldscarcely restrain shared equally in their enjoyment of young, healthfullife. I was alarmed to see Miss Warren run forward, since at the momentDapple was pawing the air. A second later she was patting his archedneck and rubbing her cheek against his nose. He looked as if he likedit. Well he might.
"Oh, Reuben," she cried, "I envy you. I haven't seen a horse in townthat could compare with Dapple."
The young fellow was fairly radiant as he drove away.
She looked after him wistfully, and drew a long sigh.
"Ah!" she said, "they do me good after my city life. There's life foryou, Mr. Morton--full, overflowing, innocent life--in the boy and inthe horse. Existence, motion, is to them happiness. It seems a pitythat both must grow old and weary! My hand fairly tingles yet from mytouch of Dapple's neck, he was so alive with spirit. What is it thatanimates that great mass of flesh and blood, bone and sinew, making himso strong, yet so gentle. At a blow he would have dashed everything topieces, but he is as sensitive to kindness as I am. I sometimes halfthink that Dapple has as good a right to a soul as I have. Perhaps youare inclined toward Turkish philosophy, and think so too."
"I should be well content to go to the same heaven that receives youand Dapple. You are very fearless, Miss Warren, thus to approach arearing horse."
Her answer was a slight scream, and she caught my arm as if forprotection. At the moment I spoke a sudden turning in the lane broughtus face to face with a large matronly cow that was quietly ruminatingand switching away the flies. She turned upon us her large, mild,"Juno-like" eyes, in which one might imagine a faint expression ofsurprise, but nothing more.
My companion was trembling, and she said hurriedly:
"Please let us turn back, or go some other way."
"Why, Miss Warren," I exclaimed, "what is the matter?"
"That dreadful cow! Cows are my terror."
I laughed outright as I said, "Now is the time for me to displaycourage, and prove than an editor can be the knight-errant of the age.Upon my soul, Miss Warren, I shall protect you whatever horn of thisdilemma I may be impaled upon." Then advancing resolutely toward thecow, I added, "Madam, by your leave, we must pass this way."
At my approach the "dreadful cow" turned and ran down the lane to thepasture field, in a gait peculiarly feminine.
"Now you know what it is to have a protector," I said, returning.
"I'm glad you're not afraid of cows," she replied complacently. "Ishall never get over it. They are my terror."
"There is one other beast," I said, "that I am sure would inspire youwith equal dread."
"I know you are going to say a mouse. Well, it may seem very silly toyou, but I can't help it. I'm glad I wasn't afraid of Dapple, for younow can think me a coward only in streaks."
"It does appear to me irresistibly funny that you, who, alone andsingle-handed, have mastered this great world so that it is under yourfoot, should have quailed before that inoffensive cow, which isharmless as the milk she gives."
"A woman, Mr. Morton, is the mystery of mysteries--the one problem ofthe world that will never be solved. We even do not understandourselves."
"For which truth I am devoutly thankful. I imagine that instead of aweek, as Mr. Yocomb said, it would require a lifetime to get acquaintedwith some women. I wish my mother had lived. I'm sure that she wouldhave been a continuous revelation to me. I know that she had a greatdeal of sorrow, and yet my most distinct recollection of her is herlaugh. No earthly sound ever had for me so much meaning as her laugh. Ithink she laughed when other people would have cried. There's a tone inyour laugh that has recalled to me my mother again and again thisafternoon."
"I hope it is not a source of pain," she said gently.
"Far from it," I replied. "Memories of my mother give me pleasure, butI rarely meet with one to whom I would even think of mentioning hername."
"I do not remember my mother," she said sadly.
"Come," I resumed hastily, "you admit that you have been dull andlonely to-day. Look at that magnificent glow in the west. So assuredlyended in brightness the lives of those we loved, however clouded theirday may have been at times. This June evening, so full of glad sounds,is not the time for sad thoughts. Listen to the robins, to that saucyoriole yonder on the swaying elm-branch. Beyond all, hear that thrush.Can you imagine a more delicious refinement of sound? Let us give wayto sadness when we must, and escape from it when we can. I would preferto continue up this shady lane, but it may prove too shadowy, and socolor our thoughts. Suppose we return to the farmyard, where Mr. Yocombis feeding the chickens, and then look through the old garden together.You are a country woman, for you have been here a week; and so I shallexpect you to name and explain everything. At any rate you shall not beblue any more to-day if I can prevent it. You see I am trying to rewardyour self-sacrifice in letting me stay till to-morrow."
"You are so considerate that I may let you remain a little longer."
"What is that fable about the camel? If he once gets his head in--"
"He next puts his foot in it, is the sequel, perhaps," she replied,with the laugh that was becoming to me like a refrain of music that Icould not hear too often.
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