“Back again, earlier than before. But not to stay long, thank Heaven! By
another month we will be truly at home, my Gladys,” whispered Canaris,
as they went up the steps, in the mellow September sunshine.
“I hope so!” she answered, fervently, and paused an instant before
entering the door; for, coming from the light and warmth without, it
seemed as dark and chilly as the entrance to a tomb.
“You are tired, love? Come and rest before you see a soul.”
With a new sort of tenderness, Canaris led her up to her own little
bower, and lingered there to arrange the basket of fresh recruits she
had brought for her winter garden: while Gladys lay contentedly on the
couch where he placed her, looking about the room as if greeting old
friends; but her eyes always came back to him, full of a reposeful
happiness which proved that all was well with her.
“There! now the little fellows sit right comfortably in the moss, and
will soon feel at home. I’ll go find Mother Bland, and see what his
Serene Highness is about,” said the young man, rising from his work,
warm and gay, but in no haste to go, as he had been before.
Gladys remembered that; and when, at last, he left her, she shut her
eyes to re-live, in thought, the three blissful months she had spent in
teaching him to love her with the love in which self bears no part.
Before the happy reverie was half over, the old lady arrived; and, by
the time the young one was ready, Canaris came to fetch her.
“My dearest, I am afraid we must give up our plan,” he said, softly, as
he led her away: “Helwyze is so changed, I come to tell you, lest it
should shock you when you see him. I think it would be cruel to go at
once. Can you wait a little longer?”
“If we ought. How is he changed?”
“Just worn away, as a rock is by the beating of the sea, till there
seems little left of him except the big eyes and greater sharpness of
both tongue and temper. Say nothing about it, and seem not to notice it;
else he will freeze you with a look, as he did me when I exclaimed.”
“Poor man! we will be very patient, very kind; for it must be awful to
think of dying with no light beyond,” sighed Gladys, touching the cross
at her white throat.
“A Dante without a Beatrice: I am happier than he;” and Canaris laid his
cheek against hers with the gesture of a boy, the look of a man who has
found the solace which is also his salvation.
Helwyze received them quietly, a little coldly, even; and Gladys
reproached herself with too long neglect of what she had assumed as a
duty, when she saw how ill he looked, for _his_ summer had not been a
blissful one. He had spent it in wishing for her, and in persuading
himself that the desire was permissible, since he asked nothing but what
she had already given him,—her presence and her friendship. It was her
intellect he loved and wanted, not her heart; that she might give her
husband wholly, since he understood and cared for affection only: her
mind, with all its lovely possibilities, Helwyze coveted, and reasoned
himself into the belief that he had a right to enjoy it, conscious all
the while that his purpose was a delusion and a snare. Olivia had
mourned over the moody taciturnity which made a lonely cranny of the
cliffs his favorite resort, where he sat, day after day, watching, with
an irresistible fascination, the ever-changing sea,—beautiful and bitter
as the hidden tide of thought and feeling in his own breast, where lay
the image of Gladys, as placid, yet as powerful, as the moon which ruled
the ebb and flow of that vaster ocean. Being a fatalist for want of a
higher faith, he left all to chance, and came home simply resolved to
enjoy what was left him as long and as unobtrusively as possible; since
Felix owed him much, and Gladys need never know what she had prayed
_not_ to know.
Sitting at the table, as they sat almost a year ago, he watched the two
young faces as he had done then, finding each, unlike his own, changed
for the better. Gladys was a girl no longer; and the new womanliness
which had come to her was of the highest type, for inward beauty lent
its imperishable loveliness to features faulty in themselves, and
character gave its indescribable charm to the simplest manners. Helwyze
saw all this; and perceiving also how much heart had already quickened
intellect, began to long for both, and to grudge his pupil to her new
master.
Canaris seemed to have lost something of his boyish comeliness, and had
taken on a manlier air of strength and stability, most becoming, and
evidently a source of pardonable pride to him. At his age even three
months could work a serious alteration in one so easily affected by all
influences; and Helwyze felt a pang of envy as he saw the broad
shoulders and vigorous limbs, the wholesome color in the cheeks, and
best of all, the serene content of a happy heart.
“What have you been doing to yourself, Felix? Have you discovered the
Elixir of Life up there? If so, impart the secret, and let me have a
sip,” he said, as Canaris pushed away his plate after satisfying a
hearty appetite with the relish of a rustic.
“Gladys did,” he answered, with a nod across the table, which said much.
“She would not let me idle about while waiting for ideas: she just set
me to work. I dug acres, it seemed to me, and amazed the gardener with
my exploits. Liked it, too; for she was overseer, and would not let me
off till I had done my task and earned my wages. A wonderfully pleasant
life, and I am the better for it, in spite of my sunburn and blisters;”
and Canaris stretched out a pair of sinewy brown hands with an air of
satisfaction which made Gladys laugh so blithely it was evident that
their summer had been full of the innocent jollity of youth, fine
weather, and congenial pastime.
“Adam and Eve in Eden, with all the modern improvements. Not even a tree
of knowledge or a serpent to disturb you!”
“Oh, yes, we had them both; but we only ate the good fruit, and the
snake did not tempt me!” cried Gladys, anxious to defend her Paradise
even from playful mockery.
“He did me. I longed to kill him, but my Eve owed him no grudge, and
would not permit me to do it; so the old enemy sunned himself in peace,
and went into winter quarters a reformed reptile, I am sure.”