"Comfort our souls with love,
Love of all human kind;
Love special, close in which, like sheltered dove,
Each weary heart its own safe nest may find;
And love that turns above
Adoringly; contented to resign
All loves, if need be, for the love divine."
--_D. M. Mulock Craik._
Grace looked very lovely, as she stepped into the carriage, when Mr.
Carrington called for her. A suggestion of reserved feeling gave an
added lustre to her beautiful eyes, and the faintest wild-rose tint in
her cheeks made her a fit study for any artist.
She looks like Psyche just awakened. Can it be possible, that with all
her charms, she was sleeping, before to-day? he thought as he took his
seat beside her, thrilled with new hope.
He drove into one of the broad, quiet avenues that led out of the city
and into a country road. "I thought you would like to visit 'The Glen,'
and see its autumn dress," he said, as they came in view of the river
over which lay the "Glen" road.
"I have been wishing I might go there, before the leaves fell, and this
is exactly what I enjoy," replied Grace, looking out over the scene
before her with a keen pleasure.
"Perhaps this is an answer to your wish. Sometimes I think our wishes
are answered because of their intensity," said Mr. Carrington, looking
meaningly into her face.
"George Eliot says: 'The very intensity keeps them from being
answered.'" What gave him the sudden, triumphant certainty that he could
bide his time? She had lost all her haughtiness, apparently. He had
never seen her in the mood of to-day.
"_Apropos_ of wishes," he resumed, "which are properly thoughts, I have
two friends in Boston, who can communicate with each other, no matter
how far apart they may be. They call it the power of thought."
"Yes, thought transference. I am quite interested and fully believe it,"
said Grace, glad to have the opportunity of sounding him on this and
kindred themes.
He glanced at her in polite surprise. "Indeed," he said, "are you
acquainted with the subject?"
"Somewhat; I have seen enough to know it is founded on law," she
replied, briefly.
"What law?" he asked, wonderingly, with a slight smile of incredulity
lighting his face.
"Mental law, of course."
She then went on to explain to him something of her study of mental
healing. At first he was rather skeptical, but on seeing her
seriousness, he very soon grew sober and gave the most respectful and
apparently absorbed attention. By the time she finished, he was really
interested.
"I have often thought that some day there would be more light upon the
philosophy of thought, but I was not aware it was so close upon us," he
finally said.
"It is certainly much needed now," she replied, looking dreamily at the
white clouds floating in the bits of blue above the trees. She was
thinking how much it had been worth to her in her trial last night. He
noticed the far-away look and wished he might know her thoughts.
What would have been his surprise, could he have been told at this
moment how much he was already indebted to Christian Science? for had it
not softened the cruel pride that had so encrusted her before? He knew
nothing of this. He perceived a change in her manner and even character
since he last saw her two years before, although even then his great
love had been able to condone all weaknesses, or what others would call
weaknesses. To him they were part of her lovableness.
When she so coldly rejected him, unlike most men, he had determined to
wait patiently for her indifference to turn into reciprocation. He had
recognized but one thing, the simple, supreme fact that he loved Grace
Hall. In regard to her, there was and never could be any other thought.
Inspired with such love as this, such sublime patience, such infinite
hope, is it any wonder he looked into her eyes and read a hint of
victory?
The time was drawing near. His two years of waiting surely gave him
liberty to ask, and the right to receive.... As for that, love, such
love as his, had royal rights and it would win its own way when the
moment came. He would approach the subject gradually, talking about his
coming departure, although he had mentioned that in his note, had even
dared to tell her this must be his excuse for requesting an answer
sooner than she wished to give it.
"Oh, what a lovely group of colors!" exclaimed Grace, involuntarily,
pointing to a tree decked in the most gorgeous foliage.
"Shall I get some leaves for you?" he asked, anticipating her desire,
and descended from the carriage.
Presently he returned, with his hands full of small branches. "They are
lovely hues. Is there not something else you would like? I saw some
beautiful ferns over yonder," he said, pointing to the spot.
"Will we have time? I _would_ like to get out," she exclaimed eagerly.
"Time! 'There's time for all things,' Shakespeare says," laughed Mr.
Carrington, as he assisted her to alight.
Grace was in her element amid the speaking grandeur of Nature's hills.
"Have you a sharp pencil, Mr. Carrington? I seem to have lost the one I
always carry with me, and that grand oak tree I must have as a model."
He quickly sharpened one and gave it to her.
How beautiful she looked! He delighted to watch every movement of the
deft fingers, to study every expression of the beautiful eyes and mobile
mouth. He revelled in her beauty, because to him she was the
personification of all that was lovely and noble and great. Her
character he would have loved just as much had she been plain instead of
beautiful, for his ideal was the inward, not the outward beauty, except
as the two blended into one, as they did with her.
"You seem to be partial to the oak, Miss Hall. Is there any reason for
it?"
"Yes, I am. It is a grand symbol of strength and firmness of character,"
she replied, still sketching rapidly. "I like to paint trees, for they
express so much. Some show such kindly benevolence, with their broad,
spreading branches and friendly shade, some are so graceful, with their
tall trunks and delicately veined leaves, as though showing a fine,
tender nature; while others are stunted and rough, with coarse, thick
foliage. I place each one as to character and station, and they teach me
many beautiful lessons."
"And they will teach me many after this, Miss Grace."
He wanted to say something more, but she was so innocently unconscious
of anything but her work that he must wait for a better opportunity.
Having finished her sketch, Grace looked up. The self-consciousness that
had scarcely left her, save these past few moments, now returned with
painful suddenness. Her eyes met his, and a vivid flush overspread her
face, but she said nothing.
"Shall we go?" he asked, holding out his hand to assist her. His eyes
expressed the question his lips could not frame, but she did not see
them. They went to the carriage in silence.
The road presently left the woods and turned into a broad country lane.
Both had forgotten the proposed trip to "The Glen," but it made no
difference. At last the undercurrent of feeling had burst through all
reserves.
Mr. Carrington awaited the final answer, and what did she say?
It was the sacred page in a maiden's life that is read but once.
* * * * *
Grace had found in her lover a man who was broadminded and liberal
enough to fairly consider these matters from a woman's standpoint. They
freely discussed a married woman's rights and privileges, and both
agreed that a wife should have an individuality after marriage as well
as before. "I desired to express myself on this point before, my dear
Grace," said Mr. Carrington, "because to my mind it is a mutual life,
and should be a mutual development."
"It is, indeed. I have never looked at it in the right way, till the
last few weeks. I used to feel that marriage was degrading rather than
elevating, because it seemed as though a woman had to give up so much
that really belonged to her, her name, her property, her freedom as an
individual. But now I see that true marriage should bring freedom in the
fullest sense of the word."
"In love there is no bondage," he replied, admiring her independent
thought.
"Yes, but the world has a faint conception of love, the love that saves
to the uttermost, and endures forever," said Grace.
"With such love there would be no danger of marriage degrading the
individual, no need of divorce."
He spoke strongly for he felt strongly. Any one speaking from the depths
of a heart-conviction, speaks with authority.
"The world needs to be lifted to a higher standard on these matters. The
subject of marriage is too sacred to jest about, and people in general
think it no harm to toy with the word and all that pertains to it with
the utmost carelessness."
Grace was more like herself now. She was very happy in the thought that
Mr. Carrington understood this as she did, but she was not a little
surprised to find herself giving such free expression to her opinions.
"Indifference and laxity is the result of the trifling. My theory is
that these things should be sacredly spoken of in the family, when boys
and girls are growing up. That is the way my mother did," said Mr.
Carrington reverently.
"Yes, the family is more responsible than society, for it makes
society," she replied, secretly touched by the allusion to his mother.
She felt more and more confidence in Mr. Carrington. It seemed
surprising to find how rapidly her love for him had increased since she
gave it permission to grow. She did not realize that it had been a
smothered plant before, trying to live without sunshine. Now it could
grow in the warmth and brightness of beautiful day.
It was early twilight when they returned. Kate was waiting for her. The
joyous light in Grace's eyes, though she tried to veil it, told the
story. Kate put her arms about her, saying, as she caressed the rosy
cheek:
"Lilybell is bloomed at last."