CHAPTER VIII
"I fairly dread to have Christmas come for one reason," had said Mrs.Gray to her husband beforehand.
"Why? I thought you were counting the days!"
"So I am. But I hate to think of all the presents Sylvia's likely to loadus down with. Seems as if she'd done enough. I don't want to be beholdento her for any more."
"Don't worry, Mary. Sylvia's got good sense, and delicate feelings aswell as an almighty generous little heart. She'll be the first to thinkhow we'd feel, herself."
Mr. Gray was right. When Christmas came there was a simple, inexpensivetrinket for each of the girls, and slightly costlier ones for the brideand Mrs. Gray; little pocket calendars, all just alike, for the men; thatwas all. Mr. Stevens had taken pleasure in bringing great baskets ofcandy, adorned with elaborate bows of ribbon, and bunches of violets asbig as their heads, to all the "children," a fine plant to Mrs. Gray, andbooks to Howard and his sons; and Austin's suit-case bulged with allsorts of little treasures, which tumbled out from between his clothes inthe most unexpected places, as he unpacked it in the living-room, to thegreat delight of them all.
"Here's a dress-length of gray silk from Venice for mother," he said,tossing the shimmering bundle into her lap; "I want her to have it madeup to wear at Sally's wedding. And here's lace for Sadie and Sallyboth--the bride and the bride-to-be. Nothing much for the rest ofyou"--and out came strings of corals and beads, handkerchiefs andphotographs, silk stockings and filagree work, until the floor wasstrewn with pretty things. After all the presents were distributed, itwas time to begin to get dinner, and to decorate the great table laidfor sixteen. There was a turkey, of course, and a huge chicken pie aswell, not to mention mince pies and squash pies and apple pies, a plumpudding and vanilla ice-cream; angel cakes and fruit cakes and chocolatecakes; coffee and cider and blackberry cordial; and after they had alleaten until they could not hold another mouthful, and had "rested up" alittle, Sylvia played while they danced the Virginia Reel, Mr. Stevensleading off with Mrs. Gray, and Mr. Gray with Sadie. And finally theyall gathered around the piano and sang the good old carols, until it wastime for the Elliotts to go home, and for Ruth to carry the sleepybabies up to bed.
Since early fall it had been Sylvia's custom to sit with the family for atime after the early supper was over, and the "dishes done up"; then shewent to her own parlor, lighted her open fire, and sat down by herselfto read or write letters. But she always left her door wide open, and itwas understood that any one who wished to come to her was welcome. Austinwas the last to start to bed on Christmas night, and seeing Sylvia stillat her desk as he passed her room, he stopped and asked:
"Is it too late, or are you too tired and busy to let me come in for afew minutes?"
She glanced at the clock, smiling. "It isn't very late, I'm not a bittired, and in a minute I shan't be too busy; I've been working over somestupid documents that I was bound to get through with to-night, but I'mall done now. Throw that rubbish into the fire for me, will you?" shecontinued, pointing to a pile of torn-up letters and printed matter, "anddraw up two chairs in front of the fire. I'll join you in a minute."
He obeyed, then stood watching her as she straightened out her silverdesk fixtures, gravely putting everything in perfect order before sheturned to him.
"What a beau cavalier you have become," she said, smiling again, as hedrew back to let her pass in front of him, and turned her chair to anangle at which the fire could not scorch her face; "what's become of theold Austin? I can't seem to find him at all!"
"Oh, I left him in the woods the night of the fire, I hope," returnedAustin, laughing, "while you were asleep. I'm sure neither you nor anyone else wants him back."
Sylvia settled herself comfortably, and smoothed out the folds of herdull-black silk dress. "Wouldn't you like to smoke?" she asked; "it'san awfully comfortable feeling--to watch a man smoking, in front of anopen fire!"
"I'd love to, if you're sure you don't mind. I don't want to make the airin here heavy--for I suppose you've got to sleep here on this sofa,having allowed yourself to be turned out of your good bed."
She laughed. "I'm so small that I can curl up and sleep on almostanything, like a kitten," she said. "And it's fine to think of being ableto give my room to James and Sadie--they're so nice, and so happytogether. I can open the windows wide for a few minutes after you'vegone, and there won't be a trace of tobacco smoke left. If there were, Ishouldn't mind it. Now, what is it, Austin?"
"I want to talk. I haven't seen you a single minute alone. And though theothers are all interested, it isn't like telling things to a person who'sdone all the wonderful things and seen all the wonderful places that Ijust have. I've simply got to let loose on some one."
"Of course, you have. I thought that was it. Talk away, but not tooloud. We mustn't disturb the others, who are all trying to go to sleep bythis time. Tell me--which of the Italian cities did you likebest--Rome--or Florence--or Naples?"
"Will you think me awfully queer if I say none of them, but after Venice,the little ones, like Assisi, Perugia, and Sienna. I'm so glad we tookthe time for them. Oh, _Sylvia_--" And he was off. The little clock onthe mantel struck several times, unnoticed by either of them, and it wasafter one, when, glancing inadvertently at it, Austin sprang to his feet,apologizing for having kept her awake so long, and hastily bade hergood-night.
"May I come again some evening and talk more?" he asked, with his hand onthe door-handle, "or have I bored and tired you to death? You're awonderful listener."
"Come as often as you like--I've been learning things, too, that I wantto tell you about."
"For instance?"
"Oh, how to cook and sweep and sew--and how to be well and happy and atpeace," she added in a lower voice. Then, speaking lightly again, "We'lltry to keep up that French you've worked so hard at, together--I'mdreadfully out of practice, myself--and read some of Browning's Italianpoems, if you would care to. Goodnight, and again, Merry Christmas."
He left her, almost in a daze of excitement and happiness; and mountedthe stairs, turning over everything that had been said and done duringthe two hours since he entered her room. As he reached the top, a suddensuspicion shot through him. He stopped short, almost breathlessly, thenstood for several moments as if uncertain what to do, the suspiciongaining ground with every second; then suddenly, unable to bear thesuspense it had created, ran down the stairs again. Sylvia's door wasclosed; he knocked.
"All right, just a minute," came the ready answer. A minute later thedoor was thrown open, and Sylvia stood in it, wrapped in a white satindressing-gown edged with soft fur, her dark hair falling over hershoulders, her neck and arms bare. She drew back, the quick red colorflooding her cheeks.
"_Austin!"_ she exclaimed; "I never thought of your coming back--Isupposed, of course, it was one of the girls. I can't--you mustn't--"But Sylvia was too much mistress of herself and woman of the world toremain embarrassed long in any situation. She recovered herself beforeAustin did.
"What has happened?" she asked quickly; "is any one ill?"
"No--Sylvia--what were those papers you gave me to burn?"
"Waste--rubbish. Go to bed, Austin, and don't frighten me out of my witsagain by coming and asking me silly questions."
"What kind of waste paper? Please be a little more explicit."
"How did you happen to come back to ask me such a thing--what made youthink of it?"
"I don't know--I just did. Tell me instantly, please."
"Don't dictate to me--the last time you did you were sorry."
"Yes--and you were sorry that you didn't listen to me, weren't you?"
"No!" she cried, "I wasn't--not in the end. If I hadn't gone out toride that day, you never would have gone to Europe--and come back theman you have!"
She turned away from him, her eyes full of tears, her voice shaking. Hewas quite at a loss to understand her emotion, almost too excited himselfto notice it; but he could not help being conscious of the tensity of themoment. He
spoke more gently.
"Sylvia--don't think me presuming--I don't mean it that way; and you andI mustn't quarrel again. But I believe I have a right to ask what thatdocument you gave me to burn up was. If you'll give me your word of honorthat I haven't--I can only beg your forgiveness for having intruded uponyou, and for my rudeness in speaking as I did."
She turned again slowly, and faced him. He wondered if it was the unshedtears that made her eyes so soft.
"You have a right," she said, "and _I_ shouldn't have spoken as I did.You were fair, and I wasn't, as usual. I'll tell you. And will youpromise me just to--to give this little slip of paper to your father--andnever refer to the matter again, or let him?"
"I promise."
"Well, then," she went on hurriedly, "about a month ago I bought themortgage on this farm. It seemed to me the only thing that stood in theway of your prosperity now--it hung around your father's neck like amillstone--just the thought that he couldn't feel that this wonderfulold place was wholly his, the last years of his life, and that hecouldn't leave it intact for you and Thomas and your children after youwhen he died. So I made up my mind it should be destroyed to-day, as myreal Christmas present to you all. The transfer papers were allproperly made out and recorded--this little memorandum will show youwhen and where. But Hiram Hutt's title to the property, and mine--andall the correspondence about them--are in that fireplace. That burdenwas too heavy for your father to carry--thank God, I've been the one tohelp lift it!"
In the moment of electrified silence that followed, Sylviamisinterpreted Austin's silence, just as he had failed to understand hertears. She came nearer to him, holding out her hands.
"Please don't be angry," she whispered; "I'll never give any of youanything again, if you don't want me to. I know you don't want--and youdon't need--charity; but you did need and want--some one to help just alittle--when things had been going badly with you for so long that itseemed as if they never could go right again. You'd lost your gripbecause there didn't seem to be anything to hang on to! It's meant newcourage and hope and _life_ to me to be able to stay here--I'd lost mygrip, too. I don't think I could have held on much longer--to my _reason_even--if I hadn't had this respite. If I can accept all that from you,can't you accept the clear title to a few acres from me? Austin--don'tstand there looking at me like that--tell me I haven't presumed too far."
"What made you think I was angry?" he said hoarsely. "Do men dare to beangry with angels sent from Heaven?" He took the little slip of paperwhich she still held in her extended hand. "I thought you had donesomething like this--that was why you made me burn the papers myself--inthe name of my father--and of my children--God bless you." Without takinghis eyes off her face, he drew a tiny box from his pocket."Sylvia--would you take a present from _me_?"
"Why, yes. What--"
"It isn't really a present at all, of course, for it was bought with yourmoney, and perhaps you won't like it, for I've noticed you never wear anyjewelry. But I couldn't bear to come home without a single thing foryou--and this represents--what you've been to me."
As he spoke, he slipped into her hand a delicate chain of gold, on whichhung a tiny star; she turned it over two or three times without speaking,and her eyes filled with tears again. Then she said:
"It _is_ a present, for this means you travelled third-class, and stayedat cheap hotels, and went without your lunches--or you couldn't havebought it. You had only enough money for the trip we originally planned,without those six weeks in Italy. I'll wear _this_ piece of jewelry--andit will represent what _you've_ been to _me_, in my mind. Will you put iton yourself?"
She held it towards him, bending forward, her head down. It seemed toAustin that her loveliness was like the fragrance of a flower.Involuntarily, the hands which clasped the little chain around her whitethroat, touching the warm, soft skin, fell to her shoulders, and drewher closer.
The swift and terrible change that went over Sylvia's face sent a thrustof horror through him. She shut her eyes, and shrank away, trembling allover, her face grown ashy white. Instantly he realized that the gesturemust have replied to her some ghastly experience in the past; thatperhaps she had more than once been tricked into an embrace by a gift;that a man's love had meant but one thing to her, and that she nowthought herself face to face with that thing again, from one whom she hadhelped and trusted. For an instant the grief with which this realizationfilled him, the fresh compassion for all she had suffered, the renewedlove for all her goodness, were too much for him. He tried to speak, totake away his hands, to leave her. He seemed to be powerless. Then,blessedly, the realization of what he should do came to him.
"Open your eyes, Sylvia," he commanded.
Too startled to disobey, she did so. He looked into them for a fullminute, smiling, and shook his head.
"You did not understand, dear lady," he said. And dropping on his kneesbefore her, he took her hands, laid them against his cheek for a minute,touched them with his lips, and left her.