"No, father," she returned, "I have only been a little way from home in thought--only to that spot where the gra.s.s has not yet grown to hide the ashes and loose mold." He stooped and kissed her forehead, and then left the room; and she, never noticing the hungry look with which I witnessed the tender caress, also went away.

That some person was supposed to lead the singing every evening I knew, but it was impossible for me ever to discover who the leader was; now, however, after overhearing this conversation, I knew that on this particular occasion it would be Yoletta, and in spite of the very poor opinion she had expressed of my musical abilities, I was prepared to admire the performance more than I had ever done before.

It commenced in the usual mysterious and indefinable manner; but after a time, when it began to shape itself into melodies, the idea possessed me that I was listening to strains once familiar, but long unheard and forgotten. At length I discovered that this was Campana's music, only not as I had ever heard it sung; for the melody of _M'appar sulla tomba_ had been so trans.m.u.ted and etherealized, as it were, that the composer himself would have listened in wondering ecstasy to the mournful strains, which had pa.s.sed through the alembic of their more delicately organized minds. Listening, I remembered with an unaccountable feeling of sadness, that poor Campana had recently died in London; and almost at the same moment there came to me a remembrance of my beloved mother, whose early death was my first great grief in boyhood. All the songs I had ever heard her sing came back to me, ringing in my mind with a wonderful joy, but ever ending in a strange, funereal sadness. And not only my mother, but many a dear one besides returned "in beauty from the dust" appeared to be present--white-haired old men who had spoken treasured words to me in bygone years; schoolfellows and other boyish friends and companions; and men, too, in the prime of life, of whose premature death in this or that far-off region of the world-wide English empire I had heard from time to time.

They came back to me, until the whole room seemed filled with a pale, shadowy procession, moving past me to the sound of that mysterious melody. Through all the evening it came back, in a hundred bewildering disguises, filling me with a melancholy infinitely precious, which was yet almost more than my heart could bear. Again and yet again that despairing _Ah-i-me_ fell like a long shuddering sob from the revolving globes, and from voices far and near, to be taken up and borne yet further away by far-off, dying sounds, yet again responded to by nearer, clearer voices, in tones which seemed wrung "from the depths of some divine despair"; then to pa.s.s away, but not wholly pa.s.s, for all the hidden cells were stirred, and the vibrating air, like mysterious, invisible hands, swept the suspended strings, until the exquisite bliss and pain of it made me tremble and shed tears, as I sat there in the dark, wondering, as men will wonder at such moments, what this tempest of the soul which music wakes in us can mean: whether it is merely a growth of this our earth-life, or a something added, a divine hunger of the heart which is part of our immortality.

Chapter 11

It seemed to me now that I had never really lived before so sweet was this new life--so healthy, and free from care and regret. The old life, which I had lived in cities, was less in my thoughts on each succeeding day; it came to me now like the memory of a repulsive dream, which I was only too glad to forget. How I had ever found that listless, worn-out, luxurious, do-nothing existence endurable, seemed a greater mystery every morning, when I went forth to my appointed task in the fields or the workhouse, so natural and so pleasant did it now seem to labor with my own hands, and to eat my bread in the sweat of my face. If there was one kind of work I preferred above all others, it was wood-cutting, and as a great deal of timber was required at this season, I was allowed to follow my own inclination. In the forest, a couple of miles from the house, several tough old giants--chiefly oak, chestnut, elm, and beech--had been marked out for destruction: in some cases because they had been scorched and riven by lightnings, and were an eyesore; in others, because time had robbed them of their glory, withering their long, desolate arms, and bestowing on their crowns that l.u.s.terless, scanty foliage which has a mournful meaning, like the thin white hairs on the bowed head of a very old man. At this distance from the house I could freely indulge my propensity for singing, albeit in that coa.r.s.er tone which had failed to win favor with my new friends.

Among the grand trees, out of earshot of them all, I could shout aloud to my heart's content, rejoicing in the boisterous old English ballads, which, like John Peele's view-hallo,

_"Might awaken the dead Or the fox from his lair in the morning."_

Meanwhile, with the frantic energy of a Gladstone out of office, I plied my ax, its echoing strokes making fit accompaniment to my strains, until for many yards about me the ground was littered with white and yellow chips; then, exhausted with my efforts, I would sit down to rest and eat my simple midday fare, to admire myself in my deep-green and chocolate working-dress, and, above everything, to think and dream of Yoletta.

In my walks to and from the forest I cast many a wistful look at a solitary flat-topped hill, almost a mountain in height, which stood two or three miles from the house, north of it, on the other side of the river. From its summit I felt sure that a very extensive view of the surrounding country might be had, and I often wished to pay this hill a visit. One afternoon, while taking my lesson in reading, I mentioned this desire to Yoletta.

"Come, then, let us go there now," said she, laying the tablets aside.

I joyfully agreed: I had never walked alone with her, nor, in fact, with her at all, since that first day when she had placed her hand in mine; and now we were so much nearer in heart to each other.

She led me to a point, half a mile from the house, where the stream rushed noisily over its stony bed and formed numerous deep channels between the rocks, and one could cross over by jumping from rock to rock. Yoletta led the way, leaping airily from stone to stone, while I, anxious to escape a wetting, followed her with caution; but when I was safe over, and thought our delightful walk was about to begin, she suddenly started off towards the hill at a swift pace, which quickly left me far behind. Finding that I could not overtake her, I shouted to her to wait for me; then she stood still until I was within three or four yards Of her, when off she fled like the wind once more. At length she reached the foot of the hill, and sat down there until I joined her.

"For goodness sake, Yoletta, let us behave like rational beings and walk quietly," I was beginning, when away she went again, dancing up the mountain-side with a tireless energy that amazed as well as exasperated me. "Wait for me just once more," I screamed after her; then, half-way up the side, she stopped and sat down on a stone.

"Now my chance has come," thought I, ready to make up for insufficient speed and wind by superior cunning, which would make us equal. "I will go quietly up and catch her napping, and hold her fast by the arm until the walk is finished. So far it has been nothing but a mad chase."

Slowly I toiled on, and then, when I got near her and was just about to execute my plan, she started nimbly away, with a merry laugh, and never paused again until the summit was reached. Thoroughly tired and beaten, I sat down to rest; but presently looking up I saw her at the top, standing motionless on a stone, looking like a statue outlined against the clear blue sky. Once more I got up and pressed on until I reached her, and then sank down on the gra.s.s, overcome with fatigue.

"When you ask me to walk again, Yoletta," I panted, "I shall not move unless I have a rope round your waist to pull you back when you try to rush off in that mad fashion. You have knocked all the wind out of me; and yet I was in pretty good trim."

She laughed, and jumping to the ground, sat down at my side on the gra.s.s.

I caught her hand and held it tight. "Now you shall not escape and run away again," said I.

"You may keep my hand," she replied; "it has nothing to do up here."

"May I put it to some useful purpose--may I do what I like with it?"

"Yes, you may," then she added with a smile: "There is no thorn in it now."

I kissed it many times on the back, the palm, the wrist then bestowed a separate caress on each finger-tip.

"Why do you kiss my hand?" she asked.

"Do you not know--can you not guess? Because it is the sweetest thing I can kiss, except one other thing. Shall I tell you----"

"My face? And why do you not kiss that?"

"Oh, may I?" said I, and drawing her to me I kissed her soft cheek. "May I kiss the other cheek now?" I asked. She turned it to me, and when I had kissed it rapturously, I gazed into her eyes, which looked back, bright and unabashed, into mine. "I think--I think I made a slight mistake, Yoletta," I said. "What I meant to ask was, will you let me kiss you where I like--on your chin, for instance, or just where I like?"

"Yes; but you are keeping me too long. Kiss me as many times as you like, and then let us admire the prospect."

I drew her closer and kissed her mouth, not once nor twice, but clinging to it with all the ardor of pa.s.sion, as if my lips had become glued to hers.

Suddenly she disengaged herself from me. "Why do you kiss my mouth in that violent way?" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushed. "You seem like some hungry animal that wanted to devour me."

That was, oddly enough, just how I felt. "Do you not not know, sweetest, why I kiss you in that way? Because I love you."

"I know you do, Smith. I can understand and appreciate your love without having my lips bruised."

"And do you love me, Yoletta?"

"Yes, certainly--did you not know that?"

"And is it not sweet to kiss when you love? Do you know what love is, darling? Do you love me a thousand times more than any one else in the world?"

"How extravangantly you talk!" she replied. "What strange things you say!"

"Yes, dear, because love is strange--the strangest, sweetest thing in life. It comes once only to the heart, and the one person loved is infinitely more than all others. Do you not understand that?"

"Oh no; what do you mean, Smith?"

"Is there any other person dearer to your heart than I am?"

"I love every one in the house, some more than others. Those that are closely related to me I love most."

"Oh, please say no more! You love your people with one kind of love, but me with a different love--is it not so?"

"There is only one kind of love," said she.

"Ah, you say that because you are a child yet, and do not know. You are even younger than I thought, perhaps. How old are you, dear?"

"Thirty-one years old," she replied, with the utmost gravity.

"Oh, Yoletta, what an awful cram! I mean--oh, I beg your pardon for being so rude! But--but don't you think you can draw it mild?

Thirty-one--what a joke! Why, I'm an old fellow compared with you, and I'm not twenty-two yet. Do tell me what you mean, Yoletta?"

She was not listening to me, I saw: she had risen from the gra.s.s and seated herself again on the stone. For only answer to my question she pointed to the west with her hand, saying: "Look there, Smith."