He stood leaning against the window, looking on the beds of flowers, and the vine leaves brushed his hair, as the breeze played with them. They seemed to say that a young heart planted them. He remembered the clear, feminine voice he had heard humming the dancing-tune, in the spring time. He thought of the mosses and ferns in the book. “Oh, yes, she must be young and beautiful,” thought he. “She cannot be otherwise than beautiful, with such tastes.” He stood for some moments in half dreaming reverie. Then a broad smile went over his face. He was making fun of himself. “What consequence is it to me whether she be either beautiful or young?” said he inwardly. “I must be hungry for an adventure, to indulge so much curiosity about a country schoolmistress.”
The smile was still on his face, when he heard a light step, and Alice White stood before him. She blushed to see a stranger in her little sanctuary, and he blushed at the awkwardness of his situation. He apologized, by saying that the beauty of the little garden, and the tasteful arrangement of the vines, had attracted his attention, and, perceiving that the school-house was empty, he had taken the liberty to enter. She readily forgave the intrusion, and said she was glad if the humble little spot refreshed the eyes of those who passed by, for it had given her great pleasure to cultivate it. The young man was disappointed; for she was not at all like the picture his imagination had painted. But the tones of her voice were flexible, and there was something pleasing in her quiet but timid manner. Not knowing what to say, he bowed and took leave.
Several days after, when his rural visit was drawing to a close, he felt the need of a long walk, and a pleasant vision of the winding road and the little school-house rose before him. He did not even think of Alice White. He was ambitious, and had well nigh resolved never to marry, except to advance his fortunes. He admitted to himself that grace and beauty might easily bewitch him, and turn him from his prudent purpose. But the poor country teacher was not beautiful, either in face or figure. He had no thought of her. But to vary his route somewhat, he passed through the woods, and there he found her gathering mosses by a little brook. She recognized him, and he stopped to help her gather mosses. Thus it happened that they fell into discourse together; and the more he listened, the more he was surprised to find so rare a jewel in so plain a setting. Her thoughts were so fresh, and were so simply said! And now he noticed a deep expression in her eye, imparting a more elevated beauty than is ever derived from form or colour. He could not define it to himself, still less to others; but she charmed him. He lingered by her side, and when they parted at the school-house gate, he was half in hopes she would invite him to enter. “I expect to visit this town again in the autumn,” he said. “May I hope to find you at the little school-house?”
She did not say whether he might hope to find her there; but she answered with a smile, “I am always here. I have adopted it for my home, and tried to make it a pleasant one, since I have no other.”
All the way home his thoughts were occupied with her; and the memory of her simple, pleasant ways, often recurred to him amid the noises of the city. He would easily have forgotten her in that stage of their acquaintance, had any beautiful heiress happened to cross his path; for though his nature was kindly, and had a touch of romance, ambition was the predominant trait in his character. But it chanced that no woman attracted him very powerfully, before he again found himself on the winding road where stood the picturesque little school-house. Then came frequent walks and confidential interviews, which revealed more loveliness of mind and character than he had previously supposed. Alice was one of those peculiar persons whose history sets at naught all theories. Her parents had been illiterate, and coarse in manners, but she was gentle and refined. They were utterly devoid of imagination, and she saw every thing in the sunshine of poetry. “Who is the child like? Where did she get her queer notions?” were questions they could never answer. They died when she was fourteen; and she, unaided and unadvised, went into a factory to earn money to educate herself. Alternately at the factory and at school, she passed four years. Thanks to her notable mother, she was quick and skilful with her needle, and knew wonderfully well how to make the most of small means. She travelled along unnoticed through the by-paths of life, rejoicing in birds, and flowers, and little children, and finding sufficient stimulus to constant industry in the love of serving others, and the prospect of now and then a pretty vase, or some agreeable book. First, affectionate communion, then beauty and order, were the great attractions to her soul. Hence, she longed inexpressibly for a home, and was always striving to realize her ideal in such humble imitations as the little school-house. The family where she boarded often disputed with each other, and, being of rude natures, not all Alice’s unassuming and obliging ways could quite atone to them for her native superiority. In the solitude of the little school-house she sought refuge from things that wounded her. There she spent most of the hours of her life, and found peace on the bosom of Nature. Poor, and without personal beauty, she never dreamed that domestic love, at all resembling the pattern in her own mind, was a blessing she could ever realize. Scarcely had the surface of her heart been tremulous with even a passing excitement on the subject, till the day she gathered mosses in the wood with George Franklin. When he looked into her eyes, to ascertain what their depth expressed, she was troubled by the earnestness of his glance. Habitually humble, she did not venture to indulge the idea that she could ever be beloved by him. But when she thought of his promised visit in autumn, fair visions sometimes floated before her, of how pleasant life would be in a tasteful little home, with an intelligent companion. Always it was a little home. None of her ideas partook of grandeur. She was a pastoral poet, not an epic poet.
George did come, and they had many pleasant walks in beautiful October, and crowned each other with garlands of bright autumnal leaves. Their parting betrayed mutual affection; and soon after George wrote to her thus: “I frankly acknowledge to you that I am ambitious, and had fully resolved never to marry a poor girl. But I love you so well, I have no choice left. And now, in the beautiful light that dawns upon me, I see how mean and selfish was that resolution, and how impolitic withal. For is it not happiness we all seek? And how happy it will make me to fulfil your long-cherished dream of a tasteful home! I cannot help receiving from you more than I can give; for your nature is richer than mine. But I believe, dearest, it is always more blessed to give than to receive; and when two think so of each other, what more need of heaven?
“I am no flatterer, and I tell you frankly I was disappointed when I first saw you. Unconsciously to myself, I had fallen in love with your soul. The transcript of it, which I saw in the vines and the flowers attracted me first; then a revelation of it from the marked book, the mosses and the ferns. I imagined you must be beautiful; and when I saw you were not, I did not suppose I should ever think of you more. But when I heard you talk, your soul attracted me irresistibly again, and I wondered I ever thought you otherwise than beautiful. Rarely is a beautiful soul shrined within a beautiful body. But loveliness of soul has one great advantage over its frail envelope, it need not decrease with time, but ought rather to increase.
“Of one thing rest assured, dear Alice; it is now impossible for me ever to love another, as I love you.”
When she read this letter, it seemed to her as if she were in a delightful dream. Was it indeed possible that the love of an intelligent, cultivated soul was offered to her, the poor unfriended one? How marvellous it seemed, that when she was least expecting such a blossom from Paradise, a stranger came and laid it in the open book upon her desk, in that little school-house, where she had toiled with patient humility through so many weary hours! She kissed the dear letter again and again; she kissed the initials he had written in the book before he had seen her. She knelt down, and, weeping, thanked God that the great hunger of her heart for a happy home was now to be satisfied. But when she re-read the letter in calmer mood, the uprightness of her nature made her shrink from the proffered bliss. He said he was ambitious. Would he not repent marrying a poor girl, without beauty, and without social influence of any kind? Might he not find her soul far less lovely than he deemed it? Under the influence of these fears, she answered him: “How happy your precious letter made me, I dare not say. My heart is like a garden when the morning sun shines on it, after a long, cold storm. Ever since the day we gathered mosses in the wood, you have seemed so like the fairest dreams of my life, that I could not help loving you, though I had no hope of being beloved in return. Even now, I fear that you are acting under a temporary delusion, and that hereafter you may repent your choice. Wait long, and observe my faults. I will try not to conceal any of them from you. Seek the society of other women. You will find so many superior to me, in all respects! Do not fear to give me pain by any change in your feelings. I love you with that disinterested love, which would rejoice in your best happiness, though it should lead you away from me.”
This letter did not lower his estimate of the beauty of her soul. He complied with her request to cultivate the acquaintance of other women. He saw many more beautiful, more graceful, more accomplished, and of higher intellectual cultivation; but none of them seemed so charmingly simple and true, as Alice White. “Do not talk to me any more about a change in my feelings,” he said, “I like your principles, I like your disposition, I like your thoughts, I like your ways; and I always shall like them.” Thus assured, Alice joyfully dismissed her fears, and became his wife.