"How else?" She took off her hat and tossed it on the grass at her feet; then, going to the spring, she waited while he plucked a leaf from the bramble and bent it into shape.When he filled it and held it out, she placed her lips to the edge of the leaf and looked up at him with smiling eyes while she drank slowly from his hand.
"It holds only a drop, but how delicious!" she said, seating herself again upon the bench and leaning back against the great body of a poplar.Then her eyes fell upon his clothes."Why, how very much dressed you look!" she added.
"Oh, there's a reason besides Sunday--I've just come from a wedding.Lila has married after twelve years of waiting.""Your pretty sister! And to whom?"
"To Jim Weatherby--old Jacob's son, you know.Now, don't tell me that you disapprove.I count on your good sense to see the wisdom of it.""So it is your pretty sister," she said slowly, "the woman Ipassed in the road the other day and held my breath as I did before Botticelli's Venus.""Is that so? Well, she doesn't know much about pictures, nor does Jim.She has thrown herself away, Cynthia says, but what could she have waited for, after all? Nothing had ever come to her, and she had lived thirty years.Besides, she will be very happy, and that's a good deal, isn't it?""It's everything," said Maria quietly, looking down into her lap.
"Everything? And if you had been born in her place?""I am not in her place and never could be; but six years ago, if I had been told that I must live here all my life, I think Ishould have fretted myself to death; that would have happened six years ago, for I was born with a great aching for life, and Ithought then that one could live only in the big outside world.""And now?" he questioned, for she paused and sat smiling gravely at the book she held.
"Now I know that the fulness of life does not come from the things outside of us, and that we ourselves must create the beauty in which we live.Oh, I have learned so much from misery,"she went on softly, "and worst of all, I have learned what it is to starve for bread in the midst of sugar-plums.""And it was worth learning?"
"The knowledge that I gained? Oh, yes, yes; for it taught me how to be happy.I went down into hell," she said passionately, "and I came out--clean.I saw evil such as I had never heard of; Iwent close to it, I even touched it, but I always kept my soul very far away, and I was like a person in a dream.The more I saw of sin and ugliness the more I dreamed of peace and beauty.Ibuilded me my own refuge, I fed on my own strength day and night --and I am what I am--""The loveliest woman on God's earth," he said.
"You do not know me, "she answered, and opened the book before her."It was the story of the Holy Grail," she added, "and we left off here.Oh, those brave days of King Arthur! It was always May then."He touched the page lightly with a long blade of grass.
"Read yourself--this once," he pleaded, "and let me listen."Leaning a little forward, she looked down and slowly turned the pages, her head bent over the book, her long lashes shading the faint flush in her cheeks.Over her white dress fell a delicate lacework from the young poplar leaves, flecked here and there with pale drops of sunshine, which filtered through the thickly clustered boughs.When the wind passed in the high tree-tops, the shadows, soft and fine as cobweb, rippled over her dress, and a loose strand of her dark hair waved gently about her ear.The life--the throbbing vitality within--her seemed to vivify the very air she breathed, and he felt all at once that the glad thrill which stirred his blood was but a response to the fervent spirit which spoke in her voice.
"For it giveth unto all lovers courage, that lusty month of May,"she read, "in something to constrain him to some manner of thing more in that month than in any other month--for then all herbs and trees renew a man and woman, and in likewise lovers call again to mind old gentleness and old service and many kind deeds that were forgotten by negligence."The words went like wine to his head, and he saw her shadowy figure recede and dissolve suddenly as in a mist.A lump rose in his throat, his heart leaped, and he felt his pulses beating madly in his temples.He drew back, closing his eves to shut out her face; but the next instant, as she stirred slightly to hold down the rippling leaves, he bent forward and laid his hand upon the one that held the open book.
Her voice fluttered into silence, and, raising her head, she looked up in tremulous surprise.He saw her face pale slowly, her lids quiver and droop above her shining eyes, and her teeth gleam milk white between her parted lips.A tremor of alarm ran through her, and she made a swift movement to escape; then, lifting her eyes again, she looked full into his own, and, stooping quickly, he kissed her on the mouth.
An instant afterward the book fell to the ground, and he rose to his feet and stood trembling against the body of the poplar.
"Forgive me," he said; "forgive me--I have ruined it."Standing beside the bench, she watched him with a still, grave gentleness before which his gaze dropped slowly to the ground.
"Yes, you have ruined this," she answered, smiling, "but Latin is still left.""It's no use," he went on breathlessly."I can't do it; it's no use."His eyes sought hers and held them while he made a single step forward; then, turning quickly away, he went from her across the meadow to the distant wood.
