Tessa dropped the curtains, arranged the heavy crimson folds, and lighted the gas.
"I shall do this many times in my imagination before spring," she said.
"The curtains in my room, Dine says, are Turkey red, and my gas will be one tall sperm candle. Just about twilight you will feel my ghost stealing in, the curtains will fall, and invisible hands play among them, the jets will start into light, and then the perfume of a kiss will touch your forehead and hair. The perfume shall be that of a pansy or a day-lily, as you prefer."
"I would rather have your material lips; I am not fond of ghostly visitants; I shall feel you always beside me; I shall not forget you even in my sleep."
"You are too kind to me," said Tessa, after a moment, during which she had donned her brown felt hat and b.u.t.toned her long brown cloth cloak.
The feeble old lady in the arm-chair flushed like a girl under the grat.i.tude of Tessa"s eyes; her eyes filled slowly as Tessa came to her and kissed her.
"I am very old womanish about you; it must be because I am not strong; I would never let you go away out of my presence if I could hinder it."
"I want to stay with you; I am never happier than I am in this room; but I must go; it is a promise; and I must go to-morrow. Uncle Knox will meet me at the train with a creaky old buggy and a half-blind white horse; then we shall drive six miles through a flat country with farm-houses scattered here and there to a cunning little village containing one church and one store and about forty dwellings. Our destination is a small house near the end of the princ.i.p.al street where live the most devoted old couple in the world! Aunt Theresa and Uncle Knox are a pair of lovers; it is beautiful to see them together; it is worth travelling across the continent; they never forget each other for an instant, and yet they make no parade of their affection; I am sure that they will both die upon the same day of the same disease. Their life is as lovely as a poem. I have often wondered how they attained it, if it were perfect before they were married or if it _grew_."
She was standing under the chandelier b.u.t.toning her gloves, with her earnest face towards the lady in the arm-chair.
"It _grew_," said a voice behind her. Dr. Towne had entered unperceived by either. "Is that all?"
"Isn"t that enough?" she asked slightly flushing.
"Yes, I think that it is enough; but I know that it was born and not made. It did not become perfect in a year and a day. See if your aunt hasn"t had an experience that she will not tell you."
"And my uncle?" she asked saucily.
"Men do not parade their experiences."
"Providing they have any to parade," she replied lightly. "I"m afraid that I don"t believe in men"s experiences."
"Don"t say that, my dear," said Mrs. Towne anxiously.
"I will not," Tessa answered, suddenly sobered, "not until I forget Dr.
Lake."
"Am I to have the mournful pleasure of taking you home, Miss Tessa? My carriage is at the door."
"I have tried to persuade her to stay all the evening," said Mrs. Towne.
"I have an engagement. My encyclopedia is coming to-night to talk over to me something that I have been writing."
"Is he your critic?" inquired Dr. Towne.
"Yes, and an excellent one, too. Don"t you know that he knows every thing?"
"Then perhaps he can tell me something that I want to know. Would it be safe to ask him?"
"If it is to be found in a book he can tell you," said Tessa seriously.
"It is not to be found in any poem that was ever written or in any song that was ever sung."
"Then it remains to be written?"
"Yes; don"t you want to write it?"
"I must learn it by heart first; I can not write what I have not learned."
"Ralph, you shall not tease her," interrupted his mother, "she shall not do any thing that she does not please."
"Not even go into the country for three months in winter," he said.
"What will Sue do without you, Tessa?" asked Mrs. Towne.
"I have been with her five days; she cried and clung to me. I do not want to leave her, there are so many reasons for me to stay and so few for me to go. Miss Gesner came this afternoon and promised to stay all night with her. She is a little afraid of Miss Gesner; with Miss Jewett and me, she cried and talked about him continually; the poor girl is overwhelmed."
"She will be overwhelmed again by and by," said Dr. Towne.
"Ralph! I never heard you say any thing so harsh of any one before."
"Is truth harsh?" he asked.
"If it be mild to-morrow, I will go to Sue; I will take her down to Old Place for a month; she always throve there."
"She will be dancing and singing in a month," returned Dr. Towne.
"Well, let her!"
"But you must not be troubled, mother. I shall make her promise not to talk to you and go into hysterics."
"My son, she is a widow."
""And desolate,"" he quoted.
"Tessa, will you write to me every week, child?"
"Every week," promised Tessa, as she was drawn into the motherly arms and kissed again and again.
Her own mother would not kiss her like that. Was it her mother"s fault or her own?
As soon as they were seated in the carriage and the robe tucked in around her, her companion asked, "Shall we drive around the square? The sun is hardly set and the air is as warm as autumn."
"Yes," she answered almost under her breath. In a moment she spoke hurriedly, "Does your mother think-does she know-"
"She is a woman," he answered abruptly.
"I wish-oh, I wish-" she hesitated, then added-"that she would not love me so much."
"It _is_ queer," he said gravely.
They drove in silence through the town and turned into the "mountain road"; after half a mile, they were in the country with their faces towards the glimmer of light that the sunset had left.