The Broad Highway

As this life is a Broad Highway along which we must all of us

pass whether we will or no; as it is a thoroughfare sometimes

very hard and cruel in the going, and beset by many hardships,

sometimes desolate and hatefully monotonous, so, also, must its

aspect, sooner or later, change for the better, and, the stony

track overpassed, the choking heat and dust left behind, we may

reach some green, refreshing haven shady with trees, and full of

the cool, sweet sound of running waters. Then who shall blame us

if we pause unduly in this grateful shade, and, lying upon our

backs a while, gaze up through the swaying green of trees to the

infinite blue beyond, ere we journey on once more, as soon we

must, to front whatsoever of good or evil lies waiting for us in

the hazy distance.

To just such a place am I now come, in this, my history; the

record of a period which I, afterwards, remembered as the

happiest I had ever known, the memory of which must remain with

me, green and fragrant everlastingly.

If, in the forthcoming pages, you shall find over-much of

Charmian, I would say, in the first place, that it is by her, and

upon her, that this narrative hangs; and, in the second place,

that in this part of my story I find my greatest pleasure; though

here, indeed, I am faced with a great difficulty, seeing that I

must depict, as faithfully as may be, that most difficult, that

most elusive of all created things, to wit--a woman.

Truly, I begin to fear lest my pen fail me altogether for the

very reason that it is of Charmian that I would tell, and of

Charmian I understand little more than nothing; for what rule has

ever been devised whereby a woman's mind may be accurately

gauged, and who of all those wise ones who have written hitherto

--poets, romancers, or historians--has ever fathomed the why and

wherefore of the Mind Feminine?

A fool indeed were I to attempt a thing impossible; I do but seek

to show her to you as I saw her, and to describe her in so far as

I learned to know her.

And yet, how may I begin? I might tell you that her nose was

neither arched nor straight, but perfect, none the less; I might

tell you of her brows, straight and low, of her eyes, long and

heavy-lashed, of her chin, firm and round and dimpled; and yet,

that would not be Charmian. For I could not paint you the scarlet

witchery of her mouth with its sudden, bewildering changes, nor

show you how sweetly the lower lip curved up to meet its mate.

I might tell you that to look into her eyes was like gazing down

into very deep water, but I could never give you their varying

beauty, nor the way she had with her lashes; nor can I ever

describe her rich, warm coloring, nor the lithe grace of her body.