CHAPTER XLVII
LOVE ETERNAL
The first warm days of spring had come to Rockhaven ere Mona and herparents returned. The sunny slopes back of the village were growinggreen, the tulips and daffodils in Mona's dooryard just peeping out, thegulls on the cliffs nest-building, the fishermen painting their boatsand mending nets, Parson Bush, with two helpers, thanks to Rockhavenstock, shingling the church, and life on the island budding forth intovernal activity. No hint of Mona's proud life in the city and wonderfultriumph had reached those people, and the Hutton family were welcomedback as returning from a pleasure trip.
It was Mona's expressed wish that no mention be made of her musicalambition and its success, and as her desires were now law with Jess andher mother, she was obeyed. Captain Roby had told them of Winn'sastonishing and unexpected visit before they set foot on the island; andit was repeated by many others with sundry comments, all converging toone end, Mrs. Moore's being the most pointed, perhaps, and thereforebest to quote.
"I think," said that well-intentioned gossip-monger to Mona, "he comehere to make ye a visit, more 'speshly, though he said he wanted to seewhat could be done 'bout settin' the quarry a-goin'. He called on me,and the only thing he seemed to listen to with any sort o' interest was'bout you goin' away and when you was like to come back. I never seen afeller act more love-struck than he was, an' more out o' sorts. He evenwent a wandering over the island in the snow, like as if he wasdemented."
All this was a revelation to Mona, and unaccountable. At first itprovoked her silent derision and increased the bitterness and almosthatred which she had come to feel toward this erstwhile lover.
Mona Hutton was what country people would call a strange compound: aproduct of a lone sea island, of its storms and the unceasing booming ofbillows; of days, weeks, and months spent alone, where only the oceanvoiced eternity; of the whispers of winds in spruce thickets, of thegorge and the cave where she hid herself; of her own moods, sad, solemn,and contemplative. She had grown up close to God, but distant from man.The flowers blooming in her dooryard, the wild roses clinging to lifebetween the granite ledges, the sea-gulls sailing over the cliffs, theinward rush of the white-crested waves tossing the rockweed and kelpieupward, and the starfish and anemones left by the tide had been herplaymates. She had learned to depend on these and her violin forcompany. Lovers she had none, neither were other island young folk akinto her. Between her mother and herself, also, was a chasm. It had beenopened when that unsympathetic mother forbade the violin in her house,and was never afterward bridged. Jess only understood her. Jess, withhis quaint philosophy, tender heart, unselfish impulses, and love ofnature, had been her spiritual and moral mentor. To him had she gonewith her moods, and upon him lavished her childhood and girlhood love.
And then had come a new and strangely sweet illusion, a glow of newsunshine warming her heart and adding a roseate hue to her thoughts. Itwas unaccountable but charming, and seemed to lend a sparkle to the seawaves, a more impressive grandeur to the limitless ocean, a tendererbeauty to the moonlight. The gorge and the cave seemed an enchanted nookin fairyland, and the old tide mill a romantic ruin.
Then had come the climax of this strange intoxication, the one ecstaticmoment when this magician over her thoughts, this Prince Perfect, hadentwined his arms about her and whispered, "I love you."
Repel him she could not, neither did she care to do so. It was to her asif the gates of another world were opened; and in the wondrous thrill ofhis lips she forgot herself, life, and God, even.
And then the cold and cruel message that said to her, "Forget me as Imust you." It was a summer-day dream, with no hope of renewal.
Then came the long fight against her own heart's desire, the months ofhopeless hope, and, at last, the will to win her way to the world'sapplause.
He was there! He might, must, see or hear of her! He had said the worldwould listen entranced if she had but the courage to stand before them!And the old Carver will that was in her now nerved her to her trial.
And in the days and weeks of the strange new life while she hoped, andyet feared, to meet him, that one thought was her staff. It was with herby day and by night, a silent defiance of love, a revenge for her pain.When the supreme moment of her trial came and she stood before that seaof faces, only her young, trembling body was there, her every thought,her heart and soul even, were back in the cave, and he was listening.
And it was because this cry of love, this thrill of longing, leaped outof her fingers and spoke in every note of the songs she played, that shewon her triumph.
For the applause she heard, the flowers showered upon her, the moneyreceived, she cared not at all. To reach him, show him what she coulddo, ay, defy him even with the skill of her art, the majesty of hercourage, was everything.
And this was Mona Hutton, and now it was all over.
She had won her crown, fame was hers, the world of his city had bowedbefore her, but he was not there, or if he had been, she knew it not.
For days this defiance of her own love lasted, and then a change came.Little by little the leaven of his coming there softened her heart.Perhaps he had been ill, or not in the city at all? Perhaps he had been,as he wrote, discouraged and hopeless? Perhaps she had not understoodhis letter? When love once sought excuses, they came in plenty, and shebegan to upbraid herself. Why had she not sent him one word of love, onemessage of faith?
And then this strange child of impulses, this girl of moods andfancies, sombre as twilight in the gorge and sad as a whisper of seawinds in the pine trees, betook herself away from even Jess to nurse herheart-sickness again.
She had been proud and defiant when she faced the world, scornful whilepride lasted; now she was a contrite child, pitiful in herself-reproaches.
Each day she went to the tower to live over that parting in tears andheartache, and then to the cave, striving to recall every word, andlook, and smile of his.
A pilgrimage to the shrine of love! A journey to the grave of hope!
Sometimes she carried her violin, but its strings remained mute.
Sometimes she fondled and kissed the sea-shells and starfish, now dryand hard, which his hand had carried to this trysting-place.
Sometimes--yea, often, had tears fallen upon the cold stone floor ofthat nook, even as our tears fall upon the grass-grown graves of thosewe have lost.
And then, one day, just as the twilight had darkened the gorge, and she,hopeless and heart-broken, leaned against the cave's cold wall, she sawhim enter the ravine.
Step by step he climbed upward until the cave was reached, and then heknelt before her.
"Forgive me, Mona," he said gently, extending his hands, "I have lovedyou always," and as he gathered her close in his arms, God's whisper oflife and love eternal spoke from those granite walls.
CHAPTER XLVIII
CONCLUSION
The ocean billows still beat unceasingly against Rockhaven's granitecliffs and toss the rockweed and kelpie aloft. The tide still ebbs andflows beneath the old mill, and the fishermen still mend their nets andsail away. Parson Bush is getting old and feeble, and his hair white assnow. He still utters fervent thanks, however, for the many blessingsthat have come to this far-off island, including the new church Jess andWinn were instrumental in building. The same old bell still hangs in itstower, and Sunday evenings always answers the one in Northaven. Itssound is sweet to Winn, for it always recalls his boyhood days and marksa turning-point in his life-history. He is president of the newRockhaven Granite Company now, and prosperous. A beautiful residence ofgranite stands back of the old tower on Norse Hill, and there Winn andMona abide in summer, though the city claims them winters. Mona oftenentertains her friends with her violin, but no money would tempt heragain to play in public. Jess still fiddles when he is "lunsum," whichis not often, for a little girl with eyes like Mona's thinks "Gampa" themost wonderful man who ever lived. A boy, two years older, would cutthat fiddle open to find what made the noise, if he got the chance. Theyboth
pursue him from morn till eve and, in spite of their mother'sprotest, give him no rest.
ROCKHAVEN.]
"Let 'em have all the fun they kin," he says, when Mona tries to callthem off; "they won't be young but once, an' when they git old they'llhev' trouble 'nuff to make up."
Winn and Mona often visit the gorge on pleasant Sunday afternoons, forthe exquisite chords of romance still vibrate in their hearts.Occasionally she takes her violin along, and once more the old sweetlove songs whisper out of the cave.
And hidden away in one corner of it, never disturbed, are a fewsea-shells and dried starfish.
THE END
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