H. B. Marriott Watson

“ The red hung in Miranda's cheeks, and then went out slowly.
"I love life," she answered in low tones, "and I love the loveliness of life, but I know not why I love them."
"Because," said he, smiling, "you yourself are informed with Love. Think you God made a maid so lovely and not for love? No; your arms were designed for a lover's necklace; your bosom was conceived for a lover's pillow; your lips for the sweet resting-place of tired eyes, and you yourself for the delectation of many hapless wooers." ”

“ Miranda turned upon him swiftly. "Fie! fie!" said she, and the light flashed in her eyes. "I know nothing of this Love, but I dare swear there be things that matter. Take these from life, and what will rest over? Is there not Sorrow, and is there not Pain? Is there not Remorse, and is there not the thing called Sin? I know nothing of these; I am too young to the world. But there they stand, Sir, importuning at our doors with outstretched arms, and one has only to lift the latch to let them in. You would deny the very pulse of human nature when you ignore these evils. ”

“ Miranda looked puzzled. She gazed at him inquiringly.
"You will think me absurd," said he; "but I talk out of my knowledge. I speak in sober words, as one upon whose hopes the grave has closed. Sorrow is a fire that refines; pain is a scourge that purifies. You are young, child, and go yet unscathed; but some day maybe—and that in but a little while—you may watch the sky grow black upon you, and feel the foundations of the earth totter, and your whole being will reel and burn and moan aloud to God within you. ”

“ What a fool is he who would nurse his sorrow and not bury it in the deepest grave!"
"What a fool!" murmured Miranda, dreamily.
"Should one lose a friend, a fig for friendship!" quoth he. "Does one cast a lover, a snap for a hundred lovers! What has been remains, and what is shall be."
Miranda said nothing.
"Subtract love from life," said the young man, "and life remains. I would have the world know that love is a pleasant cipher, an amiable and entertaining mood, and that life is left when love is lost. There is no Love. ”

“ There is less colour in a kind of blue I know than in any honest puddle of mud. And, oh! my pretty sir, to find the petulance of a maid pouting on the lips of a youth! 'Tis so unseemly. Those curling locks, too, I cannot abide. On my soul, they are more lady-like and bewitching than mine own, and no woman would forgive such an affront upon her vanity. Love you, sweet sir! I love not a mannikin, designed by Mother Nature as fit company for the lapdog on my lady's knee. Give me a man," says Miranda, blazing into anger; "give me a man with a soul and body fashioned for manhood." ”

“ Hark! what secret is the young corn breathing to itself? Nay, what is even this poor ignorant heart of mine faltering within me? All around I see witnesses to some greater glory than this ease of which you speak. The strokes of my pulse beat folly, you will say. Well, I will pursue their folly until wisdom comes. Do not let me from my own. I can but follow where myself am leader."
"Nay," he said; "follow rather where I lead—I who have years of wisdom. You are very sweet to me. Your eyes are soft and beautiful."
"Eyes flicker and fade," said Miranda with a smile. ”

“ He laughed. "My child, 'twould be the veriest folly and bitterly repented. Never yet came true love but by slow years of wont. A face—a face is a shadow that passes. Eyes—eyes flicker and fade. Lips—lips are for food and laughter. The hair decays; the body dwindles and withers; the comely limbs grow shrunken and hollow. If you would hold by these, my dear, you would put your trust in the flying hour."
Miranda's eyes opened large and wide. ”

“ Believe me, 'tis not the whim of an hour contrived by the guiles of a spring morning; but a very settled disposition of the mind. I am broad-based upon gaiety."
"Ah! to be gay!" cried Miranda; "to be gay is to live."
"Life is at our feet," said the merry youth. "I take an infinite pleasure in its complexities. Believe me, nothing should matter, save the twinkling of an eye or the dimpling of a cheek."
"You are right," said Miranda, smiling. "How can one have enough of laughter?" ”

“ Miranda groaned.
"I wondered at your cruel words," he began slowly. "Somehow they fitted ill your face, which is"—he blushed—"the sweetest I have seen."
"Oh, you are rash," said Miranda scornfully; "I dare swear that one with so much knowledge as yourself has weltered among scores of pretty faces."
"Indeed——" he cried, but she broke in upon his protest.
"For myself, I lay no claim to beauty; let others flaunt their titles as they will. I am well enough, no doubt. I have the face of youth, and my eyes have no squint in them. But I am assured you have seen many pretty maidens." ”

“ With each fresh week they may start anew into life. Nay, even the hours are the measure of their fortunes. But for me the spring is over and gone; out of the dead heart of the summer shall I snatch aught but withered leaves? And shall I permit my own dead heart to take the dews and sunlight of an unavailing spring? Child, child, you know not, you cannot judge," and he patted softly on the hand he held between his fingers.
Miranda bent her head, and wept gently. He put his arm upon her shoulder, and looked into her eyes. ”

“ Miranda's gaze went down her gown, and hastily she plucked her bare feet under her skirt. There fell a long silence, during which he fidgeted with the stalks of the bracken, and Miranda beat her fingers impatiently upon her knee.
"Heavens! will the man never speak or go?" thought Miranda. 'The sun shines bright, and the birds sing sweet," says she; "we shall soon be in full spring." ”

“ It is the creature of our own imagination, fails with our pulse, and expires upon the indrawing of a breath. How many have I seen wrecked upon passion, incredulous that it would be gone with the fall of the sun or the waking of the birds! Love, child, is no passion, but the sweetest of contentments. ”

“ It is some bitterness, surely, makes you so reckless of your words."
"Nay," said Miranda, soberly; "but I am cool enough. I but survey you as you are in all your maiden vanity. You offer me love, and what do I that know not the foolish term make out this love to be? Why, forsooth, yourself is all it comes to; yourself, or as much as goes to make yourself, of all the tricks and elegances of the hour. I would take no love at such an estimate. It comes with the hour, and with the hour it goes. ”

“ Suddenly, and with a little gasp of terror, she found the earth slipping from her. She threw herself back and clutched wildly at the grass. She felt the water creeping above her ankles. A cry escaped her, and on the next instant two hands were clasped beneath her arms, and she was swiftly drawn into safety, and lay high upon the grass upon her back. Miranda sat up, and looking round met the bashful eyes of a youth. At once his gaze dropped, and he fumbled his hands together, shifting from foot to foot. ”

“ Miranda stopped, with her chin in the air, and listened. Was it all the echo of her own delight, or was it something more? The peal of her mockery died into the sombre copse, and out of it, fresh and clear, a voice trilled merrily on its upward way. Miranda stood and waited. ”

“ Look round and see the spring. All things keep serene and quiet holiday. Pluck out distrust; forget these treacherous longings! A happy childhood shall surely preface a comfortable career of ease."
Miranda hesitated; her pretty brows were puckered with doubt. At his bidding she looked around. Nature smiled at her. The face of the world shone with gaiety. Somewhere in the elms a throstle sang of Love and mystery. She turned and gazed into the stranger's face, and his kindly eyes seemed dull and old. ”

“ Love 'twixt man and maid—forgive me—should be as gentle as the breath of the zephyr, as light as the touch of warm sun upon the rose. There is no need of terms. Heart looks to heart and holds communion silently. Nay, but the fault was mine. I ask your pardon. I put too gross a question to you. Let us rather linger in this delicious incertitude all day. The morning is young; we have the fields before us ”

“ Time has crept on such tardy legs. I know him well," he remarked with a pitying smile; "as dull a dog as ever kept tame kennel. You are well rid of the fellow with his meek philosophy and his unblinking eyes. Faith, I would not have him trouble the ears of a maid for all the wealth of Prester John. A clucking barn-door cock, with emotions fit to scratch all day upon a dung-heap, and not skill enough to discern the twinkling of a diamond from the sad yellows of a wheat-ear, wherewith to fill his stomach!"
Miranda stared at him, and burst into tinkling laughter. ”

“ He plucked off his hat and asked her pardon, and his hair hung in curls.
"You shall have all the liberty I can give you, fair maid," said he, "if I, too, may pass with you."
"But why?" asked Miranda, smoothing her flowers, with downcast eyes.
He smiled a pretty smile. "Oh," says he, "but you know you are beautiful. The pretty must always have full knowledge of their own prettiness." ”

“ The young man nodded his head sagely. "'Tis marvellous what change Love will bring to a man, but," he added doubtfully, "I would not break through the decalogue. I dare not have another's blood upon me. Oh, there are many things one dare not do, nor would you ask them. Why do I talk so wildly? I am content to love you, if you will suffer me." ”

“ But I know the way of a maid's tongue," he said, wagging his head; "if she be crossed even by the slipping of an epithet, she will straightway fall into a very tempest of rage and deny the dearest idol of her heart. Lord, how perverse she will be! Come, sweet my love, and tell me how I have offended, for it is not in reason but you must love me."
"Love you!" cried Miranda, and laughed to the sky. She looked him up and down. "I like not your nose," quoth she, "'tis too straight for my taste—'tis wonderful how monotonous a nose maybe. And your eyes," she exclaimed, "Heavens! ”

“ Miranda's laughter touched the skies and ceased. Her face fell thoughtful; she sighed and shrugged her dainty shoulders.
III. The Philosophy of Love "Is there such a thing as Love?" asked Miranda.
Overhead the larks sung, about her the blackbirds carolled; finch called to finch in the hedgerows. Wrinkled with her thoughts, Miranda walked down the slope into the field of young green corn, and, pausing on the verge of the wheat, looked across the valley.
"Is there such a thing as Love?" she asked.
She shaded her eyes to the East. ”

“ He stamped his foot, and made as though to seize her by the wrist, but stopped.
"Pooh!" he sneered, as he turned away; "'tis a comfort fair women fade so fast."
II. The Bells Of Folly Miranda ran into the meadow laughing. The grassy slope shelved down into the valley, where the wood lay black and still. Daffodils nodded and cowslips bowed as she passed upon her way. A lark got up and rose singing to heaven. She sped out of the shadow and into the sunlight, and the sound of her young laughter floated down the valley; echoes joined it there, and the little ravine gurgled with merriment. ”

“ Nay, you shall have your comfort, and you shall take it at the lips of any of a hundred maids. There is no choice for you. Why, no mysteries may trouble you. You have but a straight course to saunter by, without so much as blinking at the sun. Marry your maid then, and take your comfort in God's name. ”

“ I would not take it at so great a sacrifice. See, there are other things in Nature save peace. What of this dead bird, callow from the nest? Is it nought but peace I hear in yonder singing in the trees? ”

“ He sped after her to the corner.
"I pray you," he called, "forgive my foolish importunity, but the hill beyond is steep and crowned with thorns."
"I have climbed it often," she responded, "and in the spring daffodils grow upon the slopes."
He bit his finger meditatively as he watched her. Suddenly——
"Let me help you, then," he cried.
"Help?" she echoed, and hesitated.
He pushed aside the branches of the nut-tree. "See," he said, "they would close against a girlish arm. They are in a sworn conspiracy against maidens. 'Tis only the strong hand of the woodman bends them to his will." ”