GRAYSMILL, October 10th.
Sweet, your letter of Thursday comforted me wondrous much; but I
have something to tell you, and my impatience will not even let me
dwell on the joy it was to read words of yours again. Well;
yesterday was a dull day, the sky was covered all the morning, and
at dinner-time it began to rain. I sat in my room in the afternoon
and read "Richard Feverel" until, looking up from my book, I saw
that the rain had ceased. The wind had risen, and, in the west, a
hole had been poked through the grey mantle, showing the gilded edge
of a snowy cloud against a patch of blue. Out I ran, across the
garden and the little park that touches the heath, then through my
dear beechwood until I reached a certain clearing where the ground
goes sheer down at one's feet and where one may behold, over the
tree-tops, stretches of wood and meadow in the plain below. I sprang
on to a knoll, and there stood breathless, watching the rout of the
tumbled clouds.
Something started beside me,--I started also, for these woods are
always very lonely,--and, to my surprise, I saw a young man. Imagine
a very tall slight fellow, carelessly dressed, at one and the same
time graceful and ungainly,--I have come to the conclusion that he
is physically graceful, but that a certain shyness and nervousness
of temperament produce at times self-consciousness and awkwardness
of bearing. It is difficult to describe his face; I don't know
whether he is merely interesting or actually beautiful; here again
there is some discrepancy between flesh and spirit, for the features
are not regular, but the expression exquisite. I suppose he might be
considered plain; his nose is large, rather thin, and not straight;
his mouth is large but finely shaped; I think he smiles a little
crookedly. Anyway, his eyes are beautiful; they are set far apart,
and are strangely expressive. For the rest, he is more freckled than
any one I ever saw, and his hair--which is of no particular
colour--is rather long and thrown off the temples, save for one lock
that continually falls forward. You will think I am in love with the
apparition, to judge by the way in which I dwell on his description;
indeed, I am almost inclined to think so myself!
Well! I stood and stared at him; his hat was off, an open book was
in his hand, and he gazed at me as one not well awake, that has been
roused from dreams; with something in his looks, too, of the
startled animal that would run away and dare not. There is no
knowing how long we might have stood there staring at each other,
but for a sudden gust of wind that whisked off my hat, whereupon the
young man and I both started downhill in pursuit. The wind was
playful, and led us a fine dance; we were obliged to laugh. When at
last he caught and handed back to me my property, we were thoroughly
exhausted and sat down at the foot of the hill on the mossy
tree-roots. I am sure we must have looked very silly, for we were so
out of breath that we could not leave off laughing,--my young man
has the heartiest laugh I ever heard. When we had somewhat
recovered, I said:
"I wonder why one always laughs when something blows away?"
"It is," he replied, with mock gravity, "what people call a wise
dispensation of Providence. There is nothing between laughter and
tears."
It never entered my head to get up and go my way; his shyness, too,
seemed vanished; we were quite at ease.
"Have you ever noticed," asked he, "how many different kinds of moss
there are in these woods?"--and we began to count the varieties as
we sat. At last I looked up and saw that the heavens were blue.
"I'm going uphill again," said I, "to see the sunset. How quickly
the sky has cleared! It almost seems as if some invisible broom had
made a clean sweep of the clouds." To which the young man answered:
"It was a birch-broom. I see the marks of it."
We climbed the hill side by side; it did not seem at all strange at
the time. When we reached the summit, the sun was setting in fullest
glory, and we were silent. Suddenly he cried:
"Let us be fire-worshippers! There is more of God in that great
light than in all the gospels of mankind."
"What a queer, comforting thing," said I, "to hear from a stranger
in a wood."
It struck me afterwards that perhaps I, too, had said a queer thing;
but we seemed to understand each other. Presently we sat down again,
and he talked to me about the Parsees; he appears to know a great
deal about them.
We narrowly escaped a second run downhill; again the wind seized my
hat, but he nimbly caught it on the wing.
"Why don't you do as I do?" he asked, passing his fingers through
his hair. "It's a great mistake to wear a hat, especially if one has
a turn for trespassing."
"Who tells you," laughed I then, "that I am trespassing? For aught
you know, this may be my own ground."
The young man looked at me curiously.
"Are you, then, Emilia Fletcher?" he cried.
I nodded assent; whereupon he held out his hand and jerked his head
forward; it was evidently an attempt at courtesy. I took the hand
and laughed outright: he looked so funny with his bright eyes
twinkling beneath the tangled forelock.
"I have heard of you," he said, "and I am glad to meet you. The
other day I asked to whom the land belonged, and was told that you
were half Italian and rather eccentric. You seem to be a human
being. I am glad to have met you. My name is Gabriel Norton."
Here the big bell rang out from the house, summoning me to tea,--it
had rung once already. So the apparition and I parted company.
I wonder if he has caught cold; I am sure that I have; I have been
sneezing all the evening.
It may be very pleasant and romantic to sit on the moss with a
wood-sprite after a shower, but perhaps it is not very wise.
I must go and say good night downstairs. I left Miss Seymour reading
sentimental ballads on pauper childhood to the old ladies; it must
now be close upon their bed-time.
Good night, beloved.
Your EMILIA.
P.S. I forgot to say that he has one really fine point: his hands
are quite beautiful. I keep on wondering what you would think of
him. O dio! how good it was to laugh again.