Loring was not able to return to Virginia until the middle of January.
He arrived at the Macfarlanes' late in the afternoon, and as soon as
supper was over had Proud Aleck saddled and rode to Sweet-Waters.
The night was wild with wind, but very clear. A newly risen moon tilted
above the eastern woodlands. The wind played madcap games--now leaping
high into the heavens, now rushing low along the earth. The great
half-moon just skimming the dark reach of forest was like a silver sail
bellying in the flaw.
Loring exulted to feel the bay's withers once more between his knees,
and the free countryside about him. He rode at a clipping trot, then
galloped; then gave the horse his head up a long hill. Proud Aleck,
excited by the gusty wind, sped like a racer over the bone-white winter
grasses. They faced the blast gloriously. The warm reek of the flying
horse blew back in Loring's face. He felt the great body plying nobly
against his legs. Now they swept downward, jumped a brook, leaped into
fallow. The huge horse seemed bounding over a floor of dark-red cloud,
so easily he took the ploughland of spongy clay, so noiselessly his
hoofs went over it. Now they breasted another hill. This was living! To
ride with the winter wind through the cold flame of moonlight to the
glowing hearth of his Lady!...
Would she be alone, he wondered--in her own study?... Or would she be
sitting with her sister and the Judge in the general living room?... He
cantered across the lawn. Ah--there was a flicker of firelight from her
study window!... Perhaps she was there. Perhaps he would have the joy of
seeing her alone, this first moment after those interminable six
weeks....
Mammy Nan told him that she opened "de do'" for him, "'caze Miss Chalt
an' dee Jedge done step over tuh dee Univussity, an' I'se sleepin' in
dee house tuh keep keer uv Miss Sophy."
Miss Sophy was "in her steddy," Mammy Nan further informed him. She
"sut'ny wuz glad he done come tuh cheer Miss Sophy up some. 'Peared
like, to Mammy Nan, that she'd ben a-mopin' ever sence Miss Chalt an'
dee Jedge tuck an' lef' her behine."
Loring found Sophy sitting in the firelight, gazing at the big logs of
hickory, and smoothing her collie's head as it rested against her knee.
The room was large but cosy. It had old-fashioned curtains of dark-red
worsted grosgrain at the windows. Little green "steps" set between them
held pots of flowers. There was all through the room a sweet scent of
rose-geranium, lemon verbena, and the clean, fresh fragrance of new-cut
logs. It was the perfume that he associated with her. He stood near the
door after entering, breathing deep of this pleasant, candid scent, and
drinking her with his eyes.
She looked up, startled. And he shook inwardly with the soft firelit
beauty of her face. She was wearing a gown that he loved--an old gown of
olive velveteen trimmed with narrow bands of fur. It was made like the
gown in a picture, quite straight from throat to shoe-tip. The long,
wide sleeves opened from the shoulder. They hid her arms usually; but
when she reached for something, her lovely, slender arms gleamed between
the soft bands of fur. Behind her, on her writing-table, was an old
Algerian water-bottle of dull copper, and in it a branch of magnolia.
The scarlet seed-cones gleamed like gems or coals of fire among the
glossy black-green foliage. Her face as it turned to him against this
background of leaves and jewelled seed-cones was something for a lover
to remember in old age.... He got a desperate grip of himself and went
forward. As she lifted her hand to his, the wide sleeve parted, as he
had known that it would do, and the amber-white arm shone bare for his
worship.... Without speaking, she smiled a welcome, but the firelight
showed him tears caught on her under-lids. Mammy Nan's surmise was
correct. Sophy had been "moping" a little of late. When Charlotte and
the Judge had left for some festivity at the University two days ago,
her mood had been quite tranquil. But she had been rather overworking,
and these two days, all alone in the empty house, had set her brooding.
It was nearly nine o'clock. The wind thrummed in deep, minor chords
between the double doors that shut her study from the greenhouse in the
wing. A hound, hunting alone by moonlight, bayed from the distance. Dhu
cocked his ears--the supple tips hung flickering an instant, then
drooped again. The collie resumed his wide, gold-eyed, tranced stare
into the fire. He, too, seemed overwhelmed by melancholy. Sophy drew him
to her at last, and leaned her cheek against his silky black shoulder
which smelt like warm, clean straw. His sire was not a kennel dog, but
tended sheep in the Highlands. Now when Sophy put her head against his
shoulder, he leaned down his head on hers much as a person might have
done.
With her arms around him and her eyes on the fire, she listened to the
beating of his heart. The warm, red mystery of hearts--even a dog's
heart--awed her. What was this love that even dogs could feel, and why
was it so immeasurably sad? The feeling of desolation grew and grew....
She was so horribly lonely. Even the close, simple contact with her
collie did not comfort her. This love without comprehension, that he
gave her, was only another sadness. Nothing lasted. No one remained the
same. There was Morris Loring.... At least he had seemed to have a real
fondness for her, after he had conquered his first boyish, fantastic
frenzy. Yet already he, too, had changed, forgotten. Just a nice,
beautiful boy ... but she had been fond of him also.... Now he had
forgotten. She was growing old. Youth draws youth. Naturally he would
forget her.
The collie, hearing her sigh, got down from his chair and leaned his
head against her knee with a low whine. She sat gazing at the burning
logs and gently stroking the sleek, black head. It was so that Loring
found her when he entered.