The Broad Highway by Jeffery Farnol (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) đ
- Author: Jeffery Farnol
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âOhâstrong man that is so weak!â she whispered. âOhâgrave philosopher that is so foolish! Ohâlonely boy that is so helpless! Oh, Peter Vibartâmy Peter!â
âCharmian,â said I, trembling, âwhat does it mean?â
âIt means, Peterââ
âYes?â
âThatâtheâHumble Personââ
âYes?â
âWillâmarry youâwhenever you willâifââ
âYes?â
âIf you willâonlyâask her.â
CHAPTER XLI
LIGHT AND SHADOW
Now, as the little Preacher closed his book, the sun rose up, filling the world about us with his glory.
And looking into the eyes of my wife, it seemed that a veil was lifted, for a moment, there, and I read that which her lips might never tell; and there, also, were joy and shame and a deep happiness.
âSee,â said the little Preacher, smiling upon us, âit is day and a very glorious one; already a thousand little choristers of Godâs great cathedral have begun to chant your marriage hymn. Go forth together, Man and Wife, upon this great wide road that we call Life; go forth together, made strong in Faith, and brave with Hope, and the memory of Him who walked these ways before you; who joyed and sorrowed and suffered and endured all things âeven as we must. Go forth together, and may His blessing abide with you, and the âpeace that passeth understanding.ââ
And so we turned together, side by side, and left him standing amid his roses.
Silently we went together, homewards, through the dewy morning, with a soft, green carpet underfoot, and leafy arches overhead, where trees bent to whisper benedictions, and shook down jewels from their dewy leaves upon us as we passed; by merry brooks that laughed and chattered, and gurgled of love and happiness, while over all rose the swelling chorus of the birds. Surely never had they piped so gladly in this glad world beforeânot even for the gentle Spenser, though he says:
âThere was none of them that feigned To sing, for each of them him pained; To find out merry, crafty notes They ne spared not their throats.âAnd being come, at length, to the Hollow, Charmian must needs pause beside the pool among the willows, to view herself in the pellucid water. And in this mirror our eyes met, and lo! of a sudden, her lashes drooped, and she turned her head aside.
âDonât, Peter!â she whispered; âdonât look at me so.â
âHow may I help it when you are so beautiful?â
And, because of my eyes, she would have fled from me, but I caught her in my arms, and there, amid the leaves, despite the jealous babble of the brook, for the second time in my life, her lips met mine. And, gazing yet into her eyes, I told her how, in this shady bower, I had once watched her weaving leaves into her hair, and heard her talk to her reflectionâand soâhad stolen away, for fear of her beauty.
âFear, Peter?â
âWe were so far out of the world, andâI longed to kiss you.â
âAnd didnât, Peter.â
âAnd didnât, Charmian, because we were so very far from the world, and because you were so very much alone, andââ
âAnd because, Peter, because you are a gentle man and strong, as the old locket says. And do you remember,â she went on hurriedly, laying her cool, restraining fingers on my eager lips, âhow I found you wearing that locket, and how you blundered and stammered over it, and pretended to read your Homer?â
âAnd how you sang, to prevent me?â
âAnd how gravely you reproved me?â
âAnd how you called me a âcreatureâ?â
âAnd how you deserved it, sirâand grew more helpless and ill at ease than ever, and howâjust to flatter my vanityâyou told me I had âglorious hairâ?â
âAnd so you have,â said I, kissing a curl at her temple; âwhen you unbind it, my Charmian, it will cover you like a mantle.â
Now when I said this, for some reason she glanced up at me, sudden and shy, and blushed and slipped from my arms, and fled up the path like a nymph.
So we presently entered the cottage, flushed and panting, and laughing for sheer happiness. And now she rolled up her sleeves, and set about preparing breakfast, laughing my assistance to scorn, but growing mightily indignant when I would kiss her, yet blushing and yielding, nevertheless. And while she bustled to and fro (keeping well out of reach of my arm), she began to sing in her soft voice to herself:
ââIn Scarlet town, where I was born, There was a fair maid dwellinâ, Made every youth cry Well-a-way! Her name was Barbara Allen.âââOh, Charmian! how wonderful you are!â
ââAll in the merry month of May, When green buds they were swellinâââââSurely no woman ever had such beautiful arms! so round and soft and white, Charmian.â She turned upon me with a fork held up admonishingly, but, meeting my look, her eyes wavered, and up from throat to brow rushed a wave of burning crimson.
âOh, Peter!âyou make meâalmostâafraid of you,â she whispered, and hid her face against my shoulder.
âAre you content to have married such a very poor manâto be the wife of a village blacksmith?â
âWhy, Peterâin all the world there never was such another blacksmith as mine, andâandâthere!âthe kettle is boiling overââ
âLet it!â said I.
âAnd the baconâthe bacon will burnâlet me go, andâoh, Peter!â
So, in due time, we sat down to our solitary wedding breakfast; and there were no eyes to speculate upon the brideâs beauty, to note her changing color, or the glory of her eyes; and no healths were proposed or toasts drunk, nor any speeches spokenâexcept, perhaps by my good friendâthe brook outside, who, of course, understood the situation, and babbled tolerantly of us to the listening trees, like the grim old philosopher he was.
In this solitude we were surely closer together and belonged more fully to each other, for all her looks and thoughts were mine, as mine were hers.
And, as we ate, sometimes talking and sometimes laughing (though rarely; one seldom laughs in the wilderness), our hands would stray to meet each other across the table, and eye would answer eye, while, in the silence, the brook would lift its voice to chuckle throaty chuckles and outlandish witticisms, such as could only be expected from an old reprobate who had grown so in years, and had seen so very much of life. At such times Charmianâs cheeks would flush and her lashes droopâas though (indeed) she were versed in the language of brooks.
So the golden hours slipped by, the sun crept westward, and evening stole upon us.
âThis is a very rough place for you,â said I, and sighed.
We were sitting on the bench before the door, and Charmian had laid her folded hands upon my shoulder, and her chin upon her hands. And now she echoed my sigh, but answered without stirring:
âIt is the dearest place in all the world.â
âAnd very lonely!â I pursued.
âI shall be busy all day long, Peter, and you always reach home as evening falls, and thenâthenâoh! I shaânât be lonely.â
âBut I am such a gloomy fellow at the best of times, and very clumsy, Charmian, and something of a failure.â
âAndâmy husband.â
âPeter!âPeter!âoh, Peter!â I started, and rose to my feet.
âPeter!âoh, Peter!â called the voice again, seemingly from the road, and now I thought it sounded familiar.
Charmian stole her arms aboat my neck.
âI think it is Simon,â said I uneasily; âwhat can have brought him? And he will never venture down into the Hollow on account of the ghost; I must go and see what he wants.â
âYes, Peter,â she murmured, but the clasp of her arms tightened.
âWhat is it?â said I, looking into her troubled eyes. âCharmian, you are trembling!âwhat is it?â
âI donât knowâbut oh, Peter! I feel as if a shadowâa black and awful shadow were creeping upon us hiding us from each other. I am very foolish, arenât I? and this our wedding-day!â
âPeter! Pe-ter!â
âCome with me, Charmian; let us go together.â
âNo, I must waitâit is womanâs destinyâto waitâbut I am brave again; goâsee what is wanted.â
I found Simon, sure enough, in the lane, seated in his cart, and his face looked squarer and grimmer even than usual.
âOh, Peter!â said he, gripping my hand, âit be come at last âGaffer be goinâ.â
âGoing, Simon?â
âDyinâ, Peter. Fell downstairs âs marninâ. Doctor says âe canât last the day outâsinkinâ fast, âe be, anâ âe be axinâ for âee, Peter. âWheer be Peter?â says âe over anâ over again; âwheer be the Peter as I found of a sunshiny arternoon, down in thâ âaunted âOller?â You werenât at work âs marninâ, Peter, so I be come to fetch âeeâyouâll come back wiâ me to bid âgood-byâ to the old: man?â
âYes, Iâll come, Simon,â I answered; âwait here for me.â
Charmian was waiting for me in the cottage, and, as she looked up at me, I saw the trouble was back in her eyes again.
âYou mustâgo leave me?â she inquired.
âFor a little while.â
âYesâIâI felt it,â she said, with a pitiful little smile.
âThe Ancient is dying,â said I. Now, as I spoke, my eyes encountered the staple above the door, wherefore, mounting upon a chair, I seized and shook it. And lo! the rusty iron snapped off in my fingersâlike glass, and I slipped it into my pocket.
âOh, Peter!âdonât goâdonât leave me!â cried Charmian suddenly, and I saw that her face was very pale, and that she trembled.
âCharmian!â said I, and sprang to her side. âOh, my love!âwhat is it?â
âIt isâas though the shadow hung over usâdarker and more threatening, Peter; as if our happiness were at an end; I seem to hear Mauriceâs threatâto come between usâliving orâdead. I am afraid!â she whispered, clinging to me, âI am afraid!â But, all at once, she was calm again, and full of self-reproaches, calling herself âweak,â and âfoolish,â and âhystericalâââthough, indeed, I was never hysterical before!ââand telling me that I must goâthat it was my duty to go to the âgentle, dying old manââurging me to the door, almost eagerly, till, being out of the cottage, she must needs fall a-trembling once more, and wind her arms about my neck, with a great sob.
âBut oh!âyou will come back soonâvery soon, Peter? And we know that nothing can ever come between us againânever againâmy husband.â And, with that blessed word, she drew me down to her lips, and, turning, fled into the cottage.
I went on slowly up the path to meet Simon, and, as I went, my heart was heavy, and my mind full of a strange foreboding. But I never thought of the omen of the knife that had once fallen and quivered in the floor between us.
ââTwere âis snuff-box as done it!â said Simon,
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