  Once again there rang through the forest a strain of rich and gleeful music. Once more the moon rose, a bright, unbroken circle, to her station in the sky. A soft, rosy light lingered everywhere; flowers of rarer beauty than ever, bloomed in profusion; the murmur of the spring was sweeter than ever, and as Eva awoke, and looked at Aster, she saw that neither spot nor stain defaced his rich dress, but that it was as unsullied as her own. And as she looked upon her young companion, now as tall as herself, and with something in his bearing Eva had never been conscious of before,—something noble and princelike,—she heard a voice from the spring murmuring, in soft, melodious tones: “’Tis the hour! Aster’s flower Here shall bloom!” And oh! what a sweet smile curved Aster’s lips as he heard these words! Yet, when Eva would have spoken, he laid his hand gently upon her mouth, as though to command silence; and the child, feeling that their positions, somehow, were strangely reversed,—that it was now Aster’s turn to command and hers to obey,—was silent. The two stood, looking into the dear water of the spring. Then Aster seated himself on the moss, in silence, and beckoned to Eva to do the same, and without hesitating she followed his example. They sat, not a word passing between them, and on each fair face was a different expression. On Aster’s was all joyous expectation, all smiles and happiness; on Eva’s there was a serious look, almost amounting to mournfulness. It pained her, more than she was willing to confess, to think that, after all she had borne and done for Aster, he should welcome their separation so gladly; for, however much they might wish to remain together, the finding of the flower would be the signal for their parting; and the toil and trouble through, which Eva had passed for Aster’s sake had only the more endeared him to her. He seemed already far, far away from her, and Eva knew she was no longer necessary to him. And as Eva, sitting by Aster’s side, thought of all this, somehow the place where they sat seemed to grow more familiar; another and a well-known sound mingled with the other sounds of the forest,—the voice of falling waters. And then, as Aster’s face grew brighter and more expectant, and his starlike eyes sparkled, Eva felt a sudden dimness gather in her own, and first one large tear and then another rolled down her cheeks, and dropped, as she bent over it, into the waters of the little spring. But she was wholly unprepared for what followed. Aster sprang to his feet, and the words, “Look, Eva, look!” passed his lips. And as Eva, her hand now clasped in his, looked, the spring bubbled and foamed, and then, its waters parting, up rose from its bosom the Golden Fountain, with its clouds of glistening, golden spray; its rainbow sparkles of colored light; its musical falls and its dancing elves, as she had long since seen it. Nor was this all. For, even as the children gazed, there appeared in the calm water at the foot of the fountain a bud, folded in soft, green leaves; and, by slow degrees, as Eva looked, the bud rose from the encircling foliage, and its stem grew higher and higher, and then, slowly and gracefully, its pure white petals opened, like a fair and stainless ivory cup enfolding a golden torch, and it breathed forth the fragrance of many violets: and, as Eva looked, she knew that the search was over, and the pure white lily before them was Aster’s flower, won at last. Then Eva’s blue eyes shone with joy, and her fair cheeks flushed, and she turned to Aster: “Aster, be glad; for your flower is won, and all that remains is for you to pluck it.” “No,” he said, slowly; “that is not for me to do. I can only receive it as your gift, Eva; I am not worthy to gather it,—that can only be done by your hand.” And Eva, bending over the water, plucked the beautiful lily, with its long stem, and laid it in Aster’s hand. And, as his fingers clasped the gift, a swell of music thrilled through the air, and Eva saw, hovering over them, the two fair, white forms which had come before, and which she at once knew had, under the shapes of the toad and the Toad-Woman, led and advised her, and she pointed them out to Aster. And, as Aster raised his eyes to them, they beckoned to him, and smiled upon Eva; and she knew that all was over, and the moment had come for them to part. Still, not a word passed between them. Eva’s eyes were fixed upon Aster,—his were raised to the bright hovering forms. Then, holding the lily in his hand, he turned to Eva and pressed his lips to her brow. “That was the kiss with which you woke me, Eva, given back to you,—this is because I love you.” He kissed her lips, and as he did so a bright crimson light flashed suddenly around them, dazzling Eva’s blue eyes, so that she involuntarily closed them, and then the sweet breath of violets floated around them, and all was still. Eva sat up, and rubbed her eyes. Tall, wavy grass grew all around her, violets, dandelions, and buttercups bloomed through it, and her lap was full of the pretty field-flowers. Bees were buzzing and collecting honey,—butterflies floated lazily about on their black-and-golden wings,—the brown beetle, with his long black feelers, swung on the tall grass-stalk,—the crickets chirped,—the snail had put out his horns,—the old mill-pond glistened and shone in the long, slanting rays of the setting sun,—there was her father’s house,—everything was just as it used to be, except the green toad, and that was a very important exception. And while Eva was rubbing her eyes, and trying to think where she could be, and what all this meant, she heard the tea-bell ring, and as that was very easy to understand, she got up and went to the house. She peeped through the window before she went in, and everything seemed right in there. For her mother was just folding up her work,—the baby was crowing and playing with his rattle in the cradle,—strawberries and cream and sponge-cake were on the table; and when Eva came quietly in, and slipped into her seat by her father, he put his hand on her curls, and asked her if she had had a nice time down by the pond the whole afternoon. “Yes, papa,” was all Eva could say, and then she paid very strict attention to her saucer of ripe strawberries covered with cream. Presently her mother said: “My little girl had a nice long nap this afternoon. I called her once, and she only raised her head for a minute, and then down it went again.” Papa laughed. “Strawberries and cream waked her up at last.” And Eva never said a word. But to this day she never sees a shooting-star without wondering what has been lost in the moon,—she never sees a toad without thinking it may be a fairy in disguise, and every lily recalls Aster and his flower. For Eva believes in fairies. Why should she not? She knows all about them. She has never told any one,—not even papa, though he never laughs at her; but if Eva should live to be an old woman—and I hope she may!—she will never forget her Adventures in Shadow-Land. |
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