WILD ROSES
It has been said of the modern young lady that the more of her home life
a gentleman saw, the less likely he was to fall in love with her; but as
the days sped by and Winn saw more of Mona's, he felt that that truism
was likely to be reversed.
Then another natural result was attained, for finding his mission there
a practical one and the money he distributed each Saturday night a
powerful argument in his favor, the islanders, from Rev. Jason Bush
downward, began to show their cordial interest in his presence. On
Sundays when he with Jess, Mrs. Hutton, and Mrs. Moore and Mona usually
formed a little group that walked together to church, in that modest
sanctuary he was the one most observed. All to whom he had been
introduced seemed to seek an opportunity to bow, and many of the men,
whose names he had not learned, showed the same courtesy. When he walked
out after the service, old and young would stand aside for him to pass.
The Rev. Jason Bush perhaps showed the most interest, and in a purely
business way, for when he had opportunities (and he found many) it was
the quarry and its management and prospects which he was desirous of
discussing, instead of the spiritual welfare of Winn, as might be
expected. In fact, the latter was never mentioned, and although Mr. Bush
lamented that Rockhaven was divided into two sects, and that neither
church had a following sufficient to support it, it was here again the
business side of the matter which seemed uppermost in that worthy
parson's mind.
But it was the cordiality shown by Mrs. Hutton on all possible occasions
that interested Winn most, because it appealed to the domestic and
home-loving side of his nature. He had never known much of home life
since maturity, for his aunt was not a home-maker, leaving that to her
servants and scolding because they failed, and to see what thought and
care could do in that direction, even though in a modest way, attracted
him. And since her door appeared always open to him and an unfailing
welcome waiting, he would have been less than human had he not availed
himself of the opportunity. Hardly an evening passed that he did not see
or speak with either mother or daughter, and occasionally made one at
their table. It was here that Jess was often in evidence, usually eating
his dinner there--always on Sunday. Then again, as the grass-grown
dooryard of his domicile adjoined the flower-filled one of Mrs. Hutton,
by some occult process a freshly cut bunch of roses, sweet peas or
pinks, found its way to his room each day. It was a trifle, perhaps, but
it is such trifles that make up home life.
And Mona herself, now that her timidity had worn away to a certain
extent, began to grow upon him. He had, from the evening when he
communed with himself in solitude, continually treated her with a sort
of big brother consideration; but as he saw more of her and realized the
limitations of her life, so small in comparison with her aspirations;
how day by day she lived, feeling herself a prisoner on the island, with
no one there who understood her except Jess, a little bud of pity
started in Winn's heart, and the temptation that assailed him that day
in the cave grew stronger.
"If I should feel the witchery of her playing in that romantic spot a
few times," he said to himself, "I should fall in love with her, and
couldn't help it."
But temptations of that nature are hard to resist, and like sweet
potations, once tested, we desire to sip again. So it came about that
one morning Winn said to her: "Mona, I am going to treat myself to a
half day away from the quarry, and if your mother is willing, I want you
to visit the gorge with me this afternoon and bring your violin. I would
rather you asked her consent," he added pointedly, "I shall enjoy it
better."
As this perfect June afternoon and its enjoyment had much to do with
shaping the heart histories of these two young people, considerable
space can well be devoted to it, and especially to their exchange of
ideas and feelings.
"I will let you carry the violin now," said Winn, when they had left the
village out of sight, "I want to gather a few wild roses to decorate
your trysting place. I have odd fancies about such things and believe,
as the Greeks did, that every cave and grotto is inhabited by some nymph
or gnome. From the way your playing there has affected me each time, I
am sure it is some beautiful nymph who has chosen the Devil's Oven for
her abode, so I am going to present her with a nosegay."
"I have read about fairies," responded Mona, artlessly, "but I do not
believe such creatures ever existed."
"But they do," asserted Winn, smiling, as he gathered his roses, "and if
your imagination is strong enough, you can feel their presence many
times. I made sure there was one hid somewhere, that day I first heard
you playing."
"And did you think so when you hid behind the rock and scared me half to
death?" she queried.
"No," he responded, "I knew it was a real flesh and blood fairy then,
for I had seen you come out of the gorge."
"And so you came back to scare me," she said playfully, "that wasn't
nice. If you wanted to know who it was, why didn't you ask Uncle Jess?
He would have told you."
"Yes, and spoiled all the romance of it," answered Winn. "It's like
detecting the presence of nymphs and fairies. If you go to a grotto or
cave alone and listen for them, you will feel or hear them always, in
some way."
"If I believed that," replied Mona, seriously, "I would never go to the
cave alone again. I should feel it to be haunted."
"But you admit you can play better there, and feel more of the spirit of
your music," asserted Winn; "tell me why that is."
"Because I am alone, and feel myself to be so," she answered firmly. "I
do not believe it is due to any unseen creature."
"But you played with wondrous feeling the day I came there with you," he
replied, "you weren't alone then."
"I am glad you think so," she answered, turning away, "I tried to, but
was so afraid of you, I trembled."
Winn smiled at her candor. "You don't know how to flirt, do you, Mona?"
he asked pointedly, "you utter the truth always."
"Does flirting consist of deception?" she asked, looking earnestly at
him.
"Yes," he answered, "and of the most adroit kind. It's the weapon that
all world-wise women use to enslave men, and the more skilled they are
at it, the more assured is their success."
"Do men ever deceive?" she queried, her fathomless eyes still on him.
"Yes, little girl," he answered, looking away and out over the ocean and
resolving to be sincere, "men are the same as women in that respect;
some do it in self-defence, and others out of selfishness. Then once in
a while, one will never do it, except out of kindness. Such men are
usually imposed upon."
When they reached the brink of the chasm he took her hand. "I am so
afraid you will slip in going down," he said, "and if you were hurt, I
should never forgive myself." He retained it down the steep path and up
the devious way to the cave. When it was reached she seated herself and
said, smiling at him, "Now you are here, let me see you give your
flowers to the fairy."
For answer he gallantly touched them with his lips and handed them to
her. "You are the fairy who lives here," he said, "for I shall never
think of this spot without seeing you in it."
Mona colored a little and then a shade crossed her face. "Isn't that
deception?" she said. "You do not mean it."
"I mean to say every nice thing I can think of to-day," he answered,
"and do all I can to make you enjoy it. A truly happy hour is a rare
experience in life, and I want to find one for you." Then, taking his
cigar case out and stretching himself on one side of the cave, he added:
"I wish we had brought some cushions. I will, the next time we come."
"I do not think how hard the rock is," she answered; "when I am playing
I forget where I am, even."
"Well, forget it quick," he said, "so I can. Only do not play 'Annie
Laurie' till the last thing. You brought a mist to my eyes with it the
other day. It's a sweet bit, full of tears."
And then, not heeding his pleasantries, many of which she did not
understand, Mona drew her dearly loved brown fiddle out of its case, and
once more that uncanny den in the rocks echoed to its magic. A medley of
old-time ballads, jigs, reels, and dance music came forth in succession,
while Winn, forgetting his cigar, yielded to her music and watched her
lissom body encased in blue flannel, open at the throat, swaying
slightly as she played, her winsome face turned from him in profile and
eyes closed at times. Once only, when a certain air recalled the past,
did he think of the woman who had scorned him, and whose letter was
still unanswered.
"Do not play any more now," he said finally, when Mona paused, "you must
be tired."
"I must have tired you of it," she answered bluntly, "and I am glad. I
want to hear you talk and tell me about fairies and the great city where
you lived, and about that woman who played before people. I wish I could
learn to play as you say she did."
"Oh, there's not much to tell about fairies," he answered, smiling at
her earnestness, "they are merely imaginary and used to amuse children.
Many years ago, when the world was young, people believed in and
worshipped them as gods and goddesses; now they are poetic fancies."
"What are poetic fancies?" she asked, understanding him only partially.
"Well, for instance," he answered, "a poet would describe this gorge as
a way through the cliff carved by Neptune, and this cave a shelter the
mermaids sought to comb their tresses and sing the songs of the sea. Of
old every cascade and grotto was believed to be inhabited by nymphs and
gnomes, every grove by wood sprites and brownies. If they saw a brook
rippling over the pebbles in the sunlight, they said it was elfins
dancing; and in autumn when the fallen leaves blew over the hilltops, it
was the brownies holding carnival."
"I do not believe such creatures ever did exist," she replied, "but I
shall enjoy coming here all the better for having heard about them."
Then as if she already looked to him as a source of all information, she
added, "Tell me about the women in your city who ride in carriages and
wear beautiful dresses."
A shade of annoyance crossed his face. "I would rather tell you about
the fairies, little girl," he answered bitterly; "the women in my world
are mostly charming liars. They live to outshine each other in dress,
they utter pretty speeches that are false, they go to church to show off
their raiment and come back to sneer at what others wear, they consider
a man as eligible for a husband solely because he has money, and if he
tells them the truth, call him a fool. I do not admire them much, Mona,
and the less you know of them the better woman you will grow to be, and
the better wife you will make some man."
Mona flushed slightly and raising her eyes and looking full at him,
responded, "Do all the men in your world despise women as you do, and is
there not among them one who is good and tender and truthful?"
Winn remained silent a moment, for the delicate reproach of her words
was unexpected.
"There may be some," he answered evasively at last, "but I have never
met them and a man is apt to judge all women by those he has known."
"And if there is now and then one among them who is not false-hearted,"
continued Mona, "is she not respected and loved for it?"
"She might be by some," he answered doubtfully, "but most would call her
stupid."
"Would the men call her stupid?" persisted Mona.
"Some of them would," he answered, smiling at her earnestness, "but most
of them would take advantage of it. World-wise men grow to be selfish."
Then, as if the subject was distasteful, or her inquiries too pointed,
he added, "Do you know what love is, Mona, and have you never had a
lover among the young fishermen here?"
"T have read about it," she answered with perfect sincerity, and smiling
at her own thought, "but I've never had much for any of the boys I've
known; they smell too fishy."
This time Winn laughed heartily. "And is your nose the by-road to your
heart?" he asked.
"It may be," she replied, also laughing, "if I have one."
It was the first coquettish word she had so far uttered, and Winn did
not like it.
"That does not sound like you, Mona," he replied soberly, "your greatest
charm, and it is a charm, is sincerity. When you speak that way you
remind me of the ladies in my world, and I do not like them."
"And if I am always truthful," she said, "you will call me simple, won't
you?"
"No, I told you I admired that in you," he said, "but you have not
answered my question, Mona. Have you never had a lover?"
"I have had two or three," she replied again, looking sober, "at least
they said they loved me, but I did not return it."
And as Winn looked at the girlish figure, just showing the rounded
curves of womanhood beneath its close-fitting blue flannel gown, and at
the pansy face with eyes like one of those purple petals, fixed on him,
he, manlike, thought how sweet it would be to moisten them with the dew
of love's light and feel the touch of her velvety lips.
But should he try for that prize, and did he want it, if he could win
it?
The lowering sun had thrown the shadows of the spruce trees adown the
gorge, the wind scarce ruffled the ocean and only the low lullaby of its
undulations crept up the ravine. It was the parting of day and night,
the good-by of sunshine, the peace of summer twilight.
"Now, Mona," he half whispered, as if fearing to scare the mermaids
away, "play 'Annie Laurie'!"
And lost to the world, he watched her bending over and caressing that
old brown fiddle, even as a mother would press her baby's face to her
own, again and once again came that whisper of a love that never dies, a
refrain that holds the pathos of life and parting in its chords, a love
cry centuries old, as sweet as heaven, as sad as death.
"Come, little girl," he said, rising suddenly when only the ocean's
whisper reached his ears, "it's time to go home." And as, clasping her
hand, and in silence leading her out of the gorge, he noticed when one
of the roses she carried from the cave fell among the rocks, she stooped
and picked it up.