A Crystal Age

Chapter 11

It seemed to me now that I had never really lived before so sweet was

this new life--so healthy, and free from care and regret. The old life,

which I had lived in cities, was less in my thoughts on each succeeding

day; it came to me now like the memory of a repulsive dream, which I was

only too glad to forget. How I had ever found that listless, worn-out,

luxurious, do-nothing existence endurable, seemed a greater mystery

every morning, when I went forth to my appointed task in the fields or

the workhouse, so natural and so pleasant did it now seem to labor with

my own hands, and to eat my bread in the sweat of my face. If there was

one kind of work I preferred above all others, it was wood-cutting, and

as a great deal of timber was required at this season, I was allowed to

follow my own inclination. In the forest, a couple of miles from the

house, several tough old giants--chiefly oak, chestnut, elm, and

beech--had been marked out for destruction: in some cases because they

had been scorched and riven by lightnings, and were an eyesore; in

others, because time had robbed them of their glory, withering their

long, desolate arms, and bestowing on their crowns that lusterless,

scanty foliage which has a mournful meaning, like the thin white hairs

on the bowed head of a very old man. At this distance from the house I

could freely indulge my propensity for singing, albeit in that coarser

tone which had failed to win favor with my new friends.

Among the grand trees, out of earshot of them all, I could shout aloud

to my heart's content, rejoicing in the boisterous old English ballads,

which, like John Peele's view-hallo,

_"Might awaken the dead

Or the fox from his lair in the morning."_

Meanwhile, with the frantic energy of a Gladstone out of office, I plied

my ax, its echoing strokes making fit accompaniment to my strains, until

for many yards about me the ground was littered with white and yellow

chips; then, exhausted with my efforts, I would sit down to rest and eat

my simple midday fare, to admire myself in my deep-green and chocolate

working-dress, and, above everything, to think and dream of Yoletta.

* * * * *

In my walks to and from the forest I cast many a wistful look at a

solitary flat-topped hill, almost a mountain in height, which stood two

or three miles from the house, north of it, on the other side of the

river. From its summit I felt sure that a very extensive view of the

surrounding country might be had, and I often wished to pay this hill a

visit. One afternoon, while taking my lesson in reading, I mentioned

this desire to Yoletta.

"Come, then, let us go there now," said she, laying the tablets aside.

I joyfully agreed: I had never walked alone with her, nor, in fact, with

her at all, since that first day when she had placed her hand in mine;

and now we were so much nearer in heart to each other.

She led me to a point, half a mile from the house, where the stream

rushed noisily over its stony bed and formed numerous deep channels

between the rocks, and one could cross over by jumping from rock to

rock. Yoletta led the way, leaping airily from stone to stone, while I,

anxious to escape a wetting, followed her with caution; but when I was

safe over, and thought our delightful walk was about to begin, she

suddenly started off towards the hill at a swift pace, which quickly

left me far behind. Finding that I could not overtake her, I shouted to

her to wait for me; then she stood still until I was within three or

four yards Of her, when off she fled like the wind once more. At length

she reached the foot of the hill, and sat down there until I joined her.

"For goodness sake, Yoletta, let us behave like rational beings and walk

quietly," I was beginning, when away she went again, dancing up the

mountain-side with a tireless energy that amazed as well as exasperated

me. "Wait for me just once more," I screamed after her; then, half-way

up the side, she stopped and sat down on a stone.

"Now my chance has come," thought I, ready to make up for insufficient

speed and wind by superior cunning, which would make us equal. "I will

go quietly up and catch her napping, and hold her fast by the arm until

the walk is finished. So far it has been nothing but a mad chase."

Slowly I toiled on, and then, when I got near her and was just about to

execute my plan, she started nimbly away, with a merry laugh, and never

paused again until the summit was reached. Thoroughly tired and beaten,

I sat down to rest; but presently looking up I saw her at the top,

standing motionless on a stone, looking like a statue outlined against

the clear blue sky. Once more I got up and pressed on until I reached

her, and then sank down on the grass, overcome with fatigue.

"When you ask me to walk again, Yoletta," I panted, "I shall not move

unless I have a rope round your waist to pull you back when you try to

rush off in that mad fashion. You have knocked all the wind out of me;

and yet I was in pretty good trim."

She laughed, and jumping to the ground, sat down at my side on the

grass.

I caught her hand and held it tight. "Now you shall not escape and run

away again," said I.

"You may keep my hand," she replied; "it has nothing to do up here."

"May I put it to some useful purpose--may I do what I like with it?"

"Yes, you may," then she added with a smile: "There is no thorn in it

now."

I kissed it many times on the back, the palm, the wrist then bestowed a

separate caress on each finger-tip.

"Why do you kiss my hand?" she asked.

"Do you not know--can you not guess? Because it is the sweetest thing I

can kiss, except one other thing. Shall I tell you----"

"My face? And why do you not kiss that?"

"Oh, may I?" said I, and drawing her to me I kissed her soft cheek. "May

I kiss the other cheek now?" I asked. She turned it to me, and when I

had kissed it rapturously, I gazed into her eyes, which looked back,

bright and unabashed, into mine. "I think--I think I made a slight

mistake, Yoletta," I said. "What I meant to ask was, will you let me

kiss you where I like--on your chin, for instance, or just where I

like?"

"Yes; but you are keeping me too long. Kiss me as many times as you

like, and then let us admire the prospect."

I drew her closer and kissed her mouth, not once nor twice, but clinging

to it with all the ardor of passion, as if my lips had become glued to

hers.

Suddenly she disengaged herself from me. "Why do you kiss my mouth in

that violent way?" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks

flushed. "You seem like some hungry animal that wanted to devour me."

That was, oddly enough, just how I felt. "Do you not not know, sweetest,

why I kiss you in that way? Because I love you."

"I know you do, Smith. I can understand and appreciate your love without

having my lips bruised."

"And do you love me, Yoletta?"

"Yes, certainly--did you not know that?"

"And is it not sweet to kiss when you love? Do you know what love is,

darling? Do you love me a thousand times more than any one else in the

world?"

"How extravangantly you talk!" she replied. "What strange things you

say!"

"Yes, dear, because love is strange--the strangest, sweetest thing in

life. It comes once only to the heart, and the one person loved is

infinitely more than all others. Do you not understand that?"

"Oh no; what do you mean, Smith?"

"Is there any other person dearer to your heart than I am?"

"I love every one in the house, some more than others. Those that are

closely related to me I love most."

"Oh, please say no more! You love your people with one kind of love, but

me with a different love--is it not so?"

"There is only one kind of love," said she.

"Ah, you say that because you are a child yet, and do not know. You are

even younger than I thought, perhaps. How old are you, dear?"

"Thirty-one years old," she replied, with the utmost gravity.

"Oh, Yoletta, what an awful cram! I mean--oh, I beg your pardon for

being so rude! But--but don't you think you can draw it mild?

Thirty-one--what a joke! Why, I'm an old fellow compared with you, and

I'm not twenty-two yet. Do tell me what you mean, Yoletta?"

She was not listening to me, I saw: she had risen from the grass and

seated herself again on the stone. For only answer to my question she

pointed to the west with her hand, saying: "Look there, Smith."

I stood up and looked. The sun was near the horizon now, and partially

concealed by low clouds, which were beginning to form--gray, and tinged

with purple and red; but their misty edges burned with an intense yellow

flame. Above, the sky was clear as blue glass, barred with pale-yellow

rays, shot forth by the sinking sun, and resembling the spokes of an

immense celestial wheel reaching to the zenith. The billowy earth, with

its forests in deep green and many-colored, autumnal foliage, stretched

far before us, here in shadow, and there flushed with rich light; while

the mountain range, looming near and stupendous on our right, had

changed its color from dark blue to violet.

The doubts and fears agitating my heart made me indifferent to the

surpassing beauty of the scene: I turned impatiently from it to gaze

again on her graceful figure, girlish still in its slim proportions; but

her face, flushed with sunlight, and crowned with its dark, shining

hair, seemed to me like the face of one of the immortals. The expression

of rapt devotion on it made me silent, for it seemed as if she too had

been touched by nature's magic, like earth and sky, and been

transfigured; and waiting for the mood to pass, I stood by her side,

resting my hand on her knee. By-and-by she looked down and smiled, and

then I returned to the subject of her age.

"Surely, Yoletta," said I, "you were only poking fun at me--I mean,

amusing yourself at my expense. You can't possibly be more than about

fifteen, or sixteen at the very outside."

She smiled again and shook her head.

"Oh, I know, I can solve the riddle now. Your years are different, of

course, like everything else in this latitude. A month is called a year

with you, and that would make you, let me see--how much is twelve times

thirty-one? Oh, hang it, nearly five hundred, I should think. Why am I

such a duffer at mental arithmetic! It is just the contrary--how many

twelves in thirty-one? About two and a half in round numbers, and that's

absurd, as you are not a baby. Oh, I have it: your seasons are called

years, of course--why didn't I see it before! No, that would make you

only seven and a half. Ah, yes, I see it now: a year means two years, or

two of your years--summer and winter--mean a year; and that just makes

you sixteen, exactly what I had imagined. Is it not so, Yoletta?"

"I do not know what you are talking about, Smith; and I am not

listening."

"Well, listen for one moment, and tell me how long does a year last?"

"It lasts from the time the leaves fall in the autumn until they fall

again; and it lasts from the time the swallows come in spring until they

come again."

"And seriously, honestly, you are thirty-one years old?"

"Did I not tell you so? Yes, I am thirty-one years old."

"Well, I never heard anything to equal this! Good heavens, what does it

mean? I know it is awfully rude to inquire a lady's age, but what am I

to do? Will you kindly tell me Edra's age?"

"Edra? I forget. Oh yes; she is sixty-three."

"Sixty-three! I'll be shot if she's a day more than twenty-eight! Idiot

that I am, why can't I keep calm! But, Yoletta, how you distress me! It

almost frightens me to ask another question, but do tell me how old your

father is?"

"He is nearly two hundred years old--a hundred and ninety-eight, I

think," she replied.

"Heavens on earth--I shall go stark, staring mad!" But I could say no

more; leaving her side I sat down on a low stone at some distance, with

a stunned feeling in my brain, and something like despair in my heart.

That she had told me the truth I could no longer doubt for one moment:

it was impossible for her crystal nature to be anything but truthful.

The number of her years mattered nothing to me; the virgin sweetness of

girlhood was on her lips, the freshness and glory of early youth on her

forehead; the misery was that she had lived thirty-one years in the

world and did not understand the words I had spoken to her--did not know

what love, or passion, was! Would it always be so--would my heart

consume itself to ashes, and k****e no fire in hers?

Then, as I sat there, filled with these despairing thoughts, she came

down from her perch, and, dropping on her knees before me, put her arms

about my neck and gazed steadily into my face. "Why are you troubled,

Smith-have I said anything to hurt you?" said she. "And do you not know

that you have offended me?"

"Have I? Tell me how, dearest Yoletta."

"By asking questions, and saying wild, meaningless things while I sat

there watching the setting sun. It troubled me and spoiled my pleasure;

but I will forgive you, Smith, because I love you. Do you not think I

love you enough? You are very dear to me--dearer every day." And drawing

down my face she kissed my lips.

"Darling, you make me happy again," I returned, "for if your love

increases every day, the time will perhaps come when you will understand

me, and be all I wish to me."

"What is it that you wish?" she questioned.

"That you should be mine--mine alone, wholly mine--and give yourself to

me, body and soul."

She continued gazing up into my eyes. "In a sense we do, I suppose, give

ourselves, body and soul, to those we love," she said. "And if you are

not yet satisfied that I have given myself to you in that way, you must

wait patiently, saying and doing nothing willfully to alienate my heart,

until the time arrives when my love will be equal to your desire. Come,"

she added, and, rising, pulled me up by the hand.

Silently, and somewhat pensively, we started hand in hand on our walk

down the hill. Presently she dropped on her knees, and opening the grass

with her hands, displayed a small, slender bud, on a round, smooth stem,

springing without leaves from the soil. "Do you see!" she said, looking

up at me with a bright smile.

"Yes, dear, I see a bud; but I do not know anything more about it."

"Oh, Smith, do you not know that it is a rainbow lily!" And rising, she

took my hand and walked on again.

"What is the rainbow lily?"

"By-and-by, in a few days, it will be in fullest bloom, and the earth

will be covered with its glory."

"It is so late in the season, Yoletta! Spring is the time to see the

earth covered with the glory of flowers."

"There is nothing to equal the rainbow lily, which comes when most

flowers are dead, or have their bright colors tarnished. Have you lived

in the moon, Smith, that I have to tell you these things?"

"No, dear, but in that island where all things, including flowers, were

different."

"Ah, yes; tell me about the island."

Now "that island" was an unfortunate subject, and I was not prepared to

break the resolution I had made of prudently holding my tongue about its

peculiar institutions. "How can I tell you?--how could you imagine it if

I were to tell you?" I said, evading the question. "You have seen the

heavens black with tempests, and have felt the lightnings blinding your

eyes, and have heard the crash of the thunder: could you imagine all

that if you had never witnessed it, and I described it to you?"

"No."

"Then it would be useless to tell you. And now tell me about the rainbow

lilies, for I am a great lover of flowers."

"Are you? Is it strange you should have a taste common to all human

beings?" she returned with a pretty smile. "But it is easier to ask

questions than to answer them. If you had never seen the sun setting in

glory, or the midnight sky shining with myriads of stars, could you

imagine these things if I described them to you?"

"No."

"That word is an echo, Smith. You must wait for the earth to bring forth

her rainbow lilies, and the heart its love."

"With or without flowers, the world is a paradise to me, with you at my

side, Yoletta. Ah, if you will be my Eve! How sweet it is to walk hand

in hand with you in the twilight; but it was not so nice when you were

scuttling from me like a wild rabbit. I'm glad to find that you do walk

sometimes."

"Yes, sometimes--on solemn occasions."

"Yes? Tell me about these solemn occasions."

"This is not one of them," she replied, suddenly withdrawing her hand

from mine; then with a ringing laugh, she sped from me, bounding down

the hill-side with the speed and grace of a gazelle.

I instantly gave chase; but it was a very vain chase, although I put

forth all my powers. Occasionally she would drop on her knees to admire

some wild flower, or search for a lily bud; and whenever she came to a

large stone, she would spring on to it, and stand for some time

motionless, gazing at the rich hues of the afterglow; but always at my

approach she would spring lightly away, escaping from me as easily as a

wild bird. Tired with running, I at last gave up the hunt, and walked

soberly home by myself, wondering whether that conversation on the

summit of the hill, and all the curious information I had gathered from

it, should make me the most miserable or the most happy being upon

earth.