"And the country, too, is perfectly beautiful at this season. I never could sympathize with the poets who call autumnal days 'the melancholy days—the saddest of the year.'"
"Nor I," said Marian; "for to me, autumn, with its refulgent skies, and gorgeous woods, and rich harvest, and its prospect of Christmas cheer and wintry repose has ever seemed a gay and festive season. The year's great work is done, the harvest is gathered, enjoyment is present, and repose at hand."
"In the world of society," said Thurston, "it is in the evening, after the labor or the business of the day is over, that the gayest scenes of festivity occur, just preceding the repose of sleep. So I receive your thought of the autumn—the evening of the year, preceding the rest of winter. Nature's year's work is done; she puts on her most gorgeous robes, and holds a festival before she sinks to her winter's sleep."
Marian smiled brightly upon him.
"Yes; my meaning, I believe, only more pointedly expressed."
That smile—that smile! It lightened through all his nature with electric, life-giving, spirit-realizing power, elevating and inspiring his whole being. His face, too, was radiant with life as he answered the maiden's smile.
But something in his eyes caused Marian's glances to fall, and the rosy clouds to roll up over her cheeks and brow.
Then Thurston governed his countenance—let no ardent or admiring glance escape, and when he spoke again his manner and words were more deferential.
"We spoke of the world of nature, Miss Mayfield; but how is it with the world of man? To many—nay, to most of the human race—autumn is the herald of a season not of festivity and repose, but of continued labor, and increased want and privation and suffering."
"That is because society is not in harmony with nature; man has wandered as far from nature as from God," said Marian.