He kept the back of the charming head in view all down the aisle, when the sermon was over and the congregation arose to leave the church. But Colonel Fielding was at the outer end of the bench on which the young man had been seated, and it required some minutes for the old gentleman's friends to help him regain his feet. Poor, feeble old man! And then everybody was talking to everybody else while passing down the aisle. It was the custom in Oldfield for neighbors thus to greet one another after the sermon, and Lynn consequently found himself hemmed in and could move only with the crowd; so that notwithstanding his strenuous though quiet efforts to reach the door of the men's side, before Doris could reach the entrance on the women's side, she had already passed out and was well on her way homeward when he reached the big road.
He was keenly disappointed, and stood for a moment undecided what to do or which way to go, until the doctor and his wife spoke to him. They were almost the last of the home-going procession at that end of the village; and the young man joined them in the lingering hope that the girlish figure in white, fluttering ahead, might be overtaken, since he now saw that it was not, after all, so very far in advance. Mrs. Alexander undoubtedly would present him, so he thought; she could hardly do anything else; and, so hoping, he walked on up the big road, listening as best he could to what she was saying. But the slender young shape in white went rapidly on and did not linger, and never once looked back. Sidney turned at the gate and nodded to her neighbors; but Doris passed through it without pausing, and disappeared under the low arch of silver leaves.
Again Lynn went back to his grandmother's house, thinking of Doris, but again he refrained from speaking of her, although he hardly knew why, unless it was because he shrank from the harshness of his grandmother's cynical comments. Old lady Gordon asked about many of the people whom he had seen at church, but it did not occur to her to mention the daughter of Sidney Wendall. Nevertheless, the girl clung to Lynn's thoughts through all the warm idle afternoon hours of the perfect spring day. Talking half-heartedly, absently, of other things, he still thought of her, even until the evening, coming little by little to think of her as the most beautiful girl whom he had ever seen. He knew, upon reflection, that meeting her was merely a question of a short time in a place so small as Oldfield; and he was not quite sure that, after all, he really wished to make her acquaintance. It would be best, perhaps, considering the career which he had laid out for himself, that he should know as few young women as possible. Moreover, it seemed most unlikely, from all that he had heard of Doris Wendall and of her family and training and environment, that she could possess any charm other than a beautiful face. Yet at the same time he ardently admitted that merely to look upon such rare beauty was a delight to such a worshipper of beauty as he knew himself to be.
He smiled at his own weakness and folly, when he found himself going toward the tall poplars at the close of the long day. The supple tops of the great trees bent white against the darkening sky. But although the leaves no longer dazzled as when they turned their silver lining to the noonday sunlight, they were still too restless and too thick to be seen through, and, smiling again at his foolish craving for another glimpse of beauty, the young man went on, hoping for better luck as he came back. Going beyond the eastern hills which rimmed the village, he paused and looked down and far out over the wide lowlands; at the emerald seas of wheat flowing with waves of purple shadows; at the springing vivid lines of young corn, stretching to the dim distant horizon; at the rich, dark green of the vast tobacco fields already beginning to be dotted by the small, thick-leaved plants; at the red herds, and at the white flocks dimly visible through the fleecy mists trailing above the meadows. He stood still, leaning on a fence and listening to the gentle lowing of far-off cattle, and the homely barking of distant dogs, which were the most distinct sounds. Then, as he listened, lingering, the music of the woods and fields grew fainter—fainter, till it became hushed with the falling of the twilight. Only the whip-poor-will's lonesome cry—the vesper bell of the birds—rang out at long intervals from the dark willows fringing a far-away stream.
The dusk falls very slowly and very softly over the Pennyroyal Region, settling like the exquisite gray down from some wonderful brown wings. It was falling, but still lingering between daylight and darkness, when Lynn Gordon turned at last toward the village. He could not see the people sitting in Sunday quiet and peace on their vine-wreathed porches; but he heard them talking in low tones of the humble little things that make the sweetness of home. A feeling of longing came over him such as he had never known before; a yearning for the home which had never been his, for the loved ones whom he could not remember. The fireside smell of smoking tobacco mingled with the scent of the homely flowers blooming in the yards and gardens. Great white moths fluttered back and forth across the deserted highway, seeking the sweetest of those shy blossoms which yield their beauty and fragrance only to the gloaming.
As the young man approached the poplars, sombre now as cypress trees in the deepened twilight, a sudden breeze stirred the leaves and swayed the branches. But the fleeting glimpse of white at which he started forward so eagerly, proved to be nothing more than a bunch of pale roses drooping beside the window. There was not a glimmer of light behind the curtain, and as he strolled on along the big road the lights in all the houses went out one by one, as the simple people, drowsy from the day's unaccustomed idleness, sought their early rest. Tom Watson's lamp alone shone afar, throwing its beams a long way down the big road, and the sight of it suddenly touched the young man's softened heart with keenest pity, reminding him, almost reproachfully, of the promise which he had quite forgotten.
At his grandmother's house all was dark and still; the dogs leaping to meet him knew him well enough not to bark, and he sat down on the porch to smoke a cigar. He could always think more clearly when smoking, and he wished now to think as clearly as possible. For the past two days his thoughts had been wandering, as he rarely allowed them to wander, far away from his life plans. Firmly he now bent them back; intently he surveyed every up-hill step in the direction of his high ambition; calmly he faced the full length and difficulty of the struggle between him and his goal, without thought of faltering or fear of failure. He said to himself, as the young who have never measured their strength against their weakness often say to themselves:—
"I will not do any of those things which I firmly set on that side; I will do all these things which I calmly range on this side: the shaping of a man's life lies in his own hand; it has but to be powerful enough to grasp and firm enough to hold."
It is easy to be calm and common to be sure on starting in life's race. And, indeed, this young fellow was better trained and equipped for the running of it than most young men are. Feeling this intelligently, but without undue conceit, he now threw back his broad shoulders and lifted his proud head. The arrogance of youth takes no heed of the slight chances that defeat great plans, no heed even of the divinity that shapes mortal hewing. He looked absently at the red rim of the climbing moon, and scarcely noting that, as its disk grew larger and its beams grew brighter, a mocking-bird, at home with his beloved in one of the giant elms, began a murmuring melody, as though he were wooing his mate in dreams. Yet, as the paling, brightening moon arose higher and higher, till it hung a great shield of burnished silver on night's starry wall, the mocking-bird's song grew clearer and sweeter, till, soaring to the moonlit heavens, it arose to a very pean of love triumphant.