"Jim, why don't you laugh?" Gabrielle would say, turning to the poor fellow, who was as meek as any beggar could be. The partition wall was too thick for me to hear what was going on, although by direct line I was probably not two feet away from Jim, for our beds stood head to head.
The idea of entertaining Miss Tescheron and her ill companion in this way was pleasing to Hygeia. Of course, she knew there was nothing in those letters that could make a woman cry, so on she read, and as she proceeded the fun for Gabrielle and the interest from Jim's standpoint became intensified. I don't suppose I did anything except snore.
"'I have tried hard, my sweetheart,'" continued Hygeia, "'to find distraction by visiting the places of amusement alone, but the music of the orchestras became jarring discord in my ears; the plays, either dull, or if interesting in plot with lovers happily united, they but added to my anguish. There is no escape for a heart crushed as mine has been. How I long for the wilderness; to be alone with my sorrow since heaven calling for your companionship cannot be mine!
"'Had I a cave on some wild distant shore,
Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar;
There would I weep my woes,
There seek my lost repose,
Till grief my eyes should close,
Ne'er to wake more.
"'Every time you mention a birdie in one of your letters, Margaret, I am driven to desperation. Why have I not the charms of the woodland warblers to pierce with dulcet note the inmost fortresses of your heart buttressed to strong resistance against my awkward protestations of undying love? Nature has taught these creatures of the wild to woo with a finer art. Man is but a clod—too sordid to rise on wings of song into that vast expanse of heaven, a woman's heart. Let me learn of the birds:
"'O, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay!
Nor quit for me the trembling spray;
A hapless lover courts thy lay,
Thy soothing, fond complaining.
"'Again, again, that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art,
For surely that would touch her heart,
Wha kills me wi' disdaining.'"
"Why, how apt those quotations are and how full!" laughed Gabrielle. "You don't suppose the writer could have been so cruel as to deliberately copy them, and yet he must have done so, of course. Just think of it: some man sitting there wildly in love, seeking counsel of the inspired poets to plead his cause. His great devotion leads him to select the tenderest passages; only those verses that speak the deep sentiments of his flaming heart does he see, and with them he presents his case. Why, really, I find that I am arguing myself into a friendly attitude toward this poor soul. Perhaps it is not right for us to laugh at that which is so real to this earnest pleader. Still, it is funny to stand aside and see two people in love, isn't it, Jim? Really one can't help laughing, and as we don't know whose letters these are, why shouldn't we laugh? Then think of the poor girl, up there in the country, writing long letters in return, proud of her lover's ardor, yet shy in penning words of devotion. Isn't it an attractive picture, Jim?—full of that 'soothing, fond complaining' for them, and comedy for the rest of us? Go on, my dear, and let us hear more of this poetic woe; although Jim doesn't say anything, I can see that he is listening.