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mown grass, was full of little shiverings of
leaves, and all colored like the bloom of a
black grape. And her heart felt soothed.
IX
The Freelands 167
tune. I suppose that's glamour—a goldeny,
misty, lovely feeling, as if my soul
were wandering about with his—not in
my body at all. I want it to go on and on
wandering—oh! I don't want it back in
my body, all hard and inquisitive and
aching! I shall never know anything so
lovely as loving him and being loved.
I don't want anything more—nothing!
Stay with me, please—Happiness ! Don't
go away and leave me ! . . . They frighten
me, though; he frightens me—their idealism;
wanting to do great things, and fight
"... WHEN I first saw Derek I
thought I should never feel anything but
shy and hopeless. In four days, only in
four days, the whole world is different.
. . . And yet, if it hadn't been for that
thunderstorm, I shouldn't have got over
being shy in time. He has never loved
anybody—nor have I. It can't often be for justice. If only I'd been brought up
like that—it makes it solemn. There's more like that—but everything's been so
a picture somewhere—not a good one, different. It's their mother, I think,
I know—of a young Highlander being even more than themselves. I seem to
taken away by soldiers from his sweetheart.
Derek is fiery and wild and shy at a show; watching it, thinking about it,
have grown up just looking on at life as
and proud and dark—like the man in that trying to understand—not living it at all.
picture. That last day along the hills— I must get over that; I will. I believe I
along and along—with the wind in our can tell the very moment I began to love
faces, I could have walked forever; and him. It was in the schoolroom the second
evening. Sheila and I were sitting
then Joyfields at the end ! Their mother's
wonderful; I'm afraid of her. But Uncle there just before dinner, and he came, in
Tod is a perfect dear. I never saw any a rage, looking splendid. 'That footman
one before who noticed so many things put out everything just as if I were a baby
that I didn't, and nothing that I did. I —asked me for suspenders to fasten on
am sure he has in him what Mr. Cuthcott my socks; hung the things on a chair in
said we were all losing—the love of simple, order, as if I couldn't find out for myself
natural conditions. And then, the moment,
when I stood with Derek at the end of my shoes out!—curled them over !'
what to put on first; turned the tongues
of the orchard, to say good-bye. The field Then he looked at me and said: 'Do they
below covered with those moony-white do that for you?'—and poor old Gaunt,
flowers, and the cows all dark and sleepy; who's sixty-six and lame, has three shillings
the holy feeling down there was wonderful, a week to buy him everything. Just think
and in the branches over our heads, too, of that! If we had the pluck of flies—'
and the velvety, starry sky, and the dewiness
against one's face, and the great, up, looked hard at me, and said: 'That'll
And he clenched his fists. But Sheila got
broad silence—it was all worshipping do, Derek.' Then he put his hand on my
something, and I was worshipping—worshipping
happiness. I was happy, and I I began to love him then; and I believe he
arm and said: 'It's only Cousin Nedda!'
think he was. Perhaps I shall never be saw it, because I couldn't take my eyes
so happy again. When he kissed me I away. But it was when Sheila sang 'The
didn't think the whole world had so much Red Sarafan,' after dinner, that I knew for
happiness in it. I know now that I'm not certain. 'The Red Sarafan'—it's a wonderful
song, all space and yearning, and
cold a bit; I used to think I was. I believe
I could go with him anywhere, and yet such calm—it's the song of the soul;
do anything he wanted. What would and he was looking at me while she sang.
Dad think? Only the other day I was How can he love me ? I am nothing—no
saying I wanted to know everything. good for anything ! Alan calls him a ' runup
kid, all legs and wings.' Sometimes I
One only knows through love. It's love
that makes the world all beautiful—makes hate Alan; he's conventional and stodgy
it like those pictures that seem to be —the funny thing is that he admires Sheila.
wrapped in gold, makes it like a dream— She'll wake him up; she'll stick pins into
no, not like a dream—like a wonderful him. No, I don't want Alan hurt—I