"Come over by the window,"I said,to change her thought."I have something to repeat to you.It is a song of Sydney Lanier's.I think he was the greatest poet that ever lived in America,though not many agree with me.But he is my dear friend anyway,though he is dead,and Inever saw him;and I want you to hear some of his words."I led her across to an open window.The dancers were whirling by us.The waltz was one of those melancholy ones which speak the spirit of the dance more elo-quently than any merry melody can.The sound of the sea booming beyond in the darkness came to us,and long paths of light,now red,now green,stretched toward the distant light-house.These were the lines I repeated:--"What heartache --ne'er a hill!
Inexorable,vapid,vague,and chill The drear sand levels drain my spirit low.
With one poor word they tell me all they know;Whereat their stupid tongues,to tease my pain,Do drawl it o'er and o'er again.
They hurt my heart with griefs I cannot name;Always the same --the same."But I got no further.I felt myself moved with a sort of passion which did not seem to come from within,but to be communicated to me from her.A certain unfamiliar hap-piness pricked through with pain thrilled me,and I heard her whispering,--"Do not go on,do not go on!I cannot stand it to-night!""Hush,"I whispered back;"come out for a moment!"We stole into the dusk without,and stood there trembling.Iswayed with her emotion.There was a long silence.Then she said:"Father may be walking alone now by the black cataract.
That is where he goes when he is sad.I can see how lonely he looks among those little twisted pines that grow from the rock.
And he will be remembering all the evenings we walked there together,and all the things we said."I did not answer.Her eyes were still on the sea.
"What was the name of the man who wrote that verse you just said to me?"I told her.
"And he is dead?Did they bury him in the mountains?No?I wish I could have put him where he could have heard those four voices calling down the canyon.""Come back in the house,"I said;"you must come,indeed,"I said,as she shrank from re-entering.
Jessica was dancing like a fairy with Le-roy.They both saw us and smiled as we came in,and a moment later they joined us.
I made my excuses and left my friends to Jessica's care.She was a sort of social tyrant wherever she was,and I knew one word from her would insure the popularity of our friends --not that they needed the intervention of any one.Leroy had been a sort of drawing-room pet since before he stopped wearing knickerbockers.
"He is at his best in a drawing-room,"
said Jessica,"because there he deals with theory and not with action.And he has such beautiful theories that the women,who are all idealists,adore him."The next morning I awoke with a con-viction that I had been idling too long.Iwent back to the city and brushed the dust from my desk.Then each morning,I,as Jessica put it,"formed public opinion"to the extent of one column a day in the columns of a certain enterprising morning journal.
Brainard said I had treated him shabbily to leave upon the heels of his coming.But a man who works for his bread and butter must put a limit to his holiday.It is dif-ferent when you only work to add to your general picturesqueness.That is what Iwrote Leroy,and it was the unkindest thing I ever said to him;and why I did it I do not know to this day.I was glad,though,when he failed to answer the letter.It gave me a more reasonable excuse for feeling out of patience with him.
The days that followed were very dull.
It was hard to get back into the way of working.I was glad when Jessica came home to set up our little establishment and to join in the autumn gayeties.Brainard brought his wife to the city soon after,and went to housekeeping in an odd sort of a way.
"I couldn't see anything in the place save curios,"Jessica reported,after her first call on them."I suppose there is a cooking-stove somewhere,and maybe even a pantry with pots in it.But all I saw was Alaska totems and Navajo blankets.They have as many skins around on the floor and couches as would have satisfied an ancient Briton.And everybody was calling there.
You know Mr.Brainard runs to curios in selecting his friends as well as his furniture.
The parlors were full this afternoon of ab-normal people,that is to say,with folks one reads about.I was the only one there who hadn't done something.I guess it's be-cause I am too healthy.""How did Mrs.Brainard like such a motley crew?""She was wonderful --perfectly wonder-ful!Those insulting creatures were all studying her,and she knew it.But her dignity was perfect,and she looked as proud as a Sioux chief.She listened to every one,and they all thought her so bright.""Brainard must have been tremendously proud of her.""Oh,he was --of her and his Chilcat portières."Jessica was there often,but --well,I was busy.At length,however,I was forced to go.Jessica refused to make any further excuses for me.The rooms were filled with small celebrities.
