Eva's Adventures in Shadow-Land

by Mary D. Nauman; Clara F. Guernsey

The two stood, looking into the clear water of the spring. Then Aster seated himself on the moss, in silence, and beckoned to Eva to do the same, and without hesitating she followed his example.

They sat, not a word passing between them, and on each fair face was a different expression. On Aster’s was all joyous expectation, all smiles and happiness; on Eva’s there was a serious look, almost amounting to mournfulness. It pained her, more than she was willing to confess, to think that, after all she had borne and done for Aster, he should welcome their separation so gladly; for, however much they might wish to remain together, the finding of the flower would be the signal for their parting; and the toil and trouble through, which Eva had passed for Aster’s sake had only the more endeared him to her. He seemed already far, far away from her, and Eva knew she was no longer necessary to him.

And as Eva, sitting by Aster’s side, thought of all this, somehow the place where they sat seemed to grow more familiar; another and a well-known sound mingled with the other sounds of the forest,—the voice of falling waters. And then, as Aster’s face grew brighter and more expectant, and his starlike eyes sparkled, Eva felt a sudden dimness gather in her own, and first one large tear and then another rolled down her cheeks, and dropped, as she bent over it, into the waters of the little spring.

But she was wholly unprepared for what followed. Aster sprang to his feet, and the words, “Look, Eva, look!” passed his lips. And as Eva, her hand now clasped in his, looked, the spring bubbled and foamed, and then, its waters parting, up rose from its bosom the Golden Fountain, with its clouds of glistening, golden spray; its rainbow sparkles of colored light; its musical falls and its dancing elves, as she had long since seen it.

Nor was this all. For, even as the children gazed, there appeared in the calm water at the foot of the fountain a bud, folded in soft, green leaves; and, by slow degrees, as Eva looked, the bud rose from the encircling foliage, and its stem grew higher and higher, and then, slowly and gracefully, its pure white petals opened, like a fair and stainless ivory cup enfolding a golden torch, and it breathed forth the fragrance of many violets: and, as Eva looked, she knew that the search was over, and the pure white lily before them was Aster’s flower, won at last.

Then Eva’s blue eyes shone with joy, and her fair cheeks flushed, and she turned to Aster:

“Aster, be glad; for your flower is won, and all that remains is for you to pluck it.”

“No,” he said, slowly; “that is not for me to do. I can only receive it as your gift, Eva; I am not worthy to gather it,—that can only be done by your hand.”

And Eva, bending over the water, plucked the beautiful lily, with its long stem, and laid it in Aster’s hand. And, as his fingers clasped the gift, a swell of music thrilled through the air, and Eva saw, hovering over them, the two fair, white forms which had come before, and which she at once knew had, under the shapes of the toad and the Toad-Woman, led and advised her, and she pointed them out to Aster. And, as Aster raised his eyes to them, they beckoned to him, and smiled upon Eva; and she knew that all was over, and the moment had come for them to part.

Still, not a word passed between them. Eva’s eyes were fixed upon Aster,—his were raised to the bright hovering forms. Then, holding the lily in his hand, he turned to Eva and pressed his lips to her brow.