CHAPTER XXXI
RECONCILIATION
That afternoon, while Benny had been surreptitiously watching Sylvia'sirrepressible tears, she kept her face toward the Tide Mill without onebackward look. The boat, as it cut through the water, rising andfalling in the strong, steady wind, seemed ever rhythmically repeatingthe line of the island song:--
"Joy, sea-swept, may fade to-day Joy, sea-swept may fade to-day."
She tried to look away from her hurt and humiliation as she looked awayfrom Anemone Cottage; tried to remember only that at the Mill Farm wasThinkright, with his confidence and calm. Oh, to be calm and fearlessonce more!
"Love alone will stay!"
A light seemed shed now on many a talk of Thinkright's concerning theonly Love that would stay,--abide. The only Love that bred peace,--thepeace that passeth understanding.
Winds and waves sang on:--
"Joy, sea-swept may fade to-day; Love alone will stay."
and above the human sweetness of the song Sylvia felt that there dwelta deeper, higher meaning, but she could not attain to it now. Thoughtwas pain. What she longed to do was to wipe the last week from herremembrance. The last week. She suddenly remembered its high light: thethrill with which she had worked over her pictures and the power shefelt in her finger tips. Her sketches,--she had forgotten them. Heraunt, Edna, would find them. What matter? Nothing at Hawk Islandmattered.
She turned her thought to the farm. The Basin was sparkling and waitingfor her, the birches were bending forward in welcome. Thinkright, andthe dear Fosters, she loved them all; and her boat, whose dainty oarsshe had never handled. Home, a dear home, awaited her. She hoped theuncontrollable fountain of her tears would dry before the Tide Millshould feel her presence and seem to say: "I told you so. Better neverto believe in the sunshine. Then you cannot suffer a pang in findingthat, after all, the world holds naught but bitterness anddisappointment."
When the old mill finally came in sight, Sylvia averted her face. Whilethe boat stole through its cold shadow she fixed her eyes on thesmiling lake beyond, all alive in the rising tide, and glad, to itslast sombre little evergreen pushing sap into the hopeful brightness ofits tips.
"Thank you so much, Benny," she said, when finally she stood on theshore. "I've been a very stupid passenger, but I hope you'll forgiveme."
"I didn't want to talk," returned Benny awkwardly. What he thought was,"I only wish't I was big enough to punch his head."
"I got time to carry your bag up to the house, and I'm goin' to," headded firmly.
Sylvia demurred, for she did not wish the boy to see the surprise herreturn would occasion; but he refused to listen to her assurances, and,dropping his anchor in the depths beside a certain rock, he strode offmanfully by her side with the bag, only wishing that it were twice asheavy.
Fortune favored Sylvia, for Thinkright was the only member of thefamily who saw her emerge from the woods. He came down the hill to meetthe newcomers, and, noting Benny's burden, understood that the girl'sreturn was permanent.
He advanced in silence, smiling. Sylvia smiled too, bravely. "The badpenny, you see," she said, as he drew near.
"I'm glad to get the penny on any terms," he replied.
"Will you pay Benny, please, Thinkright? I hadn't any money with me."
The boy took the silver and gave up the bag, casting a furtive glanceat Sylvia.
"Ye don't want me to come back for yer to-morrer?" he said.
"No, thank you, Benny. Good-by." She gave him an April smile, and hereturned to the boat muttering to himself, his fist clenched andrestless.
The girl met Thinkright's kind, questioning look.
"I've shown the white feather after all," she said; "but would you mindnot asking me anything,--just for to-day?"
"Certainly I won't, little one. Don't tell me until you wish to."
Sylvia rested her hand on his shoulder as they walked up the hill. "Ishall tell the others, if they ask, that I was homesick. Never was atruer word spoken. People have died of homesickness, haven't they,Thinkright? I thought I might die of it if I had to stay there one morenight."
Her companion did not smile at this extravagance. He was wise, and knewthat a wound which is resisted and thrown off by experienced andcase-hardened maturity does often crush the thin skin of youth.
"Well, we shall all be thoroughly glad to get you back again, dear," hereplied. "There's been a yawning hole in the house ever since you left,and Minty actually shed tears last evening in her disappointment thatyou didn't stay."
"Dear little Minty," said Sylvia, gratefully.
"The tears and affection were very genuine," said Thinkright smiling,"but the situation is more acute owing to the fact of your rowboat, andthat she has been forbidden to use it without you."
"Poor little thing. I don't wonder. I'll take her soon, or she'll takeme; but this afternoon can I stay with you a while? Have you time totalk to me, and read with me? I'm a heathen, and need a missionary."
"You're not; but I'll help you to know you're not. I was going to menda fence, but"--
"Oh, no, mend me!" returned Sylvia.
Benny Merritt found that Mr. Dunham had spoken the truth, and that hewas summoned early on the following day to take Miss Derwent to theMill Farm; and when she appeared at the dock at the appointed hour, itproved that she was escorted by Judge Trent, rather grim of visage ashe shot out sharp glances from beneath the earth-colored cap. He wasnot particularly fond of sailing; he greatly approved of Jenny'scooking; everything had been unusually comfortable and to his minduntil Sylvia's foolish move upset everything and everybody. It was withreluctance that he accompanied Edna this morning, but her earnestnesswould not be gainsaid. He was forced to listen to assurances of hisniece's gift, of the desirability of developing it, of the strength ofthe motive-spirit she had evidenced in the pains taken to carry out herdesire. Then Edna unfolded to him the plans that had come to her duringa wakeful night, and bespoke his cooperation. The judge scowled at thepassing billows, and listened. Edna was tactful and diplomatic. She didnot overdo the matter. She allowed silences to fall in which hertaciturn listener might digest the food she had offered his familypride and ambition. She talked of other matters, and was just making areference to the judge's gift to his niece of the rowboat, when Bennysteered in toward the mill, and dropped his sail at the nearest spotwhich at this tide was practicable.
"There is the new boat, now," cried Edna; "and Sylvia and Minty are init."
As she and the judge walked along the shore toward the littleboathouse, she waved her handkerchief toward the occupants of the RosyCloud. It was Minty who first caught sight of the visitors.
"There's somebody a-wavin'," she said, and Sylvia stopped rowing andlooked over her shoulder. She had been finding the lightness andresponsiveness of her boat exhilarating, and her eyes were beaminguntil she caught sight of the visitors.
Even Minty saw the change that crossed her face. "I wish 't they hadn'tcome, too," she said regretfully. "Don't go in yet, Miss Sylvia."
"You see, Uncle Calvin gave me the boat, and he has never been insideof it," returned Sylvia, beginning to row toward shore. "You shall takeher again, Minty, as soon as we are through."
She was surprised that Edna had come so promptly. She could still seethe cold disapproval in her friend's face the last time she had lookedupon it. What a contrast she saw now in its beaming expression!
Miss Derwent was uncomfortable, for she knew she could not be welcome,and she longed for five minutes alone with Sylvia; but Judge Trent mustbe considered, and she had to curb her impatience as best she might.
The judge watched the approach of the boat critically. "You go toodeep, Sylvia, you go too deep," he announced as she drew near. "Minty,you row like a windmill. You'll have to take some lessons, too."
"Minty rows a good strong stroke," said Sylvia; "but she has always hadsuch a heavy boat that she'll have to learn that this doesn't requirethe same effort." How strange it seemed that any
one at this juncturecould consider the form of rowing! When one's heart was beating andone's brain struggling to decide how to meet a difficult situation, asif anything mattered, except to reach the shore and not to forget thelaws of hospitality.
"Well, well, miss," went on the judge, when he could see his niece'sflushed face, "this running away is pretty business. What have you tosay for yourself?"
"She needn't say anything," said Edna. "I told him you were homesick,Sylvia, and it was reason enough. You had ample reason for leaving."
The speaker made the deliberate addition significantly, and caught herfriend's eye with an appeal in which Sylvia could see the flag oftruce. The earnestness and sweetness of her tone and look astoundedSylvia; for had so simple an action as her coming home had power toalter such strong feeling as must goad a hostess before she can sorebuke the guest beneath her roof?
"Are you going to come ashore and let us interrupt your sport?" went onEdna.
"Unless you and Uncle Calvin care to come out for a little row,"returned Sylvia. "It's a wonderful boat, Uncle Calvin."
"Yes, Edna, get in," said the judge. "You take the tiller, and I'llshow Sylvia how to avoid the windmill habit. Another time for you,Minty," he added, and the child jumped out obediently.
Little did the prosaic lawyer suspect the preoccupation of his pupilduring the next quarter of an hour. Sylvia did her best to obey him;and Edna, intent on keeping him in the best of humor, expressed herenjoyment of a situation whose finish she anticipated far more eagerlythan did her friend; for Sylvia, although apparently intent onfeathering, was planning how she could avoid being left alone for aminute with Edna.
The moment came, however, when they must land, and Judge Trentsuperintended the putting up of the boat. He would touch nothing, hewished Sylvia to understand and execute each detail, and gave hisdirections crisply. His niece welcomed this, for it kept him by herside, a position she hoped he would maintain until their departure forthe island.
"What do you suppose Mrs. Lem will say to two people descending uponher for dinner?" asked Edna, when at last the three started toward thehouse.
"Oh, this is giving her plenty of warning," replied Sylvia. "I willtell her at once."
Edna had requested Judge Trent not to refer to his niece's sketchesuntil she had an opportunity to speak with her alone. To this he hadreplied that he was a passenger, and that, as Edna had undertaken todiscover a genius in his family, he would not interfere with anydramatic effect upon which she had set her heart. The two girlsascended the hill, one on each side of him, and Sylvia's heart sank ashe asked Thinkright's whereabouts.
"Oh, he's off in the farm garden with Cap'n Lem," she replied; "butyou're not going to leave me, are you, Uncle Calvin? I'm always beingdisappointed of a visit with you. Edna, you hold on to him while I goin and tell Mrs. Lem that you're here,--although Minty has probablyalready done so."
Far from obeying, Edna dismissed their escort the instant Sylvia haddisappeared.
"This will give me a chance to have my talk with her before dinner,"she said; "and afterward she can talk with you."
"Very well," returned the judge; "but don't get flighty, Edna.Remember, I'm not a millionaire."
Sylvia's face, when she emerged from the house to find her friendwaiting alone, was expressive; and Edna answered quite as if she hadspoken.
"Yes, I sent him away. I had to see you alone. Please forgive me foryesterday, and give me ten minutes--no, five; I believe you'll ask forthe next five yourself."
It was Edna's old winning smile that again beamed upon her perplexedfriend. The vague change and coolness had disappeared. "Choose a placewhere no one will disturb us," she added.
In silence Sylvia walked to the AEolian pine tree, and they seatedthemselves on the rustic seat.
"How amazed you must have been at my severity yesterday," began Edna,"when you could not have had the vaguest idea at what I was hinting."
Sylvia still kept silence. She was astonished by the light-hearted,almost humorous note in her companion's voice.
"_You_ must have had an idea, I suppose," she returned noncommittally.
To her further surprise Edna actually laughed. "Yes, I had an idea, butI'm mortally ashamed of it to-day. Could you be so magnanimous, Sylvia,as not to ask me what it was?"
The girl kept silence for a moment. Surely if her offense had concernedJohn Dunham, nothing could have occurred since yesterday to alterfacts--but stay! and not all the sun kisses that had warmed Sylvia'sface could conceal that she grew suddenly pale. If Edna and John hadcome to a mutual discovery since yesterday, that would explain thehappy excitement which seemed to have engulfed all other feeling forEdna.
"You will have to explain a little," she said, and her self-controlmade her voice cold.
"Oh, it's too absurd, Sylvia--honestly. Sometime when we're quite oldladies I'll tell you,--that is, if you'll forgive me without myconfessing now. Of course if you won't,"--Edna's eyes besought herfriend merrily,--"I shall have to; but really I want to beg off."
"You have something important to tell me," said Sylvia, "somethingbesides that."
"Two things. I didn't sleep at all last night for two reasons: one wasfor happiness, the other for regret that I had hurt you."
It was, then, as Sylvia had surmised. What reason was there for feelingsuch shock? Had she not always been prepared for this, and been waitingfor it?
"Oh, I can't bear to have you look so frozen, Sylvia." Edna suddenlytook her friend's hand. "I do apologize sincerely for yesterday, and Iam going to tell you what no one else knows or will know for some time,owing to the strange circumstances. The mail last evening brought myfather's consent to my marrying the man I love. I'll not tell you moreabout it yet, except that he is an Englishman, and we had almostdespaired of winning over my parents. What? Not a word, Sylvia?" Forthe blue eyes gazed, and the parted lips were stiffly mute. After aminute warmth began to flow back into the younger girl's face. The handEdna held began to return its pressure.
"I am happy for you," said Sylvia, and the two smiled into each other'seyes.
"Happy enough to forgive me on trust?" asked Edna.
"Yes," answered the other slowly; but the question her heart and pridewere asking must be expressed.
"Does--does Mr. Dunham know what idea it was that made you reproach meyesterday?"
"John?" Edna laughed. "Oh, dear, no."
"Well,"--Sylvia gave a long-drawn sigh,--"I will not press you, thoughof course I'm curious."
"You're very good; and now I'll come to the other discovery which keptme awake. We found your sketches last evening."
Edna paused.
"Yes, I forgot them." Sylvia's companion noted the light that came intoher eyes. "I suppose they are only daubs to you, but I was so happydoing them!"
"And we were happy looking at them. I can't think that with all thattalent you are not hoping to study."
"Of course I hope; but against hope, for who would take enoughinterest"--
"Your uncle. I. Every friend you have."
Sylvia's lips parted eagerly. "Did Uncle Calvin really feel it wasworth while?"
"Indeed he did. You can't remain at this blessed little farm all nextwinter, hibernating. How should you like to come to Boston and study?"
"Oh, it is my ideal!" Sylvia clasped her hands.
"It is going to _be_, my dear. Judge Trent has promised."
The young artist caught her lip in her teeth and drew a long breath.
"Meanwhile you shouldn't waste time," went on Edna. "The Keenes,--youknow Mr. and Mrs. Keene, the illustrators,--have an artist camp in theWhite Mountains. They are dear friends of mine. How should you like togo up there soon,--in a few days, if I find they will accept you?"
"Edna, you take my breath away."
"Yes, I know; but it would be the finest thing for you, especially ifit led to your studying with them during the winter. I don't thinkthere could be a better place for you than their studio. If Judge Trentconsents, will you go? I ca
n telegraph to-day. The camp lasts only fora short time, and I don't want you to miss it."
A strange commingling of delight and reluctance seethed in Sylvia'sbrain, and her thought flashed to Hawk Island.
"To go so soon!" she said, scarcely aware that she spoke.
"Yes, immediately, or it would not be worth while. Such an opportunity,Sylvia; and, if I read the sketches aright, the motive power that laybehind your guarding of those big berries would drive you much furtherthan to the White Mountains."
"Yes. Oh, yes, Edna. What a friend you are!"
"Then it is settled?"
"Yes, indeed, if Uncle Calvin"--
"Oh, leave Uncle Calvin to me. His dry bones are about to bevitalized."