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Updated: May 31, 2025
And if, after all, everybody disdained the bounteous affair, why it could go to Tommy Low's mother, who would not by any means disdain it. Every now and then she turned an anxious ear for any movement in the cold distance, but there was only silence. Suddenly Vivia started.
So Vivia, too, sits down at Beltran's feet that day, and busies herself with those pink plumes of the spoonbill's wings which he brought home to her, so that, when he wakes, he sees her standing there like the spirit of his dream, her dark eyes shining out from under the floating shadowy hair, and the rosy wings trembling on her little white shoulders.
"Where have you been, Ray?" said Vivia, approaching, with her glowing cheeks, her sparkling eyes. "And what are you doing now?" "Trying camp-life again," replied Ray, looking up at her in a fixed admiration. "I've had a letter from Beltran." "Oh! where is he?" cried Ray. "Beltran is in camp." "And where?" "Perhaps on the Rio Grande, perhaps on the Potomac."
She and Vivia had gathered the ripened apples themselves, and now goodly garlands of them hung from the attic-rafters, above the dried beans whose blossoms had so sweetened June, and above last year's corn-bins.
"And, Vivia dear, you will go, then?" exclaimed little Jane, with tearful eyes. "You will certainly go?" "Yes," said Vivia, looking out and far away, "I shall go to do that" "Which no one can ever do for you," said Ray, with a shudder. "Which some woman will praise Heaven for." "God bless you, Vivia!" cried little Jane. "He has already blessed me," said Vivia, softly.
Christmas day dawned clear and keen; the sky was full of its bluest sparkle, and, wheresoever it mounted and stretched over snowy fields, seemed to hold nothing but gladness. Vivia had wrapped herself in her cloak, and walked two miles to an early church-service, so if by any accord of worship she might put her heart in tune with the universe.
Vivia still sat there and questioned the wide atmosphere, that, brooding palpitant between her and the lake, still withheld the desolating secret that horizon must have whispered to horizon throughout the aching distance. "Oh that the bells in all these silent spires Would clash their clangor on the sleeping air, Ring their wild music out with throbbing choirs, Ring peace in everywhere!"
She stayed there, sad and still, no longer any sparkle or flush about her, but with a mildness so unlike the Vivia of June that it had in it something infinitely touching.
she sang, and trembled as she sang. But there the burden broke, and rising, her eyes shaded by her hand, Vivia gazed down the lonely road where a stage-coach rolled along in a cloud of dust.
Instantly two hands have clasped about his wrists, two hands that hold him in a vice, and two eyes are gazing down into his own and paralyzing him. Still the grasp, the gaze, continue; as Vivia watches that look, a great blue glow from those eyes seems to cloud her own brain.
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