Page:Harper's New Monthly Magazine - v109.djvu/998

926 latitude she had allowed her feeling now that she realized the wrong she had done the man she loved in hinting, even to her own consciousness, that he could be disloyal to her. Ordinarily her impulse would have been to go straight to Harry and confess her fault—the impulse of all honest natures that are simple at heart, even though, as in her own case, overlaid by many subtleties of growth and habit; but somehow this did not seem quite possible in the new mood that possessed her. She felt alert, apprehensive, even as if on the verge of some discovery, and her one idea was to be alone.

So she did not turn in at the little gate, nor glance at the porch where an old woman in a mob-cap put down her clicking needles to peer at her through the lattice. She kept on, absorbed in her own thoughts, till a sudden turn brought her face to face with a larger sea. Rock and tree blotted out all sign of human life, and she stood alone before the great blue element.

It spoke and she listened, and the pregnant meaning of many things came suddenly to her: the mystery of obedience to law; the inevitableness of ebb and flow; strange mutual attraction of tide and the pale crescent that hung faint-hearted now in too bright a sky; the great sympathy that carries goods and life from shore to shore, across an envious deep; the message of the wind that hurls waves hill-high and brushes a curl gently across a baby's face. Down the long range they came, these thoughts, and met her own, and in the great problems she found, as many have found before her, solution for the small. It seemed as if a veil through which all her life she had peered faintly had suddenly fallen from before her, rent by a shaft of light so tierce, so white, that it filled every corner of her brain, so that at last she saw not only with the gaze that strained to the wide horizon, but with the eye of the mind that looked beyond the visual into the real, gauging its truth, its necessity, its inevitableness. A sense of power thrilled her, even though it brought a pain, as she realized in her own soul the sudden growth that her nature had achieved. She regarded no longer the sea with its rosy arch, nor the white land that girt it; these sank to vagueness before the real vision, as the works of the Creator must pale in His presence, or that which is a part of Him.

A man's loud call broke the stillness. She turned in answer as Harry came around the curving beach.

"Oh, here you are! That old woman at the house said she'd seen you go by. Why, Nanna,"—he stopped short and took both her hands in his,—"what's the matter? Your eyes are wet! Tell me what has happened."

The quick anxiety of his tone brought her back to earth. "Why, nothing is the matter—Harry—" she hesitated an instant. "My dear," she went on, and her voice was low and gentle, "I have something to tell you—something that begins with a confession. I've had a dreadful week, and the worst part of it has been myself—I've been jealous!—jealous of you and Daisy Bourne."

Harry's fresh laugh interrupted her and his arm was about her, but she drew back.

"That is not all. Something showed me a little while ago that I was quite wrong—something that Mr. Bourne said, and it made me ashamed—ashamed and relieved. Then I came here by myself, happy but not quite satisfied,—and while I've been here alone I've thought it all out. I see clearly now—and I know what I ought to do. Harry—I must give you up!"

A sudden color burned to the young man's forehead. "Nanna, what nonsense!" he cried. "Give me up—why, you love me and I love you. What has come over you? This is unreasonable."

"No; it's very reasonable," she interrupted, softly, "and you must hear me out, please. Ever since we came to Burleigh I've had a curious, underlying feeling that neither you nor I was getting, nor would get, all that we needed from our relation. There have seemed so many things that mean much to you that are nothing to me; and as for myself, I have always a strong sense of robbing you of what is your right. Harry, I hate to acknowledge it, but I can't help it, dear: I'm too old for you."

She waved back the answer that the man began, and went on: "At first I thought—and I apologize now—dear, that