CHAPTER V
THE FAR AWAY LADY
They called her the "Far Away Lady"--those on the train who had alreadymet her. Just why the name was bestowed by some one with imagination andaptness of expression or why it had been so readily adopted by theothers, perhaps none could have clearly told, but it had its fitness.There was a certain soft dignity and reserve of manner and a "far away"look in the eyes of this stately, but certainly loveable human being.She possessed the subtle distinction there is to women of a certainsort, impressing those about her in spite of themselves, as yearsbefore, she had impressed John Stafford. As has been told he knew her onthe moment, yet in their words was nothing, and, even as they met, theyhad not looked into each other's eyes unless, it may be, with ahungering furtiveness and a dizziness at the marvel of the meeting.
It is hard to describe the Far Away Lady. Her face was exquisite in itspure womanliness, but in its expression was something which told of alife unfilled. It was not a protest; it was too good for that, but itseemed to suggest with this woman a bewildered resignation. The face wasone which, in other times, might, before the end, have been turnedtoward and found the cloister. Yet there was all of modern living andappreciative conception in it. A smile came to the lips at certainincidents of the story-telling, and interest showed in the soft eyes atthe relation of some striking episode. There was intelligence as therewas sad sweetness in every feature of the lovely face. Yet thereremained always in the look that quality, not of listlessness, but ofabstraction. It was a face as fascinating as it was appealing.
In her own stateroom the Far Away Lady sat at her window, but seeing nowhirling snow, hearing not the plaint of the dying wind. She wasdetained in no cold and rugged canyon. Her thoughts were far away.
About her was no scene of pallid desolation. She looked instead, uponthe blue waters of a great calm lake, the wavelets of which splashed ather feet, while about her all was sunshine. Seated beside her on therustic bench was a man, one strong, tender and trustworthy, and theywere about to part, as they thought, forever. Very sad was the man,almost a weakling for the moment, though talking lightly in an effort todistract her mind from what was near, blundering and only nurturingtheir mutual sorrow, by indulging in foolish fancies of what might havebeen.
He was smiling by force of will as he looked across the waters towardthe invisible other shore and dreaming aloud:
"We would build a house upon some high wooded out-jutting point upon theother side," he said, "a house, it might be, most unpretentious, as nearthe southern end of the lake as practicable, so that we would beconveniently near the city. It might be of almost any material and be asort of bungalow or even only what they call a 'shack,' but comfortwould be in and all about it and happiness within its walls. It wouldface the lake with an outlook on all its moods, its bright placidity orits rage in storms, and there would be white sails and the passingsteamers and all that pertains to those who go down to the sea in ships.And the sun would make yellow bars on the blue in the morning and in theevening we would see it go down into the water red and 'big as a barn,'and there would be a crimson pathway from us to it, and when the summerdarkness came, we should sit happily together, listening to the voicesof the night, the katydids and the whippoorwills and all the otherthings. Then we would be waked in the morning by the sunlight again andthe songs of all the wild birds instead of by the whistles and the noisychattering of city sparrows.
"And the house would have a big front room with a mighty fireplace inthe winter, and the windows would be made wide and high so that ever inthe daytime there would be light--more light--and there would be lampsa-plenty to make it light when the dark changed into blackness. Andabout the sides of all this big room there would be cases with manybooks and in the center of a great table, with all the magazines andeverything of passing interest. There would be chairs, cosy, indolentchairs, to dream in, and light ones and business-like ones, and a greatcouch with many cushions.
"Outside you should have your garden, the flowers you love so, and inthe wood there would be a fountain, fed from the lake by a windmill,where the birds could drink and bathe and quarrel and mate, and wherewe could watch and study them. You would become as wise as Linnaeus andI as Burroughs.
"And there will be dogs,"--unconsciously he changed the tense--"What ishome without a dog! and about the Shack we shall have no limitations.We'll have as many as we want; there'll be an Irish setter, soft-eyedand chestnut-coated, the perfect gentleman among dogs; there'll be abull terrier, bright and loving; there'll be a collie, wisest and mostobserving, and, possibly, a toy dog, for your plaything at times, whenyou are tired of me. And, finally, there will be a bulldog, a creatureof such aspect as to give a ghost or burglar spasms, a monster inappearance, though kind at heart, a thing so hideous as to have abaneful beauty, with massive bow legs, wide apart, bloodshot and leeringeyes and a countenance generally like that of a huge fanged toad. Andall of these too shall be dogs of lineage, Hapsburgs among dogs, and Iwill give each of them to you when a puppy, so that you may rear themyourself and they will become your adoring vassals and protectors. Eh,but you will be well guarded, and I shall feel more at ease when I amaway from you, riding over to town for the mail or to get a lemon ortwo.
"And what friends we will have, not the casual, conventional, flittingfriends alone, such as some might be content with, but those closest tous because of that which cannot be defined but which exists, and,besides them, perhaps less close but hardly less companionable, othersof tastes and inclinations like our own, and who will riot or rest assuits them in the atmosphere about us. They will be the brothers andsisters of the time, and there will be doings both whimsical and wise.There will be a rendezvous for those who know--our author friends, ourartist friends--what a lot of them are ours!--and our musical friends,to give an added and different flavor. What a piano you'll have! I'llget the one used by David and Miriam and Orpheus and Apollo and St.Cecelia and Liszt and Mrs. Zeisler--if I can. Never mind theanachronisms and solecisms--and we'll let them 'sound the loud timbrelo'er Egypt's dark sea,' or rather o'er Lake Michigan, or engage in anyother fantasies appropriate to Arcady--land fifty dollars an acre--and,at times, we will, no doubt, be unentitled to call our souls our own.
"And--so well do I know you--there will be often there some of thosewhose lines are not cast in the pleasant places and to whom suchfreedom from care, and such taste of home and real companionship aboutthem will be like an outing in the outskirts, at least, of Paradise. Andwe'll try to deserve the Shack! Yes, we'll deserve it all the time--whenbuds are bursting, when the green leaves hide the oriole in the maple,when the maple's leaves are red, and when there are no leaves, and thefireplace is doing its winter's roaring. What a home it will be! Ah, mygirl, we'll"--but the sorrowful jesting failed him, and he said no more.Then came the parting.
And now the dreaming woman's thoughts reverted to the present. She couldsee the snow and hear the wind and realize existent things. How strangeit was! Years had passed and he and she were together again, he driftingfrom another hemisphere, sterner faced, perhaps, but still the same, andshe, changed too, she thought, but doubtless to less advantage. She feltrebellious. The world was lost. To him and her could never come in lifethe close comradeship which is the crown of things, the right to sharegood and ill alike, and meet the future, shoulder to shoulder,laughingly in the enduring love which can become so sublimely a part oftwo souls that it is a part of immortality.
And in the next car Stafford, too, was sitting alone and thoughts verylike those of the woman were in his mind. But he was far less patient.His bonds were chafing him.
The Cassowary; What Chanced in the Cleft Mountains Page 5