Moss Brow, Molly Corney’s old home, is still in existence, and
the room in which the game was played can be seen.
Sylvia was by all acknowledged and treated as the belle. When they
played at blind-man’s-buff, go where she would, she was always caught;
she was called out repeatedly to do what was required in any game, as
if all had a pleasure in seeing her light figure and deft ways. She was
sufficiently pleased with all this to have got over her shyness with
all except Charley. When others paid her their rustic compliments she
tossed her head, and made her little saucy repartees; but when he said
something low and flattering, it was too honey-sweet to her heart to be
thrown off thus. And, somehow, the more she yielded to this fascination
the more she avoided Philip. He did not speak flatteringly—he did not
pay compliments—he watched her with discontented, longing eyes, and grew
more inclined every moment, as he remembered his anticipation of a happy
evening, to cry out in his heart _vanitas vanitatum_.
And now came crying the forfeits. Molly Brunton knelt down, her face
buried in her mother’s lap; the latter took out the forfeits one by one,
and as she held them up she said the accustomed formula:
“A fine thing, and a very fine thing, what must he (or she) do who owns
this thing?”
One or two had been told to kneel to the prettiest, bow to the wittiest,
and kiss those they loved best; others had had to bite an inch off the
poker, or such plays upon words. And now came Sylvia’s pretty new ribbon
that Philip had given her (he almost longed to snatch it out of Mrs.
Corney’s hands and burn it before all their faces, so annoyed was he with
the whole affair).
“A fine thing and a very fine thing—a most particular fine thing—choose
how she came by it. What must she do as owns this thing?”
“She must blow out t’ candle and kiss t’ candlestick.”
In one instant Kinraid had hold of the only candle within reach; all the
others had been put up high on inaccessible shelves and other places.
Sylvia went up and blew out the candle, and before the sudden partial
darkness was over he had taken the candle into his fingers and, according
to the traditional meaning of the words, was in the place of the
candlestick, and as such was to be kissed. Everyone laughed at innocent
Sylvia’s face as the meaning of her penance came into it, everyone but
Philip, who almost choked.
“I’m candlestick,” said Kinraid, with less of triumph in his voice than
he would have had with any other girl in the room.
“Yo’ mun kiss t’ candlestick,” cried the Corneys, “or you’ll niver get
your ribbon back.”
“And she sets a deal o’ store by that ribbon,” said Molly Brunton
maliciously.
“I’ll none kiss t’ candlestick, nor him either,” said Sylvia, in a low
voice of determination, turning away, full of confusion.
“Yo’ll not get yo’r ribbon if yo’ dunnot,” cried one and all.
“I don’t care for t’ ribbon,” said she, flashing up with a look at her
tormentors, now her back was turned to Kinraid. “An’ I won’t play any
more at such-like games,” she added, with fresh indignation rising in her
heart as she took her old place in the corner of the room a little away
from the rest.
Philip’s spirits rose, and he yearned to go to her and tell her how
he approved of her conduct. Alas, Philip! Sylvia, though as modest a
girl as ever lived, was no prude, and had been brought up in simple,
straightforward country ways; and with any other young man, excepting,
perhaps, Philip’s self, she would have thought no more of making a rapid
pretence of kissing the hand or cheek of the temporary “candlestick”
than our ancestresses did in a much higher rank on similar occasions.
Kinraid, though mortified by his public rejection, was more conscious of
this than the inexperienced Philip; he resolved not to be balked, and
watched his opportunity. For the time he went on playing as if Sylvia’s
conduct had not affected him in the least, and as if he was hardly aware
of her defection from the game. As she saw others submitting, quite as a
matter of course, to similar penances, she began to be angry with herself
for having thought twice about it, and almost to dislike herself for the
strange consciousness which had made it at the time seem impossible to
do what she was told. Her eyes kept filling with tears as her isolated
position in the gay party, the thought of what a fool she had made of
herself, kept recurring to her mind; but no one saw her, she thought,
thus crying; and, ashamed to be discovered when the party should pause
in their game, she stole round behind them into the great chamber in
which she had helped to lay out the supper, with the intention of bathing
her eyes, and taking a drink of water. One instant Charley Kinraid was
missing from the circle of which he was the life and soul; and then back
he came with an air of satisfaction on his face, intelligible enough to
those who had seen his game; but unnoticed by Philip, who, amidst the
perpetual noise and movements around him, had not perceived Sylvia’s
leaving the room, until she came back at the end of about a quarter of
an hour, looking lovelier than ever, her complexion brilliant, her eyes
drooping, her hair neatly and freshly arranged, tied with a brown ribbon
instead of that she was supposed to have forfeited. She looked as if she
did not wish her return to be noticed, stealing softly behind the romping
lads and lasses with noiseless motions, and altogether such a contrast
to them in her cool freshness and modest neatness that both Kinraid and
Philip found it difficult to keep their eyes off her. But the former
had a secret triumph in his heart which enabled him to go on with his
merry-making as if it absorbed him; while Philip dropped out of the crowd
and came up to where she was standing silently by Mrs. Corney, who, arms
akimbo, was laughing at the frolic and fun around her. Sylvia started
a little when Philip spoke, and kept her soft eyes averted from him
after the first glance; she answered him shortly, but with unaccustomed
gentleness. He had only asked her when she would like him to take her
home; and she, a little surprised at the idea of going home when to her
the evening seemed only beginning, had answered:
“Go home? I don’t know! It’s New Year’s eve!”