There had been a light fall of snow. It seemed as if winter had come in November. But in a few hours this aspect vanished; the snow melted like a dream; the zenith was a deep, molten blue, transfused with the pale sunshine, which is only seen in Indian-summer; a tender mist circled the horizon with a zone of purple. I could not stay in the office that afternoon, so infinitely sad, so infinitely lovely. I put aside the law-papers which I had been arranging for a case in which I was first to appear before a jury and make my maiden argument. The air, soft as that of summer and scented with the indescribable perfume of perishing leaves, came to me through the open window, with a message calling me abroad; I took up my hat, stepped out upon the pavement, and wandering along the avenue in the direction of the house, went in upon the lawn. I had thought to go out into the open country for a long walk; but my heart drew me and held me here. The language of all beauty, and of infinity itself, is love. The divine melancholy of music, the deep tranquillity of summer noons, the softened splendor of autumn days, haunting one with ineffable joy and sadness—what is the name of all this varying demonstration of beauty, but love?
I walked beneath the trees, slowly, my feet nestling among the thickly-strewn leaves, and pressing a faint aroma from the moist earth. To and fro for a long time I rambled, thinking no tangible thoughts, but my soul silently filling, all the time, like a fountain fed by secret springs. To the back of the lawn, extending around and behind the flower-garden, was a little ascent, covered by a grove of elms and maples, in the midst of which was a summer-house which had been a favorite resort of Eleanor’s. Hither I finally bent my steps, and seating myself, looked musingly upon the lovely prospect around and beneath me. The rustic temple opened toward the river, which was visible from here, rolling in its blue splendor across the exquisite landscape. There is a fascination in water which will keep the eyes fixed upon it through hours of reverie; I sat there, mindful of the near mountains, the purple mist, the white ships, the busy village, but gazing only at the blue ripples forever slipping away from the point of my observation. My spirit exhaled like the mist and ascended in aspiration. My grief aspired, and arose in passionate prayers to the white throne of the eternal justice—it arose in tears, etherealized and drawn up by the rays from the one great source and sun—the spirit of Love. I prayed and wept for her. No thought of myself mingled with these emotions.
Suddenly a slight chill fell upon me. I started to perceive that the sun had set. A band of orange belted the west. As the sun dropped behind the hills the moon came up in the east. It seemed as if her silver light frosted what it touched; the air grew sharp; a thin, white cloud spread itself over the river. I had sat there long enough, and I was forcing myself to a consciousness of the fact, when I saw one coming through the flower-garden and approaching the summer-house.
My blood paused in my veins when I saw that it was Eleanor. The sunset yet lingered, and the cold moonlight shone full on her face. I remembered how I had seen her, that last time but one, glowing and flushing in triumphant beauty, attired with the most skilled coquetry of a young, beloved woman, who is glad of her charms because another prizes them.
Now she came along the lonesome path, between the withered flower-beds, clothed in deepest black, walking with a feeble step, one small white hand holding the sable shawl across her chest, a long crape vail thrown over her head, from which her face looked out, white and still.
A pang like that of death transfixed me, as I gazed at her. Not one rose left in the garden of her young life! The ruin through which she walked was not so complete—but this garden would resurrect itself in the months of another spring—while for her there was no spring on this side of the grave.
ELEANOR.
Slowly she threaded her way, with bent gaze, through the garden, out upon the hillside, and up to the little rustic temple in which she had spent so many happy hours with him. When she had reached the grassy platform in front of it, she raised her eyes and swept a glance around upon the familiar scene. There were no tears in her blue eyes, and her lips did not quiver. It was not until she had encircled the horizon with that quiet, beamless look, that she perceived me. I rose to my feet, my expression only doing reverence to her sorrow, for I had no words.