questions? Did you ever hear of a picnic? but off at Abbey ruins, or mineral springs, or ultramontane forests? Well, I-I, too, shall have a picnic, to-day; but at lesser ruins, -a fete champêtre under aged lichen-painted walls, at the foot of this dear old garden; by the choked spring that gurgles and sputters and sings and frolics to itself, whose water drunk from hollow leaves shall afford us infinite hilarity; and you and Sir Rohan are to be my guests, and I accept no excuse, and your only roof is to be blue sky till said roof is gray as twilight, and we will make one veritable long Autumn day too short to hold us. Here is the first chicken that peeped in May, he plays Werter well enough; — and here is the tart I spoke of; and here is a bottle of poison for you, and one of cream for me; and see these brown pears, which Midas rex has fingered, and these Hamburg grapes, great Cleopatrian pearls and amethysts. Come! The sweet sad autumn days will we Make gay with blithe carousin', Shall seek our hearts to house in !" And therewith, to roulade and capriccio, the imperious Miss Miriam swept the helpless gentlemen through the casement whose threshold remained uncrossed till sunset, while every now and then chimes of gayest laughter and snatches of sweetest singing pealed hurriedly up the alleys and startled the pale chrysanthemums and withering autumn flowers on their sad stems; uncared-for rusty blossoms, wan and rapt as a Greek chorus, who looked at each other with melancholy surprise and then drooped heavily again, as if they were long ago in the secret, and refused to listen to this last artifice of fate, the echo of a fragmentary happiness as brief as shallow. XX. THE CLANG OF ROOFS. T length their stay drew toward its close; AT the last day was fading, and Sir Rohan, having given his final orders, was idly pacing the hall, and longing for Miriam. He had no impatience now, for every hour answered to itself, too full of happiness to be hastened. Miriam, whose voice woke the morning, carolling from her open window, and every now and then filled the dreary walls again with a glad purling, came singing down the stairs; and then, hanging on his arm as he continued his walk, finished the strain. Somewhere the long grass over lonely graves Sobs in the rain. Somewhere the wild wind vainly o'er them raves Who cease from pain. Somewhere, thro' weary years, one weeps, whose salt slow tears Fall for refrain. "I wonder," she said, after a moment's silence, "why always, when we are happiest, we choose the saddest songs." "Perhaps," he replied, "to forestall calamity; to deceive Fate with a counterfeit." "For a charm against Sorrow, you mean?" "Sorrow! Sorrow! My darling, forget there is such a word!" "You will never let me feel it," she responded. "The wind shall not blow upon you!" he said, with fervency, followed by a laugh. "And you take the windward side, Ungallant? No, no," she added, "if they were charms, all people might be gay, since who could n't string a necklace of such amulets? I am more inclined to fancy my happiness a cuckoo who pushes the sad little songs from the nest." "Vile comparison! Is it so false and fickle?" That, sir, will be as you please.' 66 "Ah, sweet!" he said. "You know there is no heaven too high for me to sphere you there. That is, provided one had the ordering of the planets." "Thank you, but earth is very well. Do you know, Sir Rohan," she continued, naively, "I think you love me too much." "Miriam!" "Yes. There! there! Don't look at me so! Was I very wrong to say it?" "The Easterns worshipped the sun, source of fire, scatterer of night. Haven't I good precedent for my adoration?" "But I mean that if I should die, I think you would die too." "Why not?" "My dear! laurel for?" What do I wear this crown of "Because you are a Queen, perhaps." "Not at all. Because when my Love returns to his Art, I believe he wreathes himself with the same immortal boughs; but should he die, what laurel for him?" "He would not need it then." "One takes such even into death." "How sweet a scent your crown has, when bruised!" "It is poison, nevertheless," she rejoined. "Why wear it, then?" "Why? For an emblem. There is poison in so strong love." |