THE MOONLIGHT OMEN
Webb permitted no marked change in his manner. He toiled steadily with
Leonard in gathering the fall produce and in preparing for winter, but
Amy noticed that his old preoccupied look was passing away. Daily he
appeared to grow more genial and to have more time and thought for her.
With increasing wonder she learned the richness and fulness of his mind.
In the evenings he read aloud to them all with his strong, musical
intonation, in which the author's thought was emphasized so clearly that
it seemed to have double the force that it possessed when she read the
same words herself. He found time for occasional rambles and horseback
excursions, and was so companionable during long rainy days that they
seemed to her the brightest of the week. Maggie smiled to herself and saw
that Webb's spell was working. He was making himself so quietly and
unobtrusively essential to Amy that she would find half of her life gone
if she were separated from him.
Gertrude returned for a short time, and then went to the city for the
winter. Burt's orbit was hard to calculate. He was much in New York, and
often with Mr. Hargrove, from whom he was receiving instructions in
regard to his Western expedition. That gentleman's opinion of Burt's
business capacity grew more favorable daily, for the young fellow now
proposed to show that he meant to take life in earnest. "If this lasts he
will make a trusty young lieutenant," the merchant thought, "and I can
make his fortune while furthering mine." Burt had plenty of brains and
good executive ability to carry out the wiser counsels of others, while
his easy, vivacious manner won him friends and acceptance everywhere.
It was arranged, after his departure, that Amy should visit her friend in
the city, and Webb looked forward to her absence with dread and
self-depreciation, fearing that he should suffer by contrast with the
brilliant men of society, and that the quiet country life would seem
dull, indeed, thereafter.
Before Amy went on this visit there came an Indian summer morning in
November, that by its soft, dreamy beauty wooed every one out of doors.
"Amy," said Webb, after dinner, "suppose we drive over to West Point and
return by moonlight." She was delighted with the idea, and they were soon
slowly ascending the mountain. He felt that this was his special
opportunity, not to break her trustful unconsciousness, but to reveal his
power to interest her and make impressions that should be enduring. He
exerted every faculty to please, recalling poetic and legendary allusions
connected with the trees, plants, and scenes by which they were passing.
"Oh, Webb, how you idealize nature!" she said. "You make every object
suggest something fanciful, beautiful, or entertaining. How have you
learned to do it?"
"As I told you last Easter Sunday--how long ago it seems--if I have any
power for such idealization it is largely through your influence. My
knowledge was much like the trees as they then appeared. I was prepared
for better things, but the time for them had not yet come. I had studied
the material world in a material sort of way, employing my mind with
facts that were like the bare branches and twigs. You awakened in me a
sense of the beautiful side of nature. How can I explain it? Who can
explain the rapid development of foliage and flowers when all is ready?"
"But, Webb, you appeared, during the summer, to go back to your old
materiality worse than ever. You made me feel that I had no power to do
anything for you. You treated me as if I were your very little sister who
would have to go to school a few years before I could be your companion."
"Those were busy days," he replied, laughing. "Besides," he added,
hesitatingly, "Burt was at one time inclined to be jealous. Of course, it
was very absurd in him, but I suppose lovers are always a little absurd."
"I should think it was absurd. I saw whither Burt was drifting long
ago--at the time of the great flood which swept away things of more value
than my silly expectations. What an unsophisticated little goose I was! I
suppose Johnnie expects to be married some day, and in much the same way
I looked forward to woman's fate; and since you all seemed to wish that
it should be Burt, I thought, 'Why not?' Wasn't it lucky for Burt, and,
indeed, for all of you, that I was not a grown-up and sentimental young
woman? Mr. Hargrove, by uniting his interests with yours in the West,
will make your fortunes, and Burt will bring you a lovely sister. It
pleases me to see how Gertrude is learning to like you. I used to be
provoked with her at first, because she didn't appreciate you. Do you
know, I think you ought to write? You could make people fall in love with
nature. Americans don't care half as much for out-door life and pursuits
as the English. It seems to me that city life cannot compare with that of
the country."
"You may think differently after you have been a few weeks in Gertrude's
elegant home."
They had paused again on the brow of Cro' Nest, and were looking out on
the wide landscape. "No, Webb," she said; "her home, no doubt, is
elegant, but it is artificial. This is simple and grand, and to-day, seen
through the soft haze, is lovely to me beyond all words. I honestly half
regret that I am going to town. Of course, I shall enjoy myself--I always
do with Gertrude--but the last few quiet weeks have been so happy and
satisfying that I dread any change."
"Think of the awful vacuum that your absence will make in the old home!"
"Well, I'm a little glad; I want to be missed. But I shall write to you
and tell you of all the frivolous things we are doing. Besides, you must
come to see me as often as you can."
"I certainly shall."
They saw evening parade, the moon rising meanwhile over Sugarloaf
Mountain, and filling the early twilight with a soft radiance. The music
seemed enchanting, for their hearts were attuned to it. As the long line
of cadets shifted their guns from "carry arms" to "shoulder arms" with
instantaneous action, Webb said that the muskets sent out a shivering
sound like that of a tree almost ready to fall under the last blows of an
axe.
Webb felt that should he exist millions of ages he should never forget the
ride homeward. The moon looked through the haze like a veiled beauty, and
in its softened light Amy's pure, sweet profile was endowed with ethereal
beauty. The beech trees, with their bleached leaves still clinging to them,
were almost spectral, and the oaks in their bronzed foliage stood like
black giants by the roadside. There were suggestive vistas of light and
shadow that were full of mystery, making it easy to believe that on a night
like this the mountain was haunted by creatures as strange as the fancy
could shape. The girl at his side was a mystery. Viewless walls incased her
spirit. What were her hidden and innermost thoughts? The supreme gift of a
boundless love overflowed his heart to his very lips. She was so near, and
the spell of her loveliness so strong, that at times he felt that he must
give it expression, but he ever restrained himself. His words might bring
pain and consternation to the peaceful face. She was alone with him, and
there would be no escape should he speak now. No; he had resolved to wait
till her heart awoke by its own impulses, and he would keep his purpose
even through the witchery of that moonlight drive. "How strangely isolated
we are," he thought, "that such feeling as mine can fill my very soul with
its immense desire, and she not be aware of anything but my quiet,
fraternal manner!"
As they were descending the home slope of the mountain they witnessed a
rare and beautiful sight. A few light clouds had gathered around the
moon, and these at last opened in a rift. The rays of light through the
misty atmosphere created the perfect colors of a rainbow, and this
phenomenon took the remarkable form of a shield, its base resting upon
one cloud, and its point extending into a little opening in the cloud
above.
"Oh, what a perfect shield!" cried Amy. "Was there ever anything so
strange and lovely?"
Webb checked his horse, and they looked at the vision with wonder. "I
never saw anything to equal that," said Webb.
"Is it an omen, Webb?" she asked, turning a little from him that she
might look upward, and leaning on his shoulder with the unconsciousness
of a child.
"Let us make it one, dear sister Amy," he said, drawing her nearer to
him. "Let it remind you, as you recall it, that as far as I can I will
ever shield you from every evil of life." As he spoke the rainbow colors
became wonderfully distinct, and then faded slowly away. Her head drooped
lower on his shoulder, and she said, dreamily:
"It seems to me that I never was so happy before in my life as I am now.
You are so different, and can be so much to me, now that your old absurd
constraint is gone. Oh, Webb, you used to make me so unhappy! You made me
feel that you had found me out--how little I knew, and that it was a bore
to have to talk with me and explain. I know I'm not highly educated. How
could I be? I went everywhere with papa, and he always appeared to think
of me as a little girl. And then during the last year or two of his life
he was so ill that I did not do much else than watch over him with fear
and trembling, and try to nurse him and beguile the hours that were so
full of pain and weakness. But I'm not contented to be ignorant, and you
can teach me so much. I fairly thrill with excitement and feeling
sometimes when you are reading a fine or beautiful thing. If I can feel
that way I can't be stupid, can I?"
"No, Amy."
"Think how much faster I could learn this winter if you would direct my
reading, and explain what is obscure!"
"I will very gladly do anything you wish. You underrate yourself, Amy.
You have woman's highest charm. There is a stupidity of heart which is
far worse than that of the mind, a selfish callousness in regard to
others and their rights and feelings, which mars the beauty of some women
worse than physical deformity. From the day you entered our home as a
stranger, graceful tact, sincerity, and the impulse of ministry have
characterized your life. Can you imagine that mere cleverness, trained
mental acuteness, and a knowledge of facts can take the place of these
traits? No man can love unless he imagines that a woman has these
qualities, and bitter will be his disappointment if he finds them
wanting."
Her laugh rang out musically on the still air. "Hear the old bachelor
talk!" she cried. "I believe you have constructed an ideally perfect
creature out of nature, and that you hold trysts with her on moonlight
nights, you go out to walk so often alone. Well, well, I won't be jealous
of such a sister-in-law, but I want to keep you a little while longer
before you follow Burt's example."
"I shall never give you a sister-in-law, Amy."
"You don't know what you'll do. How sure Burt was of himself!"
"Burt and I are different."
"Yes, Webb, you are. If you ever love, it will be for always; and I don't
like to think of it. I'd like to keep you just as you are. Now that you
see how selfish I am, where is woman's highest charm?"
Webb laughed, and urged his horse into a sharp trot. "I am unchangeable
in my opinions too, as far as you are concerned," he remarked. "She is
not ready yet," was his silent thought.
When she came down to the late supper her eyes were shining with
happiness, and Maggie thought the decisive hour had come; but in answer
to a question about the drive, Amy said, "I couldn't have believed that
so much enjoyment was to be had in one afternoon. Webb is a brother worth
having, and I'm sorry I'm going to New York."
"Am I not a brother worth having?" Leonard asked.
"Oh, you are excellent, as far as you go, but you are so wrapped up in
Maggie that you are not of much account; and as for Burt, he is more over
head and ears than you are. Even if a woman was in love, I should think
she would like a man to be sensible."
"Pshaw, Amy! you don't know what you are talking About," said Maggie.
"Probably not. I suppose it is a kind of disease, and that all are more
or less out of their heads."
"We've been out of our heads a good many years, mother, haven't we?" said
Mr. Clifford, laughing.
"Well," said Leonard, "I just hope Amy will catch the disease, and have
it very bad some day."
"Thank you. When I do, I'll send for Dr. Marvin."
A few days later Webb took her to New York, and left her with her friend.
"Don't be persuaded into staying very long," he found opportunity to say,
in a low tone.
"Indeed I won't; I'm homesick already;" and she looked after him very
wistfully. But she was mistaken. Gertrude looked so hurt and disappointed
when she spoke of returning, and had planned so much, that days
lengthened into weeks.