Three Women Part 4

IV.

The October day had been luscious and fair Like a woman of thirty. A chill in the air As the sun faced the west spoke of frost lurking near.

All day the Sound lay without motion, and clear As a mirror, and blue as a blond baby's eyes.

A change in the tide brought a change to the skies.

The bay stirred and murmured and parted its lips And breathed a long sigh for the lost lovely s.h.i.+ps, That had gone with the Summer.

Its calm placid breast Was stirred into pa.s.sionate pain and unrest.

Not a sail, not a sail anywhere to be seen!

The soft azure eyes of the sea turned to green.

A sudden wind rose; like a runaway horse Unchecked and unguided it sped on its course.

The waves bared their teeth, and spat spray in the face Of the furious gale as they fled in the chase.

The sun hurried into a cloud; and the trees Bowed low and yet lower, as if to appease The wrath of the storm king that threatened them. Close To the waves at their wildest stood Roger Montrose.

The day had oppressed him; and now the unrest Of the wind beaten sea brought relief to his breast, Or at least brought the sense of companions.h.i.+p. Lashed By his higher emotions, the man's pa.s.sions dashed On the sh.o.r.e of his mind in a frenzy of pain, Like the waves on the rocks, and a frenzy as vain.

Since the day he first looked on her face, Mabel Lee Had seemed to his self sated nature to be, On life's troubled ocean, a beacon of light, To guide him safe out from the rocks and the night.

Her calm soothed his pa.s.sion; her peace gave him poise; She seemed like a silence in life's vulgar noise.

He bathed in the light which her purity cast, And felt half absolved from the sins of the past.

He longed in her mantle of goodness to hide And forget the whole world. By the incoming tide He talked with his heart as one talks with a friend Who is dying. "The summer has come to an end And I wake from my dreaming," he mused. "Wake to know That my place is not here--I must go--I must go.

Who dares laugh at Love shall hear Love laughing last, As forth from his bowstring barbed arrows are cast.

I scoffed at the G.o.d with a sneer on my lip, And he forces me now from his chalice to sip A bitter sweet potion. Ah, lightly the part Of a lover I've played many times, but my heart Has been proud in its record of friends.h.i.+p. And now The mad, eager lover born in me must bow To the strong claims of friends.h.i.+p. I love Mabel Lee; Dared I woo as I would, I could make her love me.

The soul of a maid who knows not pa.s.sion's fire Is moth to the flame of a man's strong desire.

With one kiss on her lips I could banish the nun And wake in her virginal bosom the one Mighty love of her life. If I leave her, I know She will be my friend's wife in a season or so.

He loves her, he always has loved her; 'tis he Who ever will do all the loving; and she Will accept it, and still be the saint to the end, And she never will know what she missed; but my friend Has the right to speak first. G.o.d! how can he delay?

I marvel at men who are fas.h.i.+oned that way.

He has wors.h.i.+ped her since first she put up her tresses, And let down the hem of her school-girlish dresses And now she is full twenty-two; were I he A brood of her children should climb on my knee By this time! What a sin against love to postpone The day that might make her forever his own.

The man who can wait has no blood in his veins.

Maurice is a dreamer, he loves with his brains Not with soul and with senses. And yet his whole life Will be blank if he makes not this woman his wife.

She is woof of his dreams, she is warp of his mind; Who tears her away shall leave nothing behind.

No, no, I am going: farewell to Bay Bend I am no woman's lover--I _am_ one man's friend.

Still-born in the arms of the matron eyed year Lies the beautiful dream that my life buries here.

Its tomb was its cradle; it came but to taunt me, It died, but its phantom shall ever more haunt me."

He turned from the waves that leaped at him in wrath To find Mabel Lee, like a wraith, in his path.

The rose from her cheek had departed in fear; The tip of her eyelash was gemmed with a tear.

The rude winds had disarranged mantle and dress, And she clung with both hands to her hat in distress.

"I am frightened," she cried, in a tremulous tone; "I dare not proceed any farther alone.

As I came by the church yard the wind felled a tree, And invisible hands seemed to hurl it at me; I hurried on, shrieking; the wind, in disgust, Tore the hat from my head, filled my eyes full of dust, And otherwise made me the b.u.t.t of its sport.

Just then I spied you, like a light in the port, And I steered for you. Please do not laugh at my fright!

I am really quite bold in the calm and the light, But when a storm gathers, or darkness prevails, My courage deserts me, my bravery fails, And I want to hide somewhere and cover my ears, And give myself up to weak womanish tears."

Her ripple of talk allowed Roger Montrose A few needed moments to calm and compose His excited emotions; to curb and control The turbulent feelings that surged through his soul At the sudden encounter.

"I quite understand,"

He said in a voice that was under command Of his will, "All your fears in a storm of this kind.

There is something uncanny and weird in the wind; Intangible, viewless, it speeds on its course, And forests and oceans must yield to its force.

What art has constructed with patience and toil, The wind in one second of time can despoil.

It carries destruction and death and despair, Yet no man can follow it into its lair And bind it or stay it--this thing without form.

Ah! there comes the rain! we are caught in the storm.

Put my coat on your shoulders and come with me where Yon rock makes a shelter--I often sit there To watch the great conflicts 'twixt tempest and sea.

Let me lie at your feet! 'Tis the last time, Miss Lee, I shall see you, perchance, in this life, who can say?

I leave on the morrow at break o' the day."

_Mabel:_

Indeed? Why, how sudden! and may I inquire The reason you leave us without one desire To return? for your words seem a final adieu.

_Roger:_

I never expect to return, that is true, Yet my wish is to stay.

_Mabel:_

Are you not your own master?

_Roger:_

Alas, yes! and therein lies the cause of disaster.

Myself bids me go, my calm, reasoning part, The will is the man, not the poor, foolish heart, Which is ever at war with the intellect. So I silence its clamoring voices and go.

Were I less my own master, I then might remain.

_Mabel:_

Your words are but riddles, I beg you explain.

_Roger:_

No, no, rather bid me keep silent! To say Why I go were as weak on my part as to stay.

_Mabel:_

I think you most cruel! You know, sir, my s.e.x Loves dearly a secret. Then why should you vex And torment me in this way by hinting at one?

_Roger:_

Let us talk of the weather, I think the storm done.

_Mabel:_

Very well! I will go! No, you need not come too, And I will not shake hands, I am angry with you.

_Roger:_

And you will not shake hands when we part for all time?

_Mabel:_

Then read me your riddle!