The Old Stone House and Other Stories | Page 8

we have
left the forest behind us and stand again within the village streets. If I
did speak I might learn something of what is going on in his bitter and
burning heart, but I never have the courage to do so, perhaps because I
had rather not know what he plans or purposes.
She is not as daintily rounded as she was once. Her cheek is thinner,
and there is a tremulous move to her lip I never saw in it in the old
coquettish days. Is she not happy in her betrothal, or are her fears of
Orrin greater than her confidence in me? It must be the latter, for
Colonel Schuyler is a lover in a thousand, and scarcely a day passes
without some new evidence of his passionate devotion. She ought to be
happy, if she is not, and I am sure there is not another woman in town
but would feel herself the most favored of her sex if she had the half of
Juliet's prospects before her. But Juliet was ever wayward; and simply
because she ought to increase in beauty and joy, she pales and pines
and gets delicate, and makes the hearts of her lovers grow mad with
fear and longing.

* * * * *
Where have I been? What have I seen, and what do the events of this
night portend? As Orrin and myself were returning from our usual visit
to the house in the woods--it is well up now, and its huge empty square
looms weirdly enough in the moonlighted forest,--we came out upon
the churchyard in front of the meeting-house, and Orrin said:
"You may come with me or not, I do not care; but I am going in
amongst these graves. I feel like holding companionship with dead
people to-night."
"Then so do I," said I, for I was not deceived by his words. It was not to
hold companionship with the dead, but with the living, that he chose to
linger there. The churchyard is in a direct line with her house, and,
sitting on the meeting-house steps one can get a very good view of the
windows of her room.
"Very well," he sighed, and disdained to say more.
As for myself, I felt too keenly the weirdness of the whole situation to
do more than lean my back against a tree and wait till his fancy wearied
of the moonlight and silence. The stones about us, glooming darkly
through the night, were not the most cheerful of companions, and when
you add to this the soughing of the willows and the flickering shadows
which rose and fell over the face of the meeting-house as the branches
moved in the wind, you can understand why I rather regretted the
hitherto gloomy enough hour we were accustomed to spend in the
forest.
But Orrin seemed to regret nothing. He had seated himself where I
knew he would, on the steps of the meeting-house, and was gazing,
with chin sunk in his two hands, down the street where Juliet dwelt. I
do not think he expected anything to happen; I think he was only
reckless and sick with a longing he had not the power to repress, and I
watched him as long as I could for my own inner sickness and longing,
and when I could watch no longer I turned to the gnomish gravestones
that were no more motionless or silent than he.

Suddenly I felt myself shiver and start, and, turning, beheld him
standing erect, a black shadow against the moonlighted wall behind
him. He was still gazing down the street but no longer in apathetic
despair, but with quivering emotion visible in every line of his
trembling form. Reaching his side, I looked where he looked, and saw
Juliet--it must have been Juliet to arouse him so,--standing with some
companion at the gate in the wall that opens upon the street. The next
moment she and the person with her stepped into the street, and, almost
before we realized it, they began to move towards us, as if drawn by
some power in Orrin or myself, straight, straight to this abode of death
and cold moonbeams.
It was not late, but the streets were otherwise deserted, and we four
seemed to be alone in the whole world. Breathing with Orrin and
almost clasping his hand in my oneness with him, I watched and
watched the gliding approach of the two lovers, and knew not whether
to be startled or satisfied when I saw them cross to the churchyard and
enter where we had entered ourselves so short a time before. For us all
to meet, and meet here, seemed suddenly strangely natural, and I hardly
knew what Orrin meant when he grasped me forcibly