CHAPTER XV

SUNRISE

They met in secret at the pasture bars across the road. In the dim light and still ecstasy of nature they stole on each other like ghosts. And then--fresh dewy lips, cool enwinding arms--and new enchantment. They were children of the city, children of noise and stone. But here was eternal quiet and the beauty that walks in the heart. Close were they at last to Mother Earth, and she sent through them her vital might and drew them passionately together.

“Oh, Frank, Frank,” whispered Edith, “we were never so near each other, so near, so near!”

In that moment bliss overcame him and he forgot all else.

“Edith--sweetheart!”

For long they stood thus, and then silently went through the pasture toward the still woods. A sea of mist lay on the ground about them, a foot deep, and through the mist here and there, like stars, floated a daisy. A ghostly light was everywhere. A waning moon stood over the mountain. The air was very pure, fragrant with Earth, cool and caressing.

Into the wilderness, along an upward trail they wandered, Frank walking before. How wild! how still! how deep! Dawn was not; only the ghostly light, only the waning moon. They picked their way over dead logs and stones and branches; twigs snapped wet in their faces.

How wonderfully alone they were! In the shadows about them only a leaf here and there rustled; they heard the noise of their own footsteps. Fresh were the wood-smells, poignant with dew; and a mighty expectation seemed to brood in the still air. They paused once to listen to the plaintive call of the wood-owl, and then went on, witchery stealing over their hearts. It was too beautiful for words.

Then, “Listen,” whispered Edith.

It was the fresh liquid thunder of rushing water, shaking the air with music. It lulled them both, soothing Frank’s heart. He was steeped in new miracles; he could think of nothing else. Suddenly, at a twist of the trail the mountain torrent roared beside them, a tumbled whiteness under the last few stars of dawn.

“Oh, Edith,” he breathed, clasping her hand.

They stood in silence.

But there were no words in the face of this. So they went on, climbed a steep slope, and then paused, thrilling with grandeur. Empty space fell under them. They were at the edge of a cliff, from which, at their side, sprang a towering pine jutting into the sky. Beneath them lay a wild gorge--chaos and ruin of rocks and wild vegetation, the torrent leaping white here and there. Far opposite arose the mountain. The waning moon peered under the pine-boughs.

Enchantingly wild was the scene, and as they stood hand in hand the faint wind of dawn lulled them; leaves rustled; needles fell. Then it was gone. But how good the smell of the pines and the damp earth! How still the cool air! How wild the scene!

“Oh,” whispered the wild-rose, “who could have dreamed of this! And that we should have it--together! I think my heart would break now if you weren’t here!”

“Edith!”

Sadness seized him. Was this the last morning, here, in the wilderness, the beautiful wilderness? Love smote him; he wished he could clasp her, and that in one another’s arms they might hurl themselves to death in the rocky gorge.

“Edith!”

He felt her arms about him again, and brush of dewy-sweet lips and electric wafture of hair. They grew drowsy with the glory. All the passion of the Earth pulsed through them, all the primordeal joy of creation.

A tear, not his own, ran down his cheek.

“Sweetheart!” he cried, holding back to see her face. “So happy?”

The wild-rose could not speak. Her eyes were shining at the lashes; two tears were trickling down.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

“Our love,” was all she could say.

She trembled close to him; a strange shudder passed through them both together, as if all their nerves were joined in one body, an aching ecstasy. Forgotten was the wilderness and the gorge; forgotten all, save this.

They turned away, faint with love. Frank felt himself weakening. He was overcome with trembling beauty. Onward they went, crossing where the torrent ran narrow, climbing the mountain through the pine-forest. As upward they strove, aiming as toward some victory, some wild goal, they could not see the world beneath, but only here and there glimpses of the pale sky. And then they came to a high slant of weathered rock, scaled it, and came out at the top of a grassy clearing, where, right beyond, a blue mirror in the wilderness, lay a little rain-water lake, hung in mid-heaven, circled with pines.

Clasping hands the city-children gazed till their eyes were dim. Then they turned. Wonder weakened them. They cried out together. For the Earth was unrolled at their feet. Far as eye could see ran the mountain ranges, lifting out of valleys of white mist. Up the high slant of skies the golden heralds of dawn were running; mighty blew the gale in their faces; wild exhilaration stung them. They were alone on the heights of the world! They were alone--free!

But the wind was cold.

“Edith!”

“Oh, Frank!”

He spread his coat out with his right arm.

“Come in under!”

She nestled under, and he wrapped her close. They stood as one, warmer for the contact, and he felt her living heart beating at his side.

“Oh,” she cried, “I can’t speak, Frank! I just love and love and love you!”

Ecstasy swept them. And then their eyes saw the miracle of the dawn. Far in the Eastern skies that flush of purple; far on the valleys that purple flush. Swift on horizon, splendor of scarlet and bubbling yellow. Vast overhead the lift and spread of the paling heavens. And then on the Eastern rim a snake of fire; a riot of color; a thrill as of a curtain lifting; flame, flame----

“The sun!” they whispered breathlessly, “the sun!”

How could city-children know of such glories? They were gathered in the heart of revelations. Fire leaped from each to each. And lo, the mists were blown from the valleys; the sky swam blue; voices ran hither and yon in the forest; the whole Earth seemed to shake itself, awake, and shout, and quiver, and laugh. They saw lakes lying silver among the hills; they saw one broad fruitful valley, the dissimilar green of barley, wheat, and rye-fields; barns and houses, smoke lifting from chimneys; straggling gray stone-walls. Far away they saw a dusty road and a boy driving cows. Hens were in a barnyard about a woman scattering bran; a horse loped lazily over a pasture, and then----

“Look!” cried Edith.

A lonely eagle soared in the blue, lost now and then in the sun.

Behind them sang a bluebird, pouring the sunrise into song.

He felt her heart beating sharply at his side; he saw the radiance and distinctness of the Earth; he breathed the glory-freshened air. He was trembling with passion. Edith’s life was gliding into his. It was too late, too late.... She was his, his....

And then she stood free of him, trembling. He saw the wind blowing the hair over her forehead, he saw her eyes confronting sunrise with sunrise, the blowing skirts, the freshness and fragrance of the wild-rose. She was his ... his....

“Edith!” he seized her hand.

“Come away from this,” she murmured.

They stepped back to the little lake and stood on the moist grassy ground facing the waters. For some time they were silent, as the morning grew. He tried then to think clearly. “No, no,” cried his heart. “Trust to instinct! Trust to Nature!” The sun rose higher; the sky was of the tenderest blue; the warm smells of Earth blew over them; insects buzzed and hummed in the grass; the bluebird sang, and softly the lake-water lapped on the pebbly shore.

Suddenly she felt it--the secret. Earth yearned; the sun like a male embraced the female Earth; two thrushes fluttered about their nest in the pine; two squirrels chased over the ground; and now there were two eagles in the blue. It was the sacred fire of creation, raimenting the Earth with new life--with babies and fruits and cubs--and everything sang and dripped and ran and sparkled with the glory. The two human beings drew close together; the man forgot his message; forgot the world; he thought only of this woman. For this they were alive; toward this had they been doomed. How could a thing so sacred be wrong?

He drew closer to her. She was so rich and living! Music wrapt them, creation stirred in them. They were lost to all save each other.

“Edith.”

“Frank.”

He took both her hands, he drew her till their faces were close.

“I love you!” he whispered.

She spoke tremulously:

“Will you love me forever?”

“Forever.”

“Ever and ever?”

“Forever and forever!”

His arms drew her closer; their lips met; they cried out; they stood thus silent, motionless. The blue bent nearer, the birds sang, the leaves rustled, needles fell on them, the lake-water rippled dreamily. They were overcome with love, a long glory.

Whispered Edith at last:

“If you should die now I should die now.”

Sacred was this love, indeed. He groaned inwardly. How could he blast this beauty? And then for a moment he was in the clutch of a wild struggle. Tell her he must; had he not come up for this; tell her he must, whatever the consequences. Was he so weak? Was he so unmanly? Was his love so earthly a thing? The morning began to darken for him; he released the wild-rose; he stood from her, gazing on the grass.

“Frank,” she whispered, taking his hand, “what is it?”

“Nothing!” he murmured.

He felt it would be better to die than to pour into her ears the poison that would kill her happiness. In a few minutes their love would be shattered, their lives broken. He could see her face piteous and drooping; he could hear her wild cry. How could he speak? Why had he come? Why had he not written? And here she was, so real, so vital, his own, his own.

But you must tell her, Frank. Shall you ruin this pure wild-rose? Shall all her beauty go because you are weak?

He moistened his lips.

“Listen,” he said, in a strange voice.

“I’m listening,” she murmured.

“I must tell you something.”

“Tell me.”

The moment had come. Listen now, wild-rose, and try to be wise! His tongue was tied, he stood rooted to the ground, his lips were parched.

“Edith!”

“What is it?”

“I want to ask you something.”

“Ask me.”

Oh, the sweetness of her, the freshness.

“What--if--what if--what if we weren’t married for a while yet?”

She spoke with sharp fright:

“What has happened, Frank?”

Could he go on? He delayed the blow.

“Why, nothing,” he laughed strangely. “I only wanted to know.”

“It’s a strange question!” her voice grew sharp again. “Something’s happened, Frank. I know it!”

She seized his arm, looked in his face. That touch, that look overcame him. Nature cried out to take her. These two were for one another. Far was the city, far the Doctor; reason grew pale and fled; doubts vanished. His blood sang again; fire once more fell from the blue and wound them round; wildness was in them, wildness of Earth and sun.

“I only wanted to know,” he whispered, “because I--I couldn’t wait!”

She loosed silver laughter--utter joy.

“Oh, Frank! Frank! I--I can hardly wait a week!”

He laughed happily; they stepped to the cliff. They looked down on the marvelous world.

“All the world’s before us!” he laughed.

“And all of life!” cried the wild-rose. “This is the sunrise of our marriage!”

Wild joy, wild laughter filled them. They were children again. They raced down through the wilderness, they drank of the cool spring, making a cup of Edith’s hand; they played tag, red was in their cheeks, and innocence gloried about them. Beautiful were they, and overflowing with life. Away with dark thoughts! Fling off problems and theories! Take the cup and drink of it!

And so Frank was overcome; and so all darkness fled from his heart; and so he laughed at the Doctor and did not believe him, and knew himself for a well man. He went back to the city that afternoon; he plunged into his work. His mind was free. He was sure of himself. Nature herself had answered his questions.

* * * * *

The next week they were married--Sam giving away the bride, and Mr. Grupp getting the second kiss by force.