<h2> Chapter 14 </h2><br/>
<br/>
<p>From that day I was frequently allowed to enter the Mother's
Room, but, as I had feared, these visits failed to bring me
into any closer relationship with the lady of the house. She
had indeed forgotten my offense: I was one of her children,
sharing equally with the others in her impartial affection,
and privileged to sit at her feet to relate to her the
incidents of the day, or describe all I had seen, and
sometimes to touch her thin white hand with my lips. But the
distance separating us was not forgotten. At the two first
interviews she had taught me, once for all, that it was for
me to love, honor, and serve her, and that anything beyond
that—any attempt to win her confidence, to enter into
her thoughts, or make her understand my feelings and
aspirations—was regarded as pure presumption on my
part. The result was that I was less happy than I had been
before knowing her: my naturally buoyant and hopeful temper
became tinged with melancholy, and that vision of exquisite
bliss in the future, which had floated before me, luring me
on, now began to look pale, and to seem further and further
away.</p>
<p>After my walk with Yoletta—if it can be called a
walk—I began to look out for the rainbow lilies, and
soon discovered that everywhere under the grass they were
beginning to sprout from the soil. At first I found them in
the moist valley of the river, but very soon they were
equally abundant on the higher lands, and even on barren,
stony places, where they appeared latest. I felt very curious
about these flowers, of which Yoletta had spoken so
enthusiastically, and watched the slow growth of the long,
slender buds from day to day with considerable impatience. At
length, in a moist hollow of the forest, I was delighted to
find the full-blown flower. In shape it resembled a tulip,
but was more open, and the color a most vivid orange yellow;
it had a slight delicate perfume, and was very pretty, with a
peculiar waxy gloss on the thick petals, still, I was rather
disappointed, since the name of "rainbow lily," and Yoletta's
words, had led me to expect a many-colored flower of
surpassing beauty.</p>
<p>I plucked the lily carefully, and was taking it home to
present it to her, when all at once I remembered that only on
one occasion had I seen flowers in her hand, and in the hands
of the others, and that was when they were burying their
dead. They never wore a flower, nor had I ever seen one in
the house, not even in that room where Chastel was kept a
prisoner by her malady, and where her greatest delight was to
have nature in all its beauty and fragrance brought to her in
the conversation of her children. The only flowers in the
house were in their illuminations, and those wrought in metal
and carved in wood, and the immortal, stony flowers of many
brilliant hues in their mosaics. I began to fear that there
was some superstition which made it seem wrong to them to
gather flowers, except for funeral ceremonies, and afraid of
offending from want of thought, I dropped the lily on the
ground, and said nothing about it to any one.</p>
<p>Then, before any more open lilies were found, an unexpected
sorrow came to me. After changing my dress on returning from
the fields one afternoon, I was taken to the hall of
judgment, and at once jumped to the conclusion that I had
again unwittingly fallen into disgrace; but on arriving at
that uncomfortable apartment I perceived that this was not
the case. Looking round at the assembled company I missed
Yoletta, and my heart sank in me, and I even wished that my
first impression had proved correct. On the great stone
table, before which the father was seated, lay an open folio,
the leaf displayed being only illuminated at the top and
inner margin; the colored part at the top I noticed was torn,
the rent extending down to about the middle of the page.</p>
<p>Presently the dear girl appeared, with tearful eyes and
flushed face, and advancing hurriedly to the father, she
stood before him with downcast eyes.</p>
<p>"My daughter, tell me how and why you did this?" he demanded,
pointing to the open volume.</p>
<p>"Oh, father, look at this," she returned, half-sobbing, and
touching the lower end of the colored margin with her finger.
"Do you see how badly it is colored? And I had spent three
days in altering and retouching it, and still it displeased
me. Then, in sudden anger, I pushed the book from me, and
seeing it slipping from the stand I caught the leaf to
prevent it from falling, and it was torn by the weight of the
book. Oh, dear father, will you forgive me?"</p>
<p>"Forgive you, my daughter? Do you not know how it grieves my
heart to punish you; but how can this offense to the house be
forgiven, which must stand in evidence against us from
generation to generation? For we cease to be, but the house
remains; and the writing we leave on it, whether it be good
or evil, that too remains for ever. An unkind word is an evil
thing, an unkind deed a worse, but when these are repented
they may be forgiven and forgotten. But an injury done to the
house cannot be forgotten, for it is the flaw in the stone
that keeps its place, the crude, inharmonious color which
cannot be washed out with water. Consider, my daughter, in
the long life of the house, how many unborn men will turn the
leaves of this book, and coming to this leaf will be offended
at so grievous a disfigurement! If we of this generation were
destined to live for ever, then it might be written on this
page for a punishment and warning:" Yoletta tore it in her
anger. "But we must pass away and be nothing to succeeding
generations, and it would not be right that Yoletta's name
should be remembered for the wrong she did to the house, and
all she did for its good forgotten."</p>
<p>A painful silence ensued, then, lifting her tear-stained
face, she said: "Oh father, what must my punishment be?"</p>
<p>"Dear child, it will be a light one, for we consider your
youth and impulsive nature, and also that the wrong you did
was partly the result of accident. For thirty days you must
live apart from us, subsisting on bread and water, and
holding intercourse with one person only, who will assist you
with your work and provide you with all things necessary."</p>
<p>This seemed to me a harsh, even a cruel punishment for so
trivial an offense, or accident, rather; but she was not
perhaps of the same mind, for she kissed his hand, as if in
gratitude for his leniency.</p>
<p>"Tell me, child," he said, putting his hand on her head, and
regarding her with misty eyes, "who shall attend you in your
seclusion?"</p>
<p>"Edra," she murmured; and the other, coming forward, took her
by the hand and led her away.</p>
<p>I gazed eagerly after her as she retired, hungering for one
look from her dear eyes before that long separation; but they
were filled with tears and bent on the floor, and in a moment
she was gone from sight.</p>
<p>The succeeding days were to me dreary beyond description. For
the first time I became fully conscious of the strength of a
passion which had now become a consuming fire in my breast,
and could only end in utter misery—perhaps in
destruction—or else in a degree of happiness no mortal
had ever tasted before. I went about listlessly, like one on
whom some heavy calamity has fallen: all interest in my work
was lost; my food seemed tasteless; study and conversation
had become a weariness; even in those divine concerts, which
fitly brought each tranquil day to its close, there was no
charm now, since Yoletta's voice, which love had taught my
dull ear to distinguish no longer had any part in it. I was
not allowed to enter the Mother's Room of an evening now, and
the exclusion extended also to the others, Edra only
excepted; for at this hour, when it was customary for the
family to gather in the music-room, Yoletta was taken from
her lonely chamber to be with her mother. This was told me,
and I also elicited, by means of some roundabout questioning,
that it was always in the mother's power to have any per-son
undergoing punishment taken to her, she being, as it were,
above the law. She could even pardon a delinquent and set him
free if she felt so minded, although in this case she had not
chosen to exercise her prerogative, probably because her
"sufferings had not clouded her understanding." They were
treating her very hardly—father and mother both—I
thought in my bitterness.</p>
<p>The gradual opening of the rainbow lilies served only to
remind me every hour and every minute of that bright young
spirit thus harshly deprived of the pleasure she had so
eagerly anticipated. She, above them all, rejoiced in the
beauty of this visible world, regarding nature in some of its
moods and aspects with a feeling almost bordering on
adoration; but, alas! she alone was shut out from this glory
which God had spread over the earth for the delight of all
his children.</p>
<p>Now I knew why these autumnal flowers were called rainbow
lilies, and remembered how Yoletta had told me that they gave
a beauty to the earth which could not be described or
imagined. The flowers were all undoubtedly of one species,
having the same shape and perfume, although varying greatly
in size, according to the nature of the soil on which they
grew. But in different situations they varied in color, one
color blending with, or passing by degrees into another,
wherever the soil altered its character. Along the valleys,
where they first began to bloom, and in all moist situations,
the hue was yellow, varying, according to the amount of
moisture in different places, from pale primrose to deep
orange, this passing again into vivid scarlet and reds of
many shades. On the plains the reds prevailed, changing into
various purples on hills and mountain slopes; but high on the
mountains the color was blue; and this also had many
gradations, from the lower deep cornflower blue to a delicate
azure on the summits, resembling that of the forget-me-not
and hairbell.</p>
<p>The weather proved singularly favorable to those who spent
their time in admiring the lilies, and this now seemed to be
almost the only occupation of the inmates, excepting, of
course, sick Chastel, imprisoned Yoletta, and myself—I
being too forlorn to admire anything. Calm, bright days
without a cloud succeeded each other, as if the very elements
held the lilies sacred and ventured not to cast any shadow
over their mystic splendor. Each morning one of the men would
go out some distance from the house and blow on a horn, which
could be heard distinctly two miles away; and presently a
number of horses, in couples and troops, would come galloping
in, after which they would remain all the morning grazing and
gamboling about the house. These horses were now in constant
requisition, all the members of the family, male and female,
spending several hours every day in careering over the
surrounding country, seemingly without any particular object.
The contagion did not affect me, however, for, although I had
always been a bold rider (in my own country), and excessively
fond of horseback exercise, their fashion of riding without
bridles, and on diminutive straw saddles, seemed to me
neither safe nor pleasant.</p>
<p>One morning after breakfasting, I took my ax, and was
proceeding slowly, immersed in thought, to the forest, when
hearing a slight swishing sound of hoofs on the grass, I
turned and beheld the venerable father, mounted on his
charger, and rushing away towards the hills at an insanely
break-neck pace. His long garment was gathered tightly round
his spare form, his feet drawn up and his head bent far
forward, while the wind of his speed divided his beard, which
flew out in two long streamers behind. All at once he caught
sight of me, and, touching the animal's neck, swept
gracefully round in narrowing circles, each circle bringing
him nearer, until he came to a stand at my side; then his
horse began rubbing his nose on my hand, its breath feeling
like fire on my skin.</p>
<p>"Smith," said he, with a grave smile, "if you cannot be happy
unless you are laboring in the forest with your ax you must
proceed with your wood-cutting; but I confess it surprises me
as much to see you going to work on a day like this, as it
would to see you walking inverted on your hands, and dangling
your heels in the air."</p>
<p>"Why?" said I, surprised at this speech.</p>
<p>"If you do not know I must tell you. At night we sleep; in
the morning we bathe; we eat when we are hungry, converse
when we feel inclined, and on most days labor a certain
number of hours. But more than these things, which have a
certain amount of pleasure in them, are the precious moments
when nature reveals herself to us in all her beauty. We give
ourselves wholly to her then, and she refreshes us; the
splendor fades, but the wealth it brings to the soul remains
to gladden us. That must be a dull spirit that cannot suspend
its toil when the sun is setting in glory, or the violet
rainbow appears on the cloud. Every day brings us special
moments to gladden us, just as we have in the house every day
our time of melody and recreation. But this supreme and more
enduring glory of nature comes only once every year; and
while it lasts, all labor, except that which is pressing and
necessary, is unseemly, and an offense to the Father of the
world." He paused, but I did not know what to say in reply,
and presently he resumed: "My son, there are horses waiting
for you, and unless you are more unlike us in mind than I
ever imagined, you will now take one and ride to the hills,
where, owing to the absence of forests, the earth can now be
seen at its best."</p>
<p>I was about to thank him and turn back, but the thought of
Yoletta, to whom each heavy day now seemed a year, oppressed
by heart, and I continued standing motionless, with downcast
eyes, wishing, yet fearing, to speak.</p>
<p>"Why is your mind troubled, my son?" he said kindly.</p>
<p>"Father," I answered, that word which I now ventured to use
for the first time trembling from my lips, "the beauty of the
earth is very much to me, but I cannot help remembering that
to Yoletta it is even more, and the thought takes away all my
pleasure. The flowers will fade, and she will not see them."</p>
<p>"My son, I am glad to hear these words," he answered,
somewhat to my surprise, for I had greatly feared that I had
adopted too bold a course. "For I see now," he continued,
"that this seeming indifference, which gave me some pain,
does not proceed from an incapacity on your part to feel as
we do, but from a tender love and compassion—that most
precious of all our emotions, which will serve to draw you
closer to us. I have also thought much of Yoletta during
these beautiful days, grieving for her, and this morning I
have allowed her to go out into the hills, so that during
this day, at least, she will be able to share in our
pleasure."</p>
<p>Scarcely waiting for another word to be spoken, I flew back
to the house, anxious enough for a ride now. The little straw
saddle seemed now as comfortable as a couch, nor was the
bridle missed; for, nerved with that intense desire to find
and speak to my love, I could have ridden securely on the
slippery back of a giraffe, charging over rough ground with a
pack of lions at its heels. Away I went at a speed never
perhaps attained by any winner of the Derby, which made the
shining hairs of my horse's mane whistle in the still air;
down valleys, up hills, flying like a bird over roaring
burns, rocks, and thorny bushes, never pausing until I was
far away among those hills where that strange accident had
befallen me, and from which I had recovered to find the earth
so changed. I then ascended a great green hill, the top of
which must have been over a thousand feet above the
surrounding country. When I had at length reached this
elevation, which I did walking and climbing, my steed
docilely scrambling up after me, the richness and novelty of
the unimaginable and indescribable scene which opened before
me affected me in a strange way, smiting my heart with a pain
intense and unfamiliar. For the first time I experienced
within myself that miraculous power the mind possesses of
reproducing instantaneously, and without perspective, the
events, feelings, and thoughts of long years—an
experience which sometimes comes to a person suddenly
confronted with death, and in other moments of supreme
agitation. A thousand memories and a thousand thoughts were
stirring in me: I was conscious now, as I had not been
before, of the past and the present, and these two existed in
my mind, yet separated by a great gulf of time—a blank
and a nothingness which yet oppressed me with its horrible
vastness. How aimless and solitary, how awful my position
seemed! It was like that of one beneath whose feet the world
suddenly crumbles into ashes and dust, and is scattered
throughout the illimitable void, while he survives, blown to
some far planet whose strange aspect, however beautiful,
fills him with an undefinable terror. And I knew, and the
knowledge only intensified my pain, that my agitation, the
strugglings of my soul to recover that lost life, were like
the vain wing-beats of some woodland bird, blown away a
thousand miles over the sea, into which it must at last sink
down and perish.</p>
<p>Such a mental state cannot endure for more than a few
moments, and passing away, it left me weary and despondent.
With dull, joyless eyes I continued gazing for upwards of an
hour on the prospect beneath me; for I had now given up all
hopes of seeing Yoletta, not yet having encountered a single
person since starting for my ride. All about me the summit
was dotted with small lilies of a delicate blue, but at a
little distance the sober green of the grass became absorbed,
as it were, in the brighter flower-tints, and the neighboring
summits all appeared of a pure cerulean hue. Lower down this
passed into the purples of the slopes and the reds of the
plains, while the valleys, fringed with scarlet, were like
rivers of crocus-colored fire. Distance, and the light,
autumnal haze, had a subduing and harmonizing effect on the
sea of brilliant color, and further away on the immense
horizon it all faded into the soft universal blue. Over this
flowery paradise my eyes wandered restlessly, for my heart
was restless in me, and had lost the power of pleasure. With
a slight bitterness I recalled some of the words the father
had spoken to me that morning. It was all very well, I
thought, for this venerable graybeard to talk about
refreshing the soul with the sight of all this beauty; but he
seemed to lose sight of the important fact that there was a
considerable difference in our respective ages, that the
raging hunger of the heart, which he had doubtless
experienced at one time of his life, was, like bodily hunger,
not to be appeased with splendid sunsets, rainbows and
rainbow lilies, however beautiful they might seem to the eye.</p>
<p>Presently, on a second and lower summit of the long mountain
I had ascended, I caught sight of a person on horseback,
standing motionless as a figure of stone. At that distance
the horse looked no bigger than a greyhound, yet so
marvelously transparent was the mountain air, that I
distinctly recognized Yoletta in the rider. I started up, and
sprang joyfully onto my own horse, and waving my hand to
attract her attention, galloped recklessly down the slope;
but when I reached the opposing summit she was no longer
there, nor anywhere in sight, and it was as if the earth had
opened and swallowed her.</p>
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