SUNRISE
Long before the sun appeared above Arrow Hill Elizabeth was dressed and
sitting at her bedroom window watching the lane. For she had promised
Auntie Jinit that she would be off to the creek at the earliest hour to
gather violets and lady's-slippers and swamp lilies to decorate the
tables for the wedding breakfast. Charlie Stuart had promised to call
for her at sunrise, but she was too excited to rest.
For this was Eppie's wedding-day. Poor little Eppie had found her home
at last--her old home too. Jake Martin, at his wife's instigation, had
handed over to his son the little farm that had once belonged to old
Sandy and there Charlie and Eppie were to start their new life. And so
just as the stars were sinking into the faint blue vault of heaven, and
the earth was rising slowly from its shroud of darkness and sleep,
Elizabeth had arisen and was now dressed and waiting for Charles Stuart
long before he could be expected.
The grand forward march of day had commenced; very slowly and
majestically it was approaching, and the waking earth stirred at the
sound of its footsteps. From every bush and tree looming up from the
grayness, from every field spread out in dark waving folds, and from
the black swamp beyond uprose the welcoming chorus. Elizabeth was
reminded of that early dawn she had witnessed so long ago when she had
sat at this same window watching for Charles Stuart. That was the
morning she had seen Annie steal down the orchard path to meet her
lover, the morning she had experienced her first hint of that desire,
now strong within her, to sing of the glories of earth and sky.
She leaned forward over the window-sill, listening to the great chant
earth was raising to heaven. Up behind the black trees of Arrow Hill
shone a faint crystal transparency--the airy curtain that yet obscured
the wonders of the dawn. A mist gathered in Elizabeth's eyes. Those
words that had come to her in that dawn years before returned:--"Who
coverest thyself with light as with a garment; who stretchest out the
heavens like a curtain." Slowly, imperceptibly, that garment of light
was growing brighter, changing to a faint luminous gold as the gray
earth changed to a deep blue.
Down the drive lane, near the creek stood the old elm, its topmost
branch still towering into the heavens, its lower limbs sweeping the
earth. Remembering how it had come to life that other morning,
Elizabeth leaned farther out to listen. And as it slowly took form,
gathering itself from the blue background, there arose the musical
accompaniment to its birth, the loud rapture of a robin's morning hymn.
It paeaned the waking note to the watcher as well. Elizabeth's soul
soared up with it in ecstatic worship, voiced in the notes of a new
song, that came from her heart as freely as did the robin's. For years
her fettered spirit had been struggling to express its music, but the
repression of her early life, disobedience to the call to higher and
nobler things, and later a crushing sorrow had stifled her voice. But
now she was free. She had not been disobedient to the heavenly vision.
Her soul had turned at last to meet the dawning need, valiant for
doing. It had arisen at last, warm and radiant, and she was permitted
to sing its welcoming chorus in notes that were to make her name known
throughout the length and breadth of her native land.
The dawn had come to Elizabeth through storm and darkness. She never
quite recovered from the blow that had driven her back, wounded and
faint, to the path of duty. Never a day passed that she did not miss
the dear companionship of John, did not listen half-unconsciously for
his footsteps, never a night she did not remember with anguished heart
the manner of his death. But a year had passed, helping to heal the
wound, and Elizabeth had found happiness in service. One year more and
she would be a graduate of a nurses' training school, and a brilliant
graduate too, her superior officers predicted. For at last Elizabeth
was succeeding. And so her useless days left, she had chosen her life
this time without hesitation. Mrs. Jarvis had gone, bidding her an
affectionate farewell, and leaving in her hands the title-deeds to The
Dale. Her going closed the door of that side of Elizabeth's life. She
was to be some use in the world at last. And because she had found a
place that satisfied the highest instincts of her nature, the
long-stifled song came welling forth.
The faint gold of the east was turning to a soft rose, the blue of the
earth was growing brighter. And keeping pace with the growing light,
the earth-chorus was swelling into a storm of music. Elizabeth thought
of that dawn of her childhood days, and of her struggle to grasp its
meaning. Now she knew. Its message came to her in the words of a
hymn. They were the words they had sung in Forest Glen Church the day
they laid John in the grassy graveyard:
"_But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day,
The saints triumphant rise in bright array,
The King of Glory passes on His way,
Hallelujah!_"
The King of Glory had come, and the gates of Elizabeth's soul had
lifted up their heads that He might enter.
She slipped noiselessly from the room, taking care to waken no one, and
descended to her father's study. There she seated herself at the desk
and strove to put upon paper the great hope and longing and happiness
that were filling her heart.
Charles Stuart was whistling at the garden gate before she noticed him.
She ran down the path to meet him, brushing the dew from the border of
mignonette with her light gown.
"What a glorious day Eppie's going to have!" she cried, plucking a rosy
sweet-pea that nodded over the gate.
"I wish it was our day," Charles Stuart said enviously. "Two years
more to wait, Lizzie."
She smiled up at him hopefully. "But we'll make them beautiful years,"
she whispered. "See," she held up a sheet of paper. "I've done it
again."
He took it, but did not look at it immediately. For Elizabeth was as
radiant as the morning, and his eyes could not turn from her so soon.
He did not need to be a Pretender any more either, for the love-light
in his eyes was answered by her own.
As they walked down the lane with the sunrise gleaming in Elizabeth's
uncovered head, he read her verses.
"Has it a soul?" she asked mischievously.
There was a mist in Charles Stuart's deep eyes as he turned towards her.
"Lizzie! It has an immortal soul! It's a musical morning-glory! It
has come at last, hasn't it?"
"It was my own fault that it was so long in coming," she said. "But I
think it was waiting for you, Stuart."
Charles Stuart's answer was not verbal, but it was more expressive than
the most eloquent words.
They plunged gayly down the bank of the creek, hand in hand like two
children.
"Oh, oh," cried Elizabeth, "just look at the forget-me-nots! I'm going
to make a wreath of them for Eppie's hair."
Far up the creek, a cat-bird, hidden amongst scented basswood blossoms,
was singing a gay medley of purest music. On either side the banks
were hidden in a luxury of reeds, water-lily leaves, blue
forget-me-nots, and gay bobbing lady's-slippers. And between, the
winding stream shone pink and gold in the sunrise.
Charles Stuart stood watching his lady as she filled her hands with
blossoms.
"You love this place, don't you, 'Lizbeth of The Dale?" he said.
"Love it? There is no spot on earth like it."
"And how can you bear to leave it all to come away with me--and to a
foreign land, too?"
She raised her face from her rosy bouquet and looked into his eyes.
And Charles Stuart smiled, knowing he had said a very absurd thing
indeed.
They sat down under an overhanging willow, and talked of the days that
were past, and the yet more interesting days to come.
"I remember I used to discuss the possibility of my being a foreign
missionary with Mother MacAllister," Elizabeth said, "in sun-bonnet
days. But I did not think the dream would really come true."
"I remember, too, that when your contemplation of unclothed heathen and
boa-constrictors was too much for your courage, you used to remark
despairingly that you supposed you would just stay at home and marry
Charles Stuart."
Elizabeth laughed. Her ideas concerned with marrying Charles Stuart
had undergone a radical change in the past year.
From the tower over the Martin woodshed a big bell clanged out a
startling interruption. They sprang up, looking at each other
guiltily. Auntie Jinit had threatened to so remind them of their duty
if they remained too long at the creek. For such a pair for stravagin'
over the fields as Lizzie and Charles Stuart, she declared she had
never seen, and she was thankful Eppie wasn't given that way.
They scrambled gayly up the bank. "They're ringing the wedding-bells
already," cried Elizabeth. "There go Mary and Jean; they promised to
set the tables--and brother Bone-Bagsley too--the dear! We must hurry."
Nevertheless they still lingered. When they reached the top of the
slope, they stood for a moment in the rosy sunlight and, with a common
impulse, looked back.
"It's almost a year ago," whispered Elizabeth.
"Yes, almost a year," answered Charles Stuart.
Down the bank past the mill, and up the opposite shore ran the little
stony path they had so often trodden in schooldays. It crossed The
Slash, now a trim clover-field, and disappeared into the cool depths of
Forest Glen. But they could follow it still in imagination. It passed
Eppie's old-new home they knew, went down the lane, skirted the
highway, and curved round into the grassy churchyard where John lay.
They turned at last and went up the lane together. There were tears in
Elizabeth's eyes, but the words of a song were on her lips:--
"_And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,
And hearts are brave again and arias are strong,
Hallelujah!_"
THE END