The Old Stone House by Constance Fenimore Woolson (sites to read books for free .txt) 📕

rising from the river, and a vague remoteness even in the nearest forest; deep shadows lie over the valley, but the rising sun shines on the mountain-peak, lighting it up with a golden radiance, while behind it, there seemed to spread away into distance the atmosphere of another country, a beautiful unseen Paradise. Towards this mountain-peak the youth is looking with ardent eyes; one feels sure that his hopes are there, and that sooner or later he will reach the golden country beyond.”

“I remember the picture. Is there not a crown shining in the sunlight over the mountain-top, and the outline of a great cross in the dark shadow over the steep path which leads up to the summit?”

“I believe so; but it was the figure of the youth that attracted me. His face expressed aspiration, that bright confidence in the future which Aunt Faith and I have been discussing this morning.”

“So you were in her room all that time, were you?”

“Yes; and that reminds me that I must do a little reading. I am growing shamefully lazy. Good-bye, Queen Bessie. Be sure and make my picture as handsome as you can.”

“I shall do my best;”—“but I cannot hope to make it as handsome as the original,” she added, after the door closed.

Twilight came and the two cousins were riding in a country lane several miles from the old stone house; they had left the turnpike where they usually rode, and, instead of going at headlong speed, the horses were walking slowly over the grassy path as if the summer evening had influenced their riders with its peaceful quiet.

“I have never been here before,” said Bessie; “where does that path lead?”

“To Rocky brook where we used to go a fishing.”

“Let us go that way, please. I have not been to Rocky brook for years and years.” So the horses were turned, and, after a pleasant ride through the woods, they reached the edge of the ravine; the path, an Indian trail, came to an end, and down below they could hear the rushing sound of the water.

“Oh I must get down, Hugh!” said Bessie eagerly; “I want to go down to the brook.”

“It will be hard climbing in that long skirt, Bessie. I will bring you out some other time.”

“No, Hugh; I want to go now, this very minute.”

“I suppose you must have your way, then,” said her cousin, as he lifted her to the ground; “wait until I fasten the horses so that I can help you.”

But Bessie had already disappeared, swinging herself from rock to rock by aid of the bushes, as actively as a squirrel; she had reached the bottom of the ravine as Hugh appeared at the top. “Don’t go too near the bridge,” he shouted; “wait till I come down.”

Bessie looked down the ravine, and seeing the plank which served for a bridge high in the air over the foaming water, she was seized with a sudden desire to cross it; Hugh’s warning, as usual, only stimulated this desire. If there was any danger, she wanted to be in it immediately. So she clambered over the rocks towards the forbidden locality with a pleasant excitement, not really believing in the danger, but lured on by the spirit of adventure strong within her from childhood.

“Don’t go near the bridge!” shouted Hugh again, by this time half way down the bank.

“Hugh is too despotic,” thought his cousin, as she climbed up on the wet stones. “I shall certainly do as I please. If he wants implicit obedience, he must go to Edith Chase.” In another instant she was on the plank, and balancing herself, walked forward over the torrent, holding her long skirt over her arm; her head was steady, she did not know what fear was; many a time she had crossed deeper chasms in safety, and she laughed to herself as she heard Hugh crashing through the bushes down the bank behind her. “He will like me all the better for my courage,” she thought, somewhat surprised at his silence, for she had expected to hear further remonstrance. Suddenly, when she had reached the middle of the bridge, the plank cracked, gave way entirely, and in an instant she was in the foaming torrent below. She sank, and for one moment, one dreadful moment, she was under water, suffocating and terror-stricken, while all the events of her life seemed to rush before her like an instantaneous panorama. Then she felt the air again, and opening her eyes, found herself in Hugh’s arms, as he strode out of the water and laid her down on the bank. “Oh, Hugh!” she gasped, “it was dreadful!”

“Are you hurt, dear? Did your head strike the rocks?” asked her cousin anxiously.

“No, I think not; but I feel rather dizzy,” said Bessie, closing her eyes.

“Can you stay here for a moment alone, while I run back to the farm-house? Fortunately the weather is so warm there is not much danger of your taking cold.”

“Oh, yes,” said Bessie, smiling, as her cousin chafed her hands with anxiety that belied his words. He sprang up the bank, and after some delay reappeared carrying shawls and wrappings. “Do you feel better? Are you faint?” he asked, as he enveloped her in the shawls.

“I feel quite well now,” said Bessie, trying to rise.

“Stop; I am going to carry you,” said Hugh.

“You shall do nothing of the kind, Hugh. I am able to walk, and the bank is steep.”

“I shall take you round by the path, so don’t make any objection, for it will be useless. The farmer will have his carriage waiting for us, and we shall drive home as rapidly as possible.”

“Oh, Hugh, I am so heavy! You will never be able to do it,” said Bessie, as Hugh lifted her slight form muffled in shawls.

“Very heavy! Really, quite elephantine! A matter of ninety pounds, I should say!”

“Nonsense, sir! I weigh one hundred and ten.”

“And what is that to a man of muscle? Don’t you know that I pride myself upon my strength! The old proverb says that cleanliness is next to godliness; if that is so, I give the third place to strength. What a pity we cannot say ‘muscleness,’ to keep up the rhythm! Do you know, Bessie, if ministers had more muscle, I should like them better.”

“Mr. Leslie has muscle, Hugh.”

“Yes; he has got a good strong fist of his own. I like him, too, in every way. He is so manly in his goodness, and so frank in his religion! He is one of those fine, large-hearted men who give their very best to the cause. He did not take to the ministry because he was not fitted for anything else; he has the capabilities and qualifications for a first-rate business man, civil engineer, or soldier. But it is evident that the whole world was as nothing to him compared to the great work of salvation. I honor him. He is a man to be envied, for he is living up to his ideal.”

“Why, Hugh! I had no idea you admired him so much! Are you thinking of following his example?”

“Don’t joke, Bessie. The subject is too serious.”

“I am not joking,” said Bessie, in a low voice.

“I am no hero,” said Hugh, with a half sigh, as they reached the lane; “I could never do as Mr. Leslie has done. I can only hope to make others happy in my small way by—”

“By helping ill-behaved cousins out of their troubles,” interrupted Bessie, “paying their debts, saving their lives, and so forth and so forth.”

The ride home was pleasant, in spite of wet clothes. Hugh drove the farmer’s horse in an old carryall, and the farmer himself rode Hugh’s horse, leading the other alongside. When they reached the back-pasture it was quite dark. Hugh lifted Bessie out, threw the shawls back into the carryall, and farmer Brown, after fastening the saddle-horses behind, drove away towards the town, where he was to leave them at the livery-stable according to agreement.

“Now, Bessie, take up that skirt, and let us have a run across the garden,” said Hugh. “I am so afraid you will take cold.”

But Bessie’s long, wet skirt proved such an obstacle, that in spite of her objection, Hugh lifted her up again, and carried her across the pasture, through the garden, and up the terrace into the house.

“Shall you go to the musicale?” he whispered, as he put her down in the dark hall.

“No,” said Bessie; “I wish you would make it all right with Aunt Faith. I have a headache; the fright, I suppose.”

Hugh went off to his room, and in an incredibly short time he was down-stairs again, in evening dress. Aunt Faith came in a few moments afterwards, dressed in gray silk with delicate white lace around her throat and wrists; “Is it not time to go?” she said. “Where is Sibyl?”

“Here, Aunt,” said Sibyl from the parlor; “I have been ready some time.”

“Come in, child, and let us see you”

Sibyl crossed the hall and stood in the doorway. Her dress of soft blue harmonized with her fair beauty, and brought out the tints of her hair and complexion; she wore no ornaments, and the flowing drapery floated around her devoid of any kind of trimming. “Her dress was nothing; just a plain, blue tarleton,” said one of her companions the next day to a mutual friend. “But Sibyl herself looked lovely.” This was Sibyl’s art; her dress was always subordinate to herself.

“You look like the evening star, sister,” said Hugh.

“Thank you, brother. A compliment from you is precious, because rare,” said Sibyl, smiling; “and as for you, you look like the Apollo in Guido’s Aurora.”

“Bravo! That’s a compliment worth having,” said Hugh, tossing back his golden locks. “And now that we are both gorged with compliments, let us start for the halls of Euterpe.”

“Where is Bessie?” said Aunt Faith, as Hugh rose.

“She is not going. She has a headache,” answered Hugh.

“Poor child! I will run up and see her before I go.”

“That is not necessary, Aunt. I think she would rather not be disturbed,” said Hugh. “Let us start; it is late.”

The musicale was held at the residence of Mrs. Arlington, on the opposite side of the avenue, but a short distance from the old stone house, and Bessie, after taking off her wet clothes, dressed herself in a wrapper, and took her seat at the open hall-window in the second story, where she could see the lights through the trees, and even hear an occasional strain of the music on the night breeze. She felt depressed; her head ached, and her conscience likewise. “I am always doing something wrong,” she thought ruefully; “I let Hugh pay that debt; then I teased him out of his idea of telling Aunt Faith, and made him take me riding again, and when he was kind enough to give in to my wish, I deliberately went out on that plank when he told me not to go, and the result was I came near being drowned, and poor Hugh must have had a struggle to get me out in that current. I suppose he is over there now talking with Edith Chase! she is an affected, silly girl, but I suppose Hugh does not understand her as well as I do. However, perhaps she is better than I am! I am dreadful, I know; and so homely, too! I look just like an Indian. Edith is considered pretty. To be sure I think she looks just like a white cat; but then, some people think white cats are pretty. Well, her looks are nothing