Part 8 (2/2)
”Picking of lilies the other day, Picking of lilies both fresh and gay, Picking of lilies, red, white, and blue, Little I thought what love could do.”
”'_Little I thought what love could do_,'” Julius repeated; and he sang the doleful refrain over and over, as they strolled back to the oak under which they had had their little feast. Then Sophia, who had a natural love of neatness and order, began to collect the plates and napkins, and arrange them in the basket; and this being done, she looked around for the housemaid in order to put it in her charge. The girl was at the other end of the field, and she went to her.
Charlotte had scarcely perceived what was going on. The old man's singing had made her a little sad. She, too, was thinking of ”what love could do.” She was standing under the tree, leaning against the great mossy trunk. Her brown hair had fallen loose, her cheeks were flushed, her lips crimson, her whole form a glowing picture of youth in its perfect beauty and freshness. Sophia was out of hearing. Julius stepped close to her. His soul was in his face; he spoke like a man who was no longer master of himself.
”Charlotte, I love you. I love you with all my heart.”
She looked at him steadily. Her eyes flashed. She threw downward her hands with a deprecating motion.
”You have no right to say such words to me, Julius. I have done all a woman could do to prevent, them. I have never given you any encouragement. A gentleman does not speak without it.”
”I could not help speaking. I love you, Charlotte. Is there any wrong in loving you? If I had any hope of winning you.”
”No, no; there is no hope. I do not love you. I never shall love you.”
”Unless you have some other lover, Charlotte, I shall dare to hope”--
”I have a lover.”
”Oh!”
”And I am frank with you because it is best. I trust you will respect my candor.”
He only bowed. Indeed, he found speech impossible. Never before had Charlotte looked so lovely and so desirable to him. He felt her positive rejection very keenly.
”Sophia is coming. Please to forget that this conversation has ever been.”
”You are very cruel.”
”No. I am truly kind. Sophia, I am tired; let us go home.”
So they turned out of the field, and into the lane. But something was gone, and something had come. Sophia felt the change, and she looked curiously at Julius and Charlotte. Charlotte was calmly mingling the poppies and wheat in her hands. Her face revealed nothing. Julius was a little melancholy. ”The fairies have left us,” he said. ”All of a sudden, the revel is over.” Then as they walked slowly homeward, he took Sophia's hand, and swayed it gently to and fro to the old fiddler's refrain,--
”'Little I thought what love could do.'”
CHAPTER V.
CHARLOTTE.
”Oh, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day!”
”Hammering and clinking, chattering stony names Of shale and hornblende, rag and trap and tuff, Amygdaloid and trachyte.”
When Charlotte again went to Up-Hill she found herself walking through a sober realm of leafless trees. The glory of autumn was gone. The hills, with their circular sheep-pens, were now brown and bare; and the plaided shepherds, descending far apart, gave only an air of loneliness to the landscape. She could see the white line of the stony road with a sad distinctness. It was no longer bordered with creeping vines and patches of murmuring bee-bent heather. And the stream-bed also had lost nearly all its sentinel rushes, and the tall brakens from its s.h.a.ggy slopes were gone. But Silver Beck still ran musically over tracts of tinkling stones; and, through the chilly air, the l.u.s.tered black c.o.c.k was crowing for the gray hen in the hollow.
Very soon the atmosphere became full of misty rain; and ere she reached the house, there was a cold wind, and the nearest cloud was sprinkling the bubbling beck. It was pleasant to see Ducie at the open door ready to welcome her; pleasant to get into the snug houseplace, and watch the great fire leaping up the chimney, and throwing l.u.s.tres on the carved oak presses and long settles, and on the bright bra.s.s and pewter vessels, and the rows of showy chinaware. Very pleasant to draw her chair to the little round table on the hearthstone, and to inhale the fragrance of the infusing tea, and the rich aroma of potted char and spiced bread and freshly-baked cheese-cakes. And still more pleasant to be taken possession of, to have her damp shoes and cloak removed, her chill fingers warmed in a kindly, motherly clasp, and to be made to feel through all her senses that she was indeed ”welcome as sun-s.h.i.+ning.”
With a little s.h.i.+ver of disappointment she noticed that there were only two tea-cups on the table; and the house, when she came to a.n.a.lyze its atmosphere, had in it the perceptible loneliness of the absent master.
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