第186章

Die Frauen sind ein liebliches Geheimniss， nur verh黮lt， nicht verschlossen.--NOVALIS.-Moralische Ansichten.

Women are a lovely mystery--veiled， however， not shut up.

Her twilights were more clear than our mid-day；She dreamt devoutlier than most used to pray.

DR. DONNE.

Perhaps the greatest benefit that resulted to Hugh from being thus made a pilgrim and a stranger in the earth， was， that Nature herself saw him， and took him in， Hitherto， as I have already said， Hugh's acquaintance with Nature had been chiefly a second-hand one--he knew friends of hers. Nature in poetry--not in the form of Thomsonian or Cowperian descriptions， good as they are， but closely interwoven with and expository of human thought and feeling--had long been dear to him. In this form he had believed that he knew her so well， as to be able to reproduce the lineaments of her beloved face. But now she herself appeared to him--the grand， pure， tender mother， ancient in years， yet ever young； appeared to him， not in the mirror of a man's words， but bending over him from the fathomless bosom of the sky， from the outspread arms of the forest-trees， from the silent judgment of the everlasting hills. She spoke to him from the depths of air， from the winds that harp upon the boughs， and trumpet upon the great caverns， and from the streams that sing as they go to be lost in rest. She would have shone upon him out of the eyes of her infants， the flowers， but they had their faces turned to her breast now， hiding from the pale blue eyes and the freezing breath of old Winter， who was looking for them with his face bent close to their refuge. And he felt that she had a power to heal and to instruct；yea， that she was a power of life， and could speak to the heart and conscience mighty words about God and Truth and Love.

For he did not forsake his dead home in haste. He lingered over it， and roamed about its neighbourhood. Regarding all about him with quiet， almost passive spirit， he was astonished to find how his eyes opened to see nature in the mass. Before， he had beheld only portions and beauties. When or how the change passed upon him he could not tell. But he no longer looked for a pretty eyebrow or a lovely lip on the face of nature： the soul of nature looked out upon him from the harmony of all， guiding him unsought to the discovery of a thousand separate delights； while from the expanded vision new meanings flashed upon him every day. He beheld in the great All the expression of the thoughts and feelings of the maker of the heavens and the earth and the sea and the fountains of water. The powers of the world to come， that is， the world of unseen truth and ideal reality， were upon him in the presence of the world that now is.

For the first time in his life， he felt at home with nature； and while he could moan with the wintry wind， he no longer sighed in the wintry sunshine， that foretold， like the far-off flutter of a herald's banner， the approach of victorious lady-spring.

With the sorrow and loneliness of loss within him， and Nature around him seeming to sigh for a fuller expression of the thought that throbbed within her， it is no wonder that the form of Margaret， the gathering of the thousand forms of nature into one intensity and harmony of loveliness， should rise again upon the world of his imagination， to set no more. Father and mother were gone. Margaret remained behind. Nature lay around him like a shining disk， that needed a visible centre of intensest light--a shield of silver， that needed but a diamond boss： Margaret alone could be that centre--that diamond light-giver； for she alone， of all the women he knew， seemed so to drink of the sun-rays of God， as to radiate them forth， for very fulness， upon the clouded world.

She had dawned on him like a sweet crescent moon， hanging far-off in a cold and low horizon： now， lifting his eyes， he saw that same moon nearly at the full， and high overhead， yet leaning down towards him through the deep blue air， that overflowed with her calm triumph of light. He knew that he loved her now. He knew that every place he went through， caught a glimmer of romance the moment he thought of her； that every most trifling event that happened to himself， looked like a piece of a story-book the moment he thought of telling it to her. But the growth of these feelings had been gradual--so slow and gradual， that when he recognized them， it seemed to him as if he had felt them from the first. The fact was， that as soon as he began to be capable of loving Margaret， he had begun to love her. He had never been able to understand her till he was driven into the desert. But now that Nature revealed herself to him full of Life， yea， of the Life of Life， namely， of God himself， it was natural that he should honour and love that 'lady of her own'； that he should recognize Margaret as greater than himself， as nearer to the heart of Nature--yea， of God the father of all. She had been one with Nature from childhood， and when he began to be one with nature too， he must become one with her.

And now， in absence， he began to study the character of her whom， in presence， he had thought he knew perfectly. He soon found that it was a Manoa， a golden city in a land of Paradise--too good to be believed in， except by him who was blessed with the beholding of it.

He knew now that she had always understood what he was only just waking to recognize. And he felt that the scholar had been very patient with the stupidity of the master， and had drawn from his lessons a nourishment of which he had known nothing himself.