What if I was moved, I had grown so weak, to answer their
question, at last, with a half-involuntary admission in my own.
Ah, no! I assured myself that my attitude towards the Cradlebow was
sisterly--sisterly, merely--although I might have reflected that the
yearnings of that amiable affection had never, hitherto, in the ordinary
walks of life, constrained me to hem so many as a dozen
pocket-handkerchiefs for my brothers, which irksome task I cheerfully
performed as a surprise for the sailor boy, not to speak of a pair of
scarlet hose which I had already begun to knit, under Grandma's tuition.
And now the life in Wallencamp seemed never like real life to me, even in
the broadest daylight. It was like a dream--the sweet, warm, brightening
of the landscape; the vines growing over the low, brown houses; the lazy,
summer voices in the air; the skies, too, were a dream--and Luther, with
his ideally beautiful face and his quaintness and ardor and
unworldliness, was a part of the dream. I knew that when he went away, I
should follow him long in my thoughts, and wonder much concerning him;
that at home again with my own people, in gayer, different scenes, I
should never hear the wind blowing up strong at night, or see the winter
settling down gloomily, or watch the opening of another spring-time,
without following him afar and wondering, with a vague, sorrowful, tender
regret, what chance was befalling him in the world.
Pages:
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302