When night falls on the earth, the sea
From east to west lies twinkling bright
With shining beams from beacons high,
Which send afar their friendly light.
The sailors' eyes, like eyes in prayer,
Turn unto them for guiding ray:
If storms obscure their radiance,
The great ships helpless grope their way.
When night falls on the earth, the sky
Looks like a wide, a boundless main;
Who knows what voyagers sail there?
Who names the ports they seek and gain?
Are not the stars like beacons set,
To guide the argosies that go
From universe to universe,
Our little world above, below?
On their great errands solemn bent,
In their vast journeys unaware
Of our small planet's name or place
Revolving in the lower air.
Oh thought too vast! oh thought too glad:
An awe most rapturous it stirs.
From world to world God's beacons shine:
God means to save his mariners!
Hetty was silent. The mention of light-houses had carried her thoughts
back to that last night at "The Runs," when, with Dr. Eben by her side,
she had watched the great revolving light in the stone tower on the bar.
Dr. Eben was thinking of the same thing; he wondered if Hetty were not:
after a few moments' silence, he became so sure of it that he said:
"You have not forgotten that night, have you?"
"Oh, no!" replied Hetty, in a low voice.
"I should like to think that you did not wish to forget it," said the
doctor, in a tender tone.
"Oh, don't, please don't say any thing about it," exclaimed Hetty, in a
tone so full of emotion, that Dr. Eben's heart gave a bound of joy. In
that second, he believed that the time would come when Hetty would love
him. He had never heard such a tone from her lips before. Her hand
rested on his arm. He laid his upon it,--the first caressing touch he
had ever dared to offer to Hetty; the first caressing touch which Hetty
had ever received from hand of man.
"I will not, Hetty, till you are willing I should," he said. He had
never called her "Hetty" before. A tumult filled Hetty's heart; but all
she said was, in a most matter-of-fact tone:
"That's right! we must go in now. It is too cold out here."
Dr. Eben did not care what her words were: nature had revealed herself
in a tone.
"I'll make her love me yet," he thought. "It won't take a great while
either; she's beginning, and she doesn't know it." He was so happy that
he did not know at first that Hetty had left him alone in front of the
fire. When he found she had gone, he drew up a big arm-chair, sank back
in its depths, put his feet on the fender, and fell to thinking how, by
spring, perhaps, he might marry Hetty. In the midst of this lover-like
reverie, he fell asleep in the most unlover-like way. He was worn out
with his long night's watching. In a few minutes, Hetty came back with
hot broth which she had prepared for him. Her light step did not rouse
him. She stood still by his chair, looking down on his face. His
clear-cut features, always handsome, were grand in sleep. The solemnity
of closed eyes adds to a noble face something which is always very
impressive. He stirred uneasily, and said in his sleep, "Hetty." A great
wave of passionate feeling swept over her face, as, standing there, she
heard this tender sound of her name on his unconscious lips.
"Oh what will become of me if I love him after all," she thought.
"Why not, why not?" answered her heart; wakened now and struggling for
its craved and needed rights. "Why not, why not?" and no answer came to
Hetty's mind.
Moving noiselessly, she set the broth on a low table by the doctor's
side, covered him carefully with her own heavy cloak, and left the room.
On the threshold, she turned back and looked again at his face. Her
conscious thoughts were more than she could bear. In sudden impatience
with herself, she exclaimed, "Pshaw! how silly I am!" and hastened
upstairs, more like the old original Hetty than she had been for many
days. Love could not enthrone himself easily in Hetty's nature: it was a
rebellious kingdom. "Thirty-seven years old! Hetty Gunn, you 're a
goose," were Hetty's last thoughts as she fell asleep that night. But
when she awoke the next morning, the same refrain, "Why not, why not?"
filled her thoughts; and, when she bade Dr. Eben good-morning, the rosy
color that mounted to her very temples gave him a new happiness.
Why prolong the story of the next few days? They were just such days as
every man and every woman who has loved has lived through, and knows
far better than can be said or sung. Love's beginnings are varied, and
his final crises of avowal take individual shape in each individual
instance: but his processes and symptoms of growth are alike in all
cases; the indefinable delight,--the dreamy wondering joy,--the half
avoidance which really means seeking,--the seeking which shelters itself
under endless pleas,--the ceaseless questioning of faces,--the mute
caresses of looks, and the eloquent caresses of tones,--are they not
written in the books of the chronicles of all lovers? What matter how or
when the crowning moment of full surrender comes? It came to Eben and
Hetty, however, more suddenly at last than it often comes; came in a way
so characteristic of them both, that perhaps to tell it may not be a
sin, since we aim at a complete setting forth of their characters.