|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 36
The woman, too, was awake, in every fibre of body and soul. Even her
finger-tips seemed sentient and alive; her heart was strangely lifted,
as though by imprisoned wings. She had no doubt of the ultimate hour,
when he would know also, yet, half-afraid, she shrank from it, as she
would not have shrunk from pain.
Madame had once remarked that civilisation must have begun not earlier
than nine in the morning, or later than noon. She had a horror of the
early breakfast, when the family, cold, but clean, gathers itself around
the board which only last night was festive and strives valiantly to be
pleasant. It was almost an axiom with her that human, friendly
conversation was not possible before nine in the morning.
So, as there was no one else to be pleased, the three women breakfasted
when and where they chose. If Rose preferred to robe herself
immaculately in white linen and have her coffee in the dining-room at
seven, she was at liberty to do so. If she wanted it in her own room, at
ten, that also was easily managed, but this was the only "movable feast"
Madame would permit. Luncheon and dinner went precisely by tae clock,
year in and year out.
Too happy to sleep and yearning to be outdoors, Rose dressed quietly and
tiptoed down-stairs. She smiled whimsically as the heavy front door
slammed behind her, wondering if it would wake the others and if they,
too, would know that it was Spring.
Tips of green showed now and then where the bulbs were planted, and,
down in the wild garden, when she brushed aside the snow, Rose found a
blushing hepatica in full bloom. "How indiscreet," she thought, then
added, to herself, "but what sublime courage it must take to blossom
now!"
The plump robin, whose winter had evidently been pleasant, hopped about
the garden after her, occasionally seeking shelter on the lower bough of
a tree if she turned, or came too near. "Don't be afraid," she called,
aloud, then laughed, as with a farewell chirp and a flutter of wings,
the robin took himself beyond the reach of further conversational
liberties.
Her pulses leaped with abundant life; the wet road lured her eager feet.
She went out, leaving the gate open, and turned toward the woods, where
a flock of wild geese, breasting the chill winds far above the river,
was steadily cleaving a passage to the friendly North.
When she reached the woods, where the white birches stood like shy
dryads among the oaks, she heard once more the robin's flutelike call.
It was answered by another, exactly upon the same notes, yet wholly
different as to quality. Presently, among the trees, she caught a
glimpse of a tall man, and she paused for an instant, frightened. Then
her heart leaped and her cheeks burned, as she saw who it was.
"Boy!" she called, clearly. "Oh, Boy!"
Allison turned, startled, then came to her, smiling, hat in hand. "Upon
my word," he said. "I didn't think there was anyone else mad enough to
come out at this hour."
"Why it's Spring! Didn't you know?"
"Yes. It came this morning just before sunrise."
"Were you awake?"
"Yes, were you?"
"Of course," she answered. "I couldn't stay in."
"Nor could I."
"The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled,"
Rose quoted. "You know the rest, don't you?"
"The rest doesn't matter. 'Morning waits at the end of the world--Gypsy,
come away!'"
"I'll go," she breathed, her eyes fixed on his, "anywhere!"
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|