Every Girl's Library, Volume 8 of 10: A Collection of Appropriate and Instructive Reading for Girls of All Ages from the Best Authors of All Time
General
Every Girl's Library, Volume 8 of 10: A Collection of Appropriate and Instructive Reading for Girls of All Ages from the Best Authors of All Time
Literature -- Collections
The season was still so early that Will's customers were few and far
between; but the lilacs were already flowering, and the weather was so
mild that the party took dinner under the trellice, with the noise of
the river in their ears and the woods ringing about them with the songs
of birds. Will soon began to take a particular pleasure in these
dinners. The parson was rather a dull companion, with a habit of dozing
at table; but nothing rude or cruel ever fell from his lips. And as for
the parson's daughter, she suited her surroundings with the best grace
imaginable; and whatever she said seemed so pat and pretty that Will
conceived a great idea of her talents. He could see her face, as she
leaned forward, against a background of rising pinewoods; her eyes shone
peaceably; the light lay around her hair like a kerchief; something that
was hardly a smile rippled her pale cheeks, and Will could not contain
himself from gazing on her in an agreeable dismay. She looked, even in
her quietest moments, so complete in herself, and so quick with life
down to her finger tips and the very skirts of her dress, that the
remainder of created things became no more than a blot by comparison;
and if Will glanced away from her to her surroundings, the trees looked
inanimate and senseless, the clouds hung in heaven like dead things,
and even the mountain tops were disenchanted. The whole valley could not
compare in looks with this one girl.
Will was always observant in the society of his fellow-creatures; but
his observation became almost painfully eager in the case of Marjory. He
listened to all she uttered, and read her eyes, at the same time, for
the unspoken commentary. Many kind, simple, and sincere speeches found
an echo in his heart. He became conscious of a soul beautifully poised
upon itself, nothing doubting, nothing desiring, clothed in peace. It
was not possible to separate her thoughts from her appearance. The turn
of her wrist, the still sound of her voice, the light in her eyes, the
lines of her body, fell in tune with her grave and gentle words, like
the accompaniment that sustains and harmonizes the voice of the singer.
Her influence was one thing, not to be divided or discussed, only to be
felt with gratitude and joy. To Will, her presence recalled something of
his childhood, and the thought of her took its place in his mind beside
that of dawn, of running water, and of the earliest violets and lilacs.
It is the property of things seen for the first time, or for the first
time after long, like the flowers in spring, to reawaken in us the sharp
edge of sense and that impression of mystic strangeness which otherwise
passes out of life with the coming of years; but the sight of a loved
face is what renews a man's character from the fountain upwards.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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