Anne's House of Dreams - L. M. Montgomery [25]
Captain Jim took a great fancy to Gog and Magog, who were presiding over the destinies of the hearth in the little house with as much dignity and aplomb as they had done at Patty’s Place.
‘Aren’t they the cutest little cusses?’ he would say delightedly; and he bade them greeting and farewell as gravely and invariably as he did his host and hostess. Captain Jim was not going to offend household deities by any lack of reverence and ceremony.
‘You’ve made this little house just about perfect,’ he told Anne. ‘It never was so nice before. Mistress Selwyn had your taste and she did wonders; but folks in those days didn’t have the pretty little curtains and pictures and nicknacks you have. As for Elizabeth, she lived in the past. You’ve kinder brought the future into it, so to speak. I’d be real happy even if we couldn’t talk at all, when I come here – jest to sit and look at you and your pictures and your flowers would be enough of a treat. It’s beautiful – beautiful.’
Captain Jim was a passionate worshipper of beauty. Every lovely thing heard or seen gave him a deep, subtle, inner joy that irradiated his life. He was quite keenly aware of his own lack of outward comeliness and lamented it.
‘Folks say I’m good,’ he remarked whimsically upon one occasion, ‘but I sometimes wish the Lord had made me only half as good and put the rest of it into looks. But there, I reckon He knew what He was about, as a good Captain should. Some of us have to be homely, or the purty ones – like Mistress Blythe here – wouldn’t show up so well.’
One evening Anne and Gilbert finally walked down to the Four Winds light. The day had begun sombrely in grey cloud and mist, but it had ended in a pomp of scarlet and gold. Over the western hills beyond the harbour were amber deeps and crystalline shallows, with the fire of sunset below.
The north was a mackerel sky of little, fiery golden clouds. The red light flamed on the white sails of a vessel gliding down the channel, bound to a southern port in a land of palms. Beyond her, it smote upon and incarnadined the shining white grassless faces of the sand-dunes. To the right, it fell on the old house among the willows up the brook, and gave it for a fleeting space casements more splendid than those of an old cathedral. They glowed out of its quiet and greyness like the throbbing blood-red thoughts of a vivid soul imprisoned in a dull husk of environment.
‘That old house up the brook always seems so lonely,’ said Anne. ‘I never see visitors there. Of course, its lane opens on the upper road – but I don’t think there’s much coming and going. It seems odd we’ve never met the Moores yet, when they live within fifteen minutes’ walk of us. I may have seen them in church, of course, but if so I didn’t know them. I’m sorry they are so unsociable, when they are our only near neighbours.’
‘Evidently they don’t belong to the race that knows Joseph,’ laughed Gilbert. ‘Have you ever found out who that girl was whom you thought so beautiful?’
‘No. Somehow I have never remembered to ask about her. But I’ve never seen her anywhere, so I suppose she must have been a stranger. Oh, the sun has just vanished – and there’s the light.’
As the dusk deepened, the great beacon cut swathes of light through it, sweeping in a circle over the fields and the harbour, the sand-bar and the gulf.
‘I feel as if it might catch me and whisk me leagues out to sea,’ said Anne, as one drenched them with radiance; and she felt rather relieved when they got so near the Point that they were inside the range of those dazzling, recurrent flashes.
As they turned into the little lane that led across the fields to the Point they met a man coming out of it – a man of such extraordinary appearance that for a moment they both frankly stared. He was a decidedly fine-looking person – tall, broad-shouldered, well featured, with a Roman nose and frank grey eyes; he was dressed in a prosperous farmer’s Sunday best; in so far he