"I cannot understand you," he said simply.
"I can't understand myself," I replied; "but all this is none the less
real for that. I have learned of it to-night, but it has existed before;
it explains many things in the past year."
"If that is the case, then I must accept your decision as final."
"It is, indeed," I answered briefly.
He rose, and walked the room in silence again; then pausing once more,
he said calmly, and with no trace of anger.
"This is the disappointment of my life."
I said nothing. What could I say? To utter any platitudes about being
sorry, would have been to insult him.
"A man cannot live to my age--I am fifty-two, Miss Leigh--without
experiencing disappointment, but I have known nothing equal to this."
He paced the room a few moments, and then said:
"This interview must be distressing to you. I am very sorry I brought
it about before you were strong and well."
"Say one thing before you go, Mr. Gregory," I cried, "only say that you
don't think I have willfully misled you--say that you respect me still."
His face was stirred by a slight quiver, as a placid lake is stirred by
an impulse of the evening air.
"You have had, and you always will have my deepest respect, and my
deepest affection."
He took my hand silently, and then quietly left the room.
And I sat there until I heard the front door close. Then I went
upstairs, but I remember nothing after reaching the first landing.
They found me lying there. They said I must have fainted.
X
I was badly upset for several days. For a time I resolutely put all
thought of what had occurred from my mind, but as soon as I felt able, I
sat down, with the whole matter before me, as it were, and deliberately
looked it in the face. I think I never felt more inane in my life than
when I remembered my folly, as I now regarded it. All that saved me from
utter self-abasement was the fact that it had occurred at a time when I
was at such a low ebb physically, by reason of illness. I determined to
try to forget it, as speedily as possible. But, however keenly I felt
the humiliation and folly of my emotion upon that strange night, it
never occurred to me to waver, when recalling my decision to bring
matters between Mr. Gregory and myself to an end. My refusal of him had
been brought about by one cause, and only one--that I fully realized; and
now that I had repudiated the cause, I might have been expected to
reconsider the refusal. But I did not.
Soon after I was up and about once more, I learned that my little friend
had not sent the flowers. I thought--no, I did not think! but I cherished
secretly a--well, no! I cherished _nothing_ in secret or in public!
I learned something else, soon after getting up, and this was that a
story was going the rounds to the effect that Mr. Gregory had broken our
engagement--and my disappointment had well-nigh occasioned me a relapse.
But in a twinkling, almost before I had time to get indignant, Mrs.
Catlin was running about, telling everybody that Mr. Gregory had
confided in her, in strictest confidence, the truth of the matter,
which was that I had ended the affair, and not he.
I was much moved by this manly act on Mr. Gregory's part. He showed his
shrewdness, too; he could not announce this in public, or go to people
one by one, so he confided it to Mrs. Catlin, and told her not to tell.
One Sabbath evening about ten o'clock, I began to lock up the house.
Early retirement is something all but unknown to me, but that night,
having no particular reason for sitting up, I was about to indulge in it
as a novelty.
I raised the shade of one of the study windows, with intent to draw the
bolt, but my hand paused in the act, for my eyes were captured by a
scene of surpassing beauty. Fall had lately swept her gorgeous leaves
one side, and closed her doors for the season, and we were now standing
on the threshold of winter. The early snows are apt to be soft and
clinging; it is later on, usually, when the thermometer takes a plunge
downward, that they become crisp and hard. It is seldom, however, at any
time of year that the atmospheric conditions are favorable to such a
creation as I beheld that night. I hardly know just what is necessary to
make it all--a still, moderate cold, and a very humid air are among the
most important conditions, I believe.
When I stepped outside my door early in the evening, the air all about
me seemed to be snow, not separated into flakes, but diffused evenly.
Altogether it had the effect of a heavy white fog, and I could see even
then, that it was settling in visible, palpable, feathery forms, not
only upon the ground, but upon every bush and tree as well. It was a
most unusual scene, and I gazed at it long and admiringly; but having no
fondness for walking through soft, clinging snow, I was not enticed to
sally forth, as I always am when the snow is firm and sparkling.
But by ten o'clock the temperature had changed, and in the cooler air
the almost imperceptible melting of the snow had been stayed.
The white carpet that had slowly been sinking, was now stationary, and
was covered by a firm crust that gleamed in the moonlight. There was no
sparkle on the trees, but the feathery tufts and pinions had ceased
floating to the ground, and melting into air. The scene, in all its
matchless beauty, was arrested--held upon nature's canvas for a few
hours, by the Master hand.
Stay in doors that night! Would I be so wicked as to turn my back, or
close my eyes upon one of the most delectable scenes that ever a kind
Providence spread before the soul of human creature! Would I
deliberately slight such an exhibition of love and marvelous skill? Not
I!
It didn't take me long to catch up hat and jacket, and with a heart that
beat high, slip from my house, as a greyhound slips the leash, and hie
me away.
What mattered it that the neighborhood lights were raised--a story, at
least--and that the owners of all the villas near at hand, were preparing
for decorous, temporary retirement. I merely pitied them for their
stupidity, and went my way. I had long been a law unto myself, and while
I did not believe in flaunting my independence in their faces, I none
the less continued to enjoy it.
There are nights when to sleep would be the sin of an ingrate; 'twould
be like gathering up the good things of Providence, and hurling them
from out the window, in reckless waste. And this night was such a one.
The keen air, and the entrancing beauty about me, seemed to run in a
subtle, fascinating torrent through my veins, and lend me wings. I felt
as though I were buoyed up by magic hands; I hardly think I set foot on
ground the whole way, and yet I must, for I was conscious of a crisp
crackle of the snow at every step.
Oh, is there any sound just like it! Could our poor invalids but pitch
their nostrums over the wall, and take this tonic instead!
Some friends of mine moved a while ago and drove their family stake in a
spot far off from here. They are continually writing me of a region of
perpetual sunshine and summer. I thought of them on this glorious night,
and pitied them from the depths of my heart, as I often have, indeed,
since they went out there. Theirs is the place for the extremely
indigent, no doubt, but for any one who can command a dollar or so for
fuel, this--this is the land of delight.
I was at no loss as to direction; our suburb was beautiful throughout,
especially all along by the lake, but there was one place in particular,
where art and nature had joined hands, with a result indescribable.
Toward these grounds I hastened, on this particular night.
Oh, the glory of that moon! the glory of the lake! an undulating sea of
waves, each crested with a feather, as soft, as snowy in the moonlight,
as the tinier ones that hung upon the trees.
I ran down the winding avenue--the white fog still lingered in the deep
places, but above, all was clear and glorious. Erelong I entered the
Dunham's grounds. At a certain point, unmarked to the stranger's eye, a
rustic flight of stairs, now strewn with dead leaves--padded with snow as
well, to-night, dips down from the broad driveway. Quickly I made my way
by this path, and erelong, stood upon one of the little rustic bridges
spanning the ravine, and connecting with a similar flight of ascending
stairs upon the other side. There I paused, and well I might. It were a
dull, plodding creature indeed, who would not be spellbound by such a
scene! On either hand were the sloping wooded sides of the ravine whose
depths were shrouded in the mysterious whiteness of the fog; above me, a
short distance in front, was the arch of the broad, picturesque bridge
with which the driveway spans the hollow. The little rustic bridge on
which I stood was much lower than the larger one; hence, from my
position, I looked through the archway, beyond, down, and far along the
ravine. Can you call up fairyland to your mental eye? It would pale
before this scene--those feathery trees! that enchanting vista! I stood
there drinking it in, and pitying the sleeping world. I could not, even
in thought, express my delight and gratitude for being permitted to
behold such beauty, but finally a familiar line leaped from my lips:
"Praise God from whom all blessings flow."
I can never forget that night; it kindled and warmed my heart with a
reverential fire. If, in the course of years, my way should be overcast;
if, for a time, I should let the artificial--the ignoble, clog the path,
and shut me out from the light of heaven, even then I shall be saved
from doubt, which is always engendered by our stupidity--the things of
our own manufacture--I shall be saved from doubt by the sweet, pure,
radiant memory of that winter, moonlight scene. Only a beneficent God
could create such beauty.