The Missing Bride Part 16

"And if I do, fairest Marian, shall I, too, hear my own Christian name in music from your lips?"

"Oh, I do not know," said the beautiful girl, laughing and blushing. "If it ever comes naturally, perhaps; certainly not now. Why, the venerable Colonel Thornton calls me 'Marian,' but it never comes to me to call him 'John!'"

CHAPTER XIII.

LOVE.

This was but one of many such meetings, Thurston growing more and more infatuated each time, while Marian scarcely tried to hide the pleasure which his society gave her.

One day when riding through the forest he met Marian returning from the village and on foot. She was radiant with health and beauty, and blushing and smiling with joy as she met him. A little basket hung upon her arm. To dismount and join her, to take the basket from her arm, and to look in her face and declare in broken exclamations his delight at seeing her, were the words and the work of an instant.

"And whither away this morning, fairest Marian?" he inquired, when unrebuked he had pressed her hand to his lips, and drawn it through his arm.

"I have been to the village, and am now going home," said the maiden.

"It is a long walk through the forest."

"Yes; but my pony has cast a shoe and lamed himself slightly, and I fear I shall have to dispense with his services for a few days."

"Thank G.o.d!" fervently e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Thurston to himself.

"But it is beautiful weather, and I enjoy walking," said the young girl.

"Marian--dearest Marian, will you let me attend you home? The walk is lonely, and it may not be quite safe for a fair woman to take it unattended."

"I have no fear of interruption," said Marian.

"Yet you will not refuse to let me attend you? Do not, Marian!" he pleaded, earnestly, fervently, clasping her hand, and pouring the whole strength of his soul in the gaze that he fastened on her face.

"I thank you; but you were riding the other way."

"It was merely an idle saunter, to help to kill the time between this and Sunday, dearest girl. Now, rest you, my queen! my queen! upon this mossy rock, as on a throne, while I ride forward and leave my horse. I will be with you again in fifteen minutes; in the meantime here is something for you to look at," he said, drawing from his pocket an elegant little volume bound in purple and gold, and laying it in her lap. He then smiled, sprang into his saddle, bowed, and galloped away, leaving Marian to examine her book. It was a London copy of Spenser's Fairy Queen, superbly ill.u.s.trated, one of the rarest books to be found in the whole country at that day. On the fly-leaf the name of Marian was written, in the hand of Thurston.

Some minutes pa.s.sed in the pleasing examination of the volume; and Marian was still turning the leaves with unmixed pleasure--pleasure in the gift, and pleasure in the giver--when Thurston, even before the appointed time, suddenly rejoined her.

"So absorbed in Spenser that you did not even hear or see me!" said the young man, half reproachfully.

"I was indeed far gone in Fairy Land! Oh, I thank you so much for your beautiful present! It is indeed a treasure. I shall prize it greatly,"

said Marian, in unfeigned delight.

"Do you know that Fairy Land is not obsolete, dearest Marian?" he said, fixing his eyes upon her charming face with an ardor and earnestness that caused hers to sink.

"Come," she said, in a low voice, and rising from the rock; "let us leave this place and go forward."

They walked on, speaking softly of many things--of the vision of Spenser, of the beautiful autumnal weather, of anything except the one interest that now occupied both hearts. The fear of startling her bashful trust, and banishing those bewitching glances that sometimes lightened on his face, made him cautious, and restrained his eagerness; while excessive consciousness kept her cheeks dyed with blushes, and her nerves vibrating sweet, wild music, like the strings of some aeolian harp when swept by the swift south wind.

He determined, during the walk, to plead his love, and ascertain his fate. Ay! but how approach the subject when, at every ardent glance or tone, her face, her heart, shrank and closed up, like the leaves of the sensitive plant.

So they rambled on, discovering new beauties in nature; now it would be merely an oak leaf of rare richness of coloring; now some tiny insect with finished elegance of form; now a piece of the dried branch of a tree that Thurston picked up, to bid her note the delicately blending shades in its gray hue, or the curves and lines of grace in its twisted form--the beauty of its slow return to dust; and now perhaps it would be the mingled colors in the heaps of dried leaves drifted at the foot of some great tree.

And then from the minute loveliness of nature's sweet, small things, their eyes would wander to the great glory of the autumnal sky, or the variegated array of the gorgeous forest.

Thurston knew a beautiful glade, not far distant, to the left of their path, from which there was a very fine view that he wished to show his companion. And he led Marian thither by a little moss-bordered, descending path.

It was a natural opening in the forest, from which, down a still, descending vista, between the trees, could be seen the distant bay, and the open country near it, all glowing under a refulgent sky, and hazy with the golden mist of Indian Summer. Before them the upper branches of the nearest trees formed a natural arch above the picture.

Marian stood and gazed upon the wondrous beauty of the scene with soft, steady eyes, with lips breathlessly severed, in perfect silence and growing emotion.

"This pleases you," said Thurston.

She nodded, without removing her gaze.

"You find it charming?"

She nodded again, and smiled.

"You were never here before?"

"Never."

"Marian, you are a lover of nature."

"I do not know," she said, softly, "whether it be love, or worship, or both; but some pictures spell-bind me. I stand amidst a scene like this, enchanted, until my soul has absorbed as much of its beauty and glory and wisdom as it can absorb. As the Ancient Mariner held with his 'glittering eye' the wedding guest, so such a picture holds me enthralled until I have heard the story and learned the lesson it has to tell and teach me. Did you ever, in the midst of nature's liberal ministrations, feel your spirit absorbing, a.s.similating, growing? Or is it only a fantastic action of mine that beauty is the food of soul?"

She turned her eloquent eyes full upon him.

He forgot his prudence, forgot her claims, forgot everything, and caught and strained her to his bosom, pressing pa.s.sionate kisses upon her lips, and the next instant he was kneeling at her feet, imploring her to forgive him--to hear him.

Marian stood with her face bowed and hidden in her hands; but above the tips of her fingers, her forehead, crimsoned, might be seen. One half her auburn hair had escaped and rippled down in glittering disorder. And so she stood a few moments. But soon, removing her hands and turning away, she said, in a troubled tone:

"Rise. Never kneel to any creature; that homage is due the Creator alone. Oh, rise!"

"First pardon me--first hear me, beloved girl!"

"Oh, rise--rise, I beg you! I cannot bear to see a man on his knee, except in prayer to G.o.d!" she said, walking away.

He sprang up and followed her, took her hand, and, with gentle compulsion, made her sit down upon a bank; and then he sank beside her, exclaiming eagerly, vehemently, yet in a low, half-smothered tone:

"Marian, I love you! I never spoke these words to woman before, for I never loved before. Marian, the first moment that I saw you I loved you, without knowing what new life it was that had kindled in my nature. I have loved you more and more every day! I love you more than words can tell or heart conceive! I only live in your presence! Marian! not one word or glance for me? Oh, speak! Turn your dear face toward me," he said, putting his hand gently around her head. "Speak to me, Marian, for I adore--I worship you!"

"I do not deserve to be loved in that way. I do not wish it, for it is wrong--idolatrous," she said, in a low, trembling voice.

"Oh! what do you mean? Is the love upon which my life seems to hang so offensive to you? Say, Marian! Oh! you are compa.s.sionate by nature; how can you keep me in the torture of suspense?"