Love's Pilgrimage eBook

But after all, will it help me to beseech you?  The thing I honor in you is your desire to be right—­and I know that you will act toward me as your sense of right prompts you.  You will act toward me as you feel you must do, to be true.  Yes, be true to yourself, please; I am happy to trust in yourself so.  If you believe that I will mar your life, I do not wish to go I with you.  I do not know why, but I feel that something has come to me to prevent my despair from returning; I shall take care of my soul—­there must be something for me in this life.  I have a feeling that perhaps you will think I am writing this last mute acceptance of your will, without knowing what I am doing.  But I know that I shall struggle without you, I shall not die.

And I wish that you would do one thing—­see me as soon as you can; let it be early in the morning, and it shall be decided on that day whether I am to marry you or not.  I shall leave you, not to see you again—­or knowing that I am to be your wife.  I am sick unto death of fuming and sighing, tears and fears.

What will you do, Thyrsis?  I cannot write any more.

I unfold the letter again. What, in the name of God, are you going to do?

BOOK IV

THE VICTIM APPROACHES

A silence had fallen upon them.  She sat watching where the light of the sun flickered among the birches; and he had the book in his hand, and was turning the pages idly.  He read—­

   “I know these slopes; who knows them if not I?”

And she smiled, and quoted in return—­

   “Here cam’st thou in thy jocund youthful time,
    Here was thine height of strength, thy golden prime! 
    And still the haunt beloved a virtue yields.”

Section 1.  It was early one November afternoon, in his cabin in the forest, that Thyrsis wrote the last of his minstrel’s songs.  He had not been able to tell when it would come to him, so he had made no preparations; but when the last word was on the paper, he sprang to his feet, and strode through the snow-clad forest to the nearest farm-house.  The farmer came with a wagon, and Thyrsis bundled all his belongings into his trunk, and took the night-train for the city.

He came like a young god, radiant and clothed in glory.  All the creatures of his dreams were awake within him, all his demons and his muses; he had but to call them and they answered.  There was a sound of trumpets and harps in his soul all day; he was like a man half walking, half running, in the midst of a great storm of wind.

He had fought the good fight, and he had conquered.  The world was at his feet, and he had no longer any fear of it.  The jangling of the street-cars was music to him, the roar and rush of the city stirred his pulses—­this was the life he had come to shape to his will!