CHAPTER XVI
Strangely enough, Sylvia and Austin were perhaps less happy at this timethan any of the other dwellers at the Homestead. After the first day, theweek in New York had been a period of great happiness to both of them,and Austin had proved such an immediate success, both among Sylvia'sfriends and Uncle Mat's business associates, that both were immenselygratified. But after the return to the country, matters seemed to go lessand less well. During the year in which they had "loved and longed insecret," each had exalted the other to the position of a martyr and asaint. The intimacy of their engagement was rapidly revealing the factthat, after all, they were merely ordinary human beings, and thediscovery was something of a shock to both. Austin had thought over UncleMat's advice, and found it good; he was gentle and considerate, andshowed himself perfectly willing to submit to Sylvia's wishes in mostimportant decisions, but he refused to be dictated to in little things.She was so accustomed, by this time, to having her slightest whim notonly respected, but admired, by all the adoring Gray family, and most ofher world at large besides, that she was apt to behave like a spoiledchild when Austin thwarted her. She nearly always had to admit,afterwards, that he had been right, and this did not make it any easierfor her. His "incessant obstinacy," as she called it, was rapidly"getting on her nerves," while it seemed to him that they could nevermeet that she did not have some fresh grievance, or disagree with himradically about something. She wanted him at her side all the time; hehad a thousand other interests. She saw no reason why, after they weremarried, they should live in the country all the year, and every year; hesaw no reason why they should do anything else. And so it went with everysubject that arose.
If Sylvia had been less idle, she would have had no time to think about"nerves." But the manservant and his wife whom she had installed in thelittle brick house were well-trained and competent to the last degree,and the menage ran like clock-work without any help from her. She wasdebarred from riding or driving alone, and the girls at the farm had notime to go with her, and it was still an almost unheard-of thing in thatlocality for a woman to run a motor. She could not fill an hour a dayworking in her little garden, and she had no special taste for sewing.The only thing for her to do seemed to be to sit around and wait forAustin to appear, and Austin was not only very busy, but extremelyabsorbed in his work. It was impossible for him to come to see her everynight, and when he did come, he was so thoroughly and wholesomely tiredand sleepy, that his visits were short. On Sundays he had more leisure;but Mr. and Mrs. Gray seemed to take it for granted that Sylvia wouldstill go to church with them in the morning, and spend the rest of theday at their house. She could not bring herself to the point ofdisappointing them, though she rebelled inwardly; but she complained toAustin, as they were walking back to her house together after a day spentin this manner, that she never saw him alone at all.
"It's not only the family," she said, "but Peter, and Fred, and Mr. andMrs. Elliott are around all the time, and to-day there were Ruth andFrank and those two fussy babies needing something done for them everysingle minute besides! It was perfect bedlam. I want you to myself oncein a while."
"You can have me to yourself, for good and all, whenever you want me,"replied Austin.
This was so undeniable a statement that Sylvia changed the subjectabruptly.
"There is no earthly need of your working so hard, and you know it."
"But Sylvia, I like to work; and I'm awfully anxious to make a success ofthings, now that we've got such a wonderful start at last."
"Are you more interested in this stupid old farm than you are in me?"
"Why, Sylvia, it isn't a 'stupid old farm' to me! It's the place mygreat-grandfather built, and that all the Grays have lived in and lovedfor four generations! I thought you liked it, too."
"I do, but I'm jealous of it."
"You ought not to be. You know that there's nothing in the world so dearto me as you are."
"Then let me pay for another hired man, so that you'll have more time foryourself--and for me."
"Indeed, I will not. You'll never pay for another thing on this farm if Ican help it. No one could be more grateful than I am for all you've done,but the time is over for that."
"Won't you come in?" she asked, as, they reached her garden, and shenoticed that he stopped at the gate.
"Not to-night--we've had a good walk together, and you know I have to getup pretty early in the morning. Good-night, dear," and he raised herfingers to his lips.
She snatched them away, lifting her lovely face. "Oh, Austin!" she cried,"how can you be so calm and cold? I think sometimes you're made of stone!If you must go, don't say good-night like that--act as if you were madeof flesh and blood!"
"I'm acting in the only sane way for both of us. If you don't like it, Ihad better not come at all."
And he went home without giving her even the caress he had originallyintended, and slept soundly and well all night; but Sylvia tossed aboutfor hours, and finally, at dawn, cried herself to sleep.
The first serious disagreement, however, came just before Katherine'sgraduation. Austin, who loved to dance, was looking forward to hisclever sister's "ball" with a great deal of pride and pleasure, and wasgenuinely amazed when Sylvia objected violently to his going, sayingthat as she could not dance, and as all the rest of the family would bethere, Katherine did not need him, and that he had much better stay athome with her.
"But, Sylvia," protested Austin, "I _want_ to go. I'm awfully proud ofKatherine, and I wouldn't miss it for anything. Why don't you come, too?I don't see any reason why you shouldn't."
"Of course you don't. You weren't brought up among people who know what'sproper in such matters."
"I know it, Sylvia. But if that's going to trouble you, you should havethought of it sooner. My knowledge of etiquette is very slight, I admit,but my common-sense tells me that announcing one's engagement should beequivalent to stopping all former observances of mourning."
"I didn't want to announce it. It was you that insisted upon that, too."
"Well, you know why," said Austin with some meaning.
"All right, then," burst out Sylvia angrily, "go to your old ball. Youseem to think you are an authority on everything. I'm sure I don't wantto go, anyway, and dance with a lot of awkward farmers who smell of thecow-stable. I shouldn't think you would care about it either, now thatyou've had a chance to see things properly done."
"I care a good deal about my sister, Sylvia, and about my friends here,too. There are no better people on the face of the earth--I've heard yousay so, yourself! It's only a chance that I'm a little less awkward thansome of the others."
The result of this conversation was that Austin did not go near Sylviafor several days. He was deeply hurt, but that was not all. He began towonder, even more than he ever had before, whether his comparativepoverty, his lack of education, his farmer family and traditions andfriends, were not very real barriers between himself and a girl likeSylvia. What was more, he questioned whether a strong, passionate,determined man, who felt that he knew his own best course and proposed totake it, could ever make such a delicate, self-willed little creaturehappy, even if there were no other obstacles in their path than those ofwarring disposition.
Something of his old sullenness of manner returned, and his mother,after worrying in silence over him for a time finally asked him what thetrouble was. At first he denied that there was anything, next stubbornlyrefused to tell her what it was, and at last, like a hurt schoolboy,blurted out his grievance. To his amazement and grief, Mrs. Gray tookSylvia's part. This was the last straw. He jerked himself away from her,and went out, slamming the front door after him. It was evening, and hewas tired and hot and dirty. The rest of the family had almost finishedsupper when he reached the table, an unexpected delay having arisen inthe barn, and he had eaten the unappetizing scraps that remainedhurriedly, without taking time to shave and bathe and change his clothes.He had never gone to Sylvia in this manner before; but he strode down thepath to her h
ouse with a bitter satisfaction in his heart that she was tosee him when he was looking and feeling his worst, and that she wouldhave to take him as he was, or not at all. He found her in her gardencutting roses, a picture of dainty elegance in her delicate whitefabrics. She greeted him somewhat coolly, as if to punish him for hislack of deference to her on his last visit, and his subsequent neglect,and glanced at his costume with a disapproval which she was at no painsto conceal. Then with a sarcasm and lack of tact which she had nevershown before, she gave voice to her general dissatisfaction.
"_Really, Austin_, don't come near me, please; you're altogether too_barny_. Don't you think you're carrying your devotion to the nobility oflabor a little too far, and your devotion to me--if you still haveany--not quite far enough? You're slipping straight back to your oldslovenly, disagreeable ways--without the excuse that you formerly hadthat they were practically the only ways open to you. If you're too proudto accept my money and the freedom that it can give you, and so stubbornthat you make a scene and then won't come near me for days because Irefuse to go to a cheap little public dance with you--"
She got no farther. Austin interrupted her with a violence of which shewould not have believed him capable.
"_If_! If you're too stubborn to go with me to my sister's _graduationball_, and too proud to accept the fact that I'm a _farmer_, with afarmer's friends and family and work, and that _I'm damned glad of it_,and won't give them up, or be supported by any woman on the face of theearth, or let her make a pet lap-dog of me, you can go straight back tothe life you came from, for all me! You seem to prefer it, after all, andI believe it's all you deserve. If you don't--don't ask my forgivenessfor the things you've said the last two times I've seen you, and say_you'll go to that party_ with me, and be just as darned pleasant toevery one there as you know how to be--and promise to stop quarrelling,and keep your promise--I'll never come near you again. You're making mylife utterly miserable. You won't marry me, and yet you are bound to haveme make love to you all the time, when I'm doing my best to keep my handsoff you--and I'd rather be shot _than_ marry you, on the terms you'reputting up to me at present! You've got two days to think it over in, andif you don't send for me before it's time to start for the ball, and tellme you're sorry, you won't get another chance to send for me again aslong as you live. I'm either not worth having at all, or I'm worthtreating better than you've seen fit to do lately!"
He left her, without even looking at her again, in a white heat of fury.But before the hot dawn of another June day had given him an excuse toget up and try to work off his feelings with the most strenuous laborthat he could find, he had spent a horrible sleepless night which he wasnever to forget as long as he lived. His anger gave way first to misery,and then to a panic of fear. Suppose she took him literally--though hehad meant every word when he said it--suppose he lost her? What would therest of his life be worth to him, alone, haunted, not only by hissenseless folly in casting away such a precious treasure, but by hisingratitude, his presumption, and his own unworthiness? A dozen times hestarted towards her house, only to turn back again. She _hadn't_ beenfair. They _couldn't_ be happy that way. If he gave in now, he would haveto do it all the rest of his life, and she would despise him for it. Asthe time which he had stipulated went by, and no message came, hesuffered more and more intensely--hoped, savagely, that she wassuffering, too, and decided that she could not be, or that he would haveheard from her; but resolved, more and more decidedly, with every hourthat passed, that he would fight this battle out to the bitter end.
It was even later than usual when he came in on the night of the ball,and when he entered, every one in the house was hurrying about in theinevitable confusion which precedes a "great occasion." Edith, the onlyone who seemed to be ready, was standing in the middle of theliving-room, fresh and glowing as a yellow rose in her bright dress,Peter beside her buttoning her gloves. She glanced at her grimy brotherwith a feeble interest.
"Mercy, Austin, you'd better hurry! We're going to leave in fiveminutes."
"Well, _I'm_ not going to leave in five minutes! I've got to get out ofthese clothes and have a bath and it's hardly necessary to tell me allthat--one glance at you is sufficient," said Edith flippantly.
"Well, I can come on later alone, I suppose. Where's mother?"
"Still dressing. Why?"
"Do you happen to know whether--Sylvia's been over here thisafternoon--or sent a telephone message or a note?"
"I'm perfectly sure she hasn't. Why?"
"Nothing," said Austin grimly, and left the room.
Like most people who try to dress in a hurry when they are angry, Austinfound that everything went wrong. There was no hot water left, and hehad to heat some himself for shaving while he took a cold bath; hismother usually got his clothes ready for him when she knew he wasdetained, but this time she had apparently been too rushed herself. Hecouldn't find his evening shoes; he couldn't get his studs into hisstiff shirt until he had had a struggle that raised his temperatureseveral degrees higher than it was already; the big, jolly teamfuldeparted while he was rummaging through his top drawer for freshhandkerchiefs; and he was vainly trying to adjust his white tiesatisfactorily, when a knock at the door informed him that he was notalone in the house after all; he said "come in" crossly, and withoutturning, and went on with his futile attempts.
"Has every one else gone? I didn't know I was so late--but I've been allthrough the house downstairs calling, and couldn't get any answer. Let medo that for you--let's take a fresh one--"
He wheeled sharply around, and found Sylvia standing besidehim--Sylvia, dressed in shell-pink, shimmering satin and foamy lace,with pearls in her dark hair and golden slippers on her feet, her neckand arms white and bare and gleaming. With a little sound that was halfa sob, and half a cry of joy, she flung her arms around his neck anddrew his face down to hers.
"Austin--I'm--I'm sorry--I do--beg your forgiveness from the bottom of myheart. I promise--and I'll keep my promise--to be reasonable--andkind--and fair--to stop making you miserable. It's been all my fault thatwe've quarrelled, every bit--and we never will again. I've come to tellyou--not just that I'll go to the party with you, gladly, if you're stillwilling to take me, but that there's nothing that matters to me in thewhole world--except you--"
The first touch of Sylvia's arms set Austin's brain seething; after thehungry misery of the past few days, it acted like wine offered to astarving man, suddenly snatched and drunk. Her words, her tears, herutter self-abandonment of voice and manner, annihilated in one instantthe restraint in which he had held himself for months. He caught thedelicate little creature to him with all his strength, burying his facein the white fragrance of her neck. He forgot everything in the worldexcept that she was in his arms--alone with him--that nothing was to comebetween them again as long as they lived. He could feel her heart beatingagainst his under the soft lace on her breast, her cool cheeks and mouthgrowing warm under the kisses that he rained on them until his own lipsstung. At first she returned his embrace with an ardor that equalled hisown; then, as if conscious that she was being carried away by the mightof a power which she could neither measure nor control, she tried to turnher face away and strove to free herself.
"Don't," she panted; "let me go! You--you-hurt me, Austin."
"I can't help it--I shan't let you go! I'm going to kiss you this timeuntil I get ready to stop."
For a moment she struggled vainly. Austin's arms tightened about her likebands of steel. She gave a little sigh, and lifted her face again.
"I can't seem to--kiss back any more," she whispered, "but if this iswhat you want--if it will make up to you for these last weeks--it doesn'tmatter whether you hurt or not."
Every particle of resistance had left her. Austin had wished for anunconditional surrender, and he had certainly attained it. There couldnever again be any question of which should rule. She had come and laidher sweet, proud, rebellious spirit at his very feet, begging hisforgiveness that it had not sooner recognized its mast
er. A wonderfulsurge of triumph at his victory swept over him--and then, suddenly--hewas sick and cold with shame and contrition. He released her, so abruptlythat she staggered, catching hold of a chair to steady herself, andraising one small clenched hand to her lips, as if to press away theirsmarting. As she did so, he saw a deep red mark on her bare white arm. Hewinced, as if he had been struck, at the gesture and what it disclosed,but it needed neither to show him that she was bruised and hurt from theviolence of his embrace; and dreadful as he instantly realized this tobe, it seemed to matter very little if he could only learn that she wasnot hurt beyond all healing by divining the desire and intention whichfor one sacrilegious moment had almost mastered him.
A gauzy scarf which she had carried when she entered the room had fallento the floor. He stooped and picked it up, and stood looking at it,running it through his hands, his head bent. It was white and sheer, amere gossamer--he must have stepped on it, for in one place it was torn,in another slightly soiled. Sylvia, watching him, holding her breath,could see the muscles of his white face growing tenser and tenser aroundhis set mouth, and still he did not glance at her or speak to her. Atlast he unfolded it to its full size, and wrapped it about her, his eyesgiving her the smile which his lips could not.
"Nothing matters to me in the whole world either--except you," he saidbrokenly. "I think these last few--dreadful days--have shown us both howmuch we need each other, and that the memory of them will keep us closertogether all our lives. If there's any question of forgiveness betweenus, it's all on my side now, not yours, and I don't think I can--talkabout it now. But I'll never forget how you came to me to-night, and,please God, some day I'll be more worthy of--of your love and--and your_trust_ than I've shown myself now. Until I am--" He stopped, and,lifting her arm, kissed the bruise which his own roughness had madethere. "What can I do--to make that better?" he managed to say.
"It didn't hurt--much--before--and it's all healed--now," she said,smiling up at him; "didn't your mother ever 'kiss the place to make itwell' when you were a little boy, and didn't it always work like a charm?It won't show at all, either, under my glove."
"Your glove?" he asked stupidly; and then, suddenly remembering what hehad entirely forgotten--"Oh--we were going to a ball together. You cameto tell me you would, after all. But surely you won't want to now--"
"Why not? We can take the motor--we won't be so very late--the otherswent in the carryall, you know."
He drew a long breath, and looked away from her. "All right," he said atlast. "Go downstairs and get your cloak, if you left it there. I'll bewith you in a minute."
She obeyed, without a word, but waited so long that she grew alarmed, andfinally, unable to endure her anxiety any longer, she went back upstairs.Austin's door was open into the hall, but it was dark in his room, and,genuinely frightened, she groped her way towards the electric switch. Indoing so she stumbled against the bed, and her hand fell on Austin'sshoulder. He was kneeling there, his whole body shaking, his head buriedin his arms. Instantly she was on her knees beside him.
"My darling boy, what is it? Austin, _don't_! You'll break my heart."
"The marvel is--if I haven't--just now. I told your uncle that I wasafraid I would some time--that I knew I hadn't any right to you. But Ididn't think--that even I was bad enough--to fail you--like _this_--"
"You _haven't_ failed me--you _have_ a right to me--I never loved youso much in all my life--" she hurried on, almost incoherently, searchingfor words of comfort. "Dearest--will it make you feel any better--if Isay I'll marry you--right away?"
"What do you mean? When?"
"To-night, if you like. Oh, Austin, I love you so that it doesn't mattera bit--whether I'm afraid or not. The only thing that really counts--isto have you happy! And since I've realized that--I find that I'm notafraid of anything in the whole world--and that I want to belong to youas much--and as soon--as you can possibly want to have me!"
* * * * *
It was many months before Hamstead stopped talking about the "GraduationBall of that year." It surpassed, to an almost extraordinary degree, anythat had ever been held there. But the event upon which the village bestloved to dwell was the entrance of Sylvia Cary, the loveliest vision ithad ever beheld, on Austin Gray's arm, when all the other guests werealready there, and everyone had despaired of their coming. Following theunwritten law in country places, which decrees that all persons engaged,married, or "keeping company," must have their "first dance" together,she gave that to Austin. Then Thomas and James, Frank and Fred, Peter,and even Mr. Gray and Mr. Elliott, all claimed their turn, and by thattime Austin was waiting impatiently again. But country parties are long,and before the night was over, all the men and boys, who had beenwatching her in church, and bowing when they met her in the road, andseizing every possible chance to speak to her when they went to theHomestead on errands--or excuses for errands--had demanded and been givena dance. She was lighter than thistledown--indeed, there were momentswhen she seemed scarcely a woman at all, but a mere essence of fragilebeauty and sweetness and graciousness. It had been generally concededbeforehand that the honors of the ball would all go to Edith, but evenEdith herself admitted that she took a second place, and that she wasglad to take it.
Dawn was turning the quiet valley and distant mountains into a riotousrosy glory, when, as they drove slowly up to her house, Austin gentlyraised the gossamer scarf which had blown over Sylvia's face, half-hidingit from him. She looked up with a smile to answer his.
"Are you very tired, dear?"
"Not at all--just too happy to talk much, that's all."
"Sylvia--"
"Yes, darling--"
"You know I have planned to start West with Peter three days afterSally's wedding--"
"Yes--"
"Would you rather I didn't go?"
"No; I'm glad you're going--I mean, I'm glad you have decided to keep toyour plan."
"What makes you think I have?"
"Because, being you, you couldn't do otherwise."
"But when I come back--"
Her fingers tightened in his.
"I want two months all alone with you in this little house," hewhispered. "Send the servants away--it won't be very hard to do thework--for just us two--I'll help. That's--that's--_marriage_--a bigwedding and a public honeymoon--and--all that go with them--are just acheap imitation--of the real thing. Then, later on, if you like, thisfirst winter, we'll go away together--to Spain or Italy or the South ofFrance--or wherever you wish--but first--we'll begin together here. Willyou marry me--the first of September, Sylvia?"
Austin drove home in the broad daylight of four o'clock on a Junemorning. Then, after the motor was put away, he took his working clothesover his arm, went to the river, and plunged in. When he came back, withdamp hair, cool skin, and a heart singing with peace and joy, he foundPeter, whistling, starting towards the barn with his milk-pail over hisarm. It was the beginning of a new day.