the quest of the golden girl-第11部分

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　easiest　road。　　We　avoided　dull　sandy　levels　and　hard　rocky　places；　with　the　same　instinctive　dexterity。　　We　gloomed　together　through　dark　dingles；　and　came　out　on　sunny　reaches　with　the　same　gilded　magnificence。　　There　are　days　when　every　stream　is　Pactolus　and　every　man　is　Croesus；　and　thanks　to　that　first　and　greatest　of　all　alchemists；　the　sun；　the　morning　I　write　of　was　a　morning　when　to　breathe　was　gold　and　to　see　was　silver。　　And　to　breathe　and　see　was　all　one　asked。　　It　was　the　first　of　May；　and　the　world　shone　like　a　great　illuminated　letter　with　which　that　father　of　artists；　the　sun；　was　making　splendid　his　missal　of　the　seasons。

The　month　of　May　was　ever　his　tour　de　force。　　Each　year　he　has　strained　and　stimulated　his　art　to　surpass　himself；　seeking　ever　a　finer　and　a　brighter　gold；　a　more　celestial　azure。　　Never　had　his　gold　been　so　golden；　his　azure　so　dazzlingly　clear　and　deep　as　on　this　particular　May　morning；　while　his　fancy　simply　ran　riot　in　the　marginal　decorations　of　woodland　and　spinney；　quaint　embroidered　flowers　and　copses　full　of　exquisitely　painted　and　wonderfully　trained　birds　of　song。　　It　was　indeed　a　day　for　nature　to　be　proud　of。　　So　seductive　was　the　sunshine　that　even　the　shy　trout　leapt　at　noonday；　eager　apparently　to　change　his　silver　for　gold。


O　silver　fish　in　the　silver　stream；　O　golden　fish　in　the　golden　gleam；　Tell　me；　tell　me；　tell　me　true；　　　　　　　　　　　　Shall　I　find　my　girl　if　I　follow　you？


I　suppose　the　reader　never　makes　nonsense　rhymes　from　sheer　gladness　of　heart；nursery　doggerel　to　keep　time　with　the　rippling　of　the　stream；　or　the　dancing　of　the　sun；　or　the　beating　of　his　heart；　the　gibberish　of　delight。　　As　I　hummed　this　nonsense；　a　trout　at　least　three　pounds　in　weight；　whom　you　would　know　again　anywhere；　leapt　a　yard　out　of　the　water；　and　I　took　it；　in　my　absurd；　sun…soaked　heart；　as　a　good　omen；　as　though　he　had　said；　〃Follow　and　see。〃

I　had　no　will　but　to　follow；　no　desire　but　to　see。　　All　the　same；　though　I　affected　to　take　him　seriously；　I　had　little　suspicion　how　much　that　trout　was　to　mean　to　me；yes；　within　the　course　of　a　very　few　moments。　Indeed；　I　had　hardly　strolled　on　for　another　quarter　of　a　mile；　when　I　was　suddenly　aroused　from　wool…gathering　by　his　loud　cries　for　help。　　Looking　up；　I　saw　him　flashing　desperately　in　mid…air；　a　lovely　foot　of　writhing　silver。　　In　another　second　he　was　swung　through　the　sunlight；　and　laid　out　breathing　hard　in　a　death…bed　of　buttercups　and　daisies。

There　was　not　a　moment　to　be　lost；　if　I　were　to　repay　the　debt　of　gratitude　which　in　a　flash　I　had　seen　that　I　owed　him。

〃Madam；〃　I　said；　breathlessly　springing　forward；　as　a　heavenly　being　was　coldly　tearing　the　hook　from　the　gills　of　the　unlucky　trout；　〃though　I　am　a　stranger；　will　you　do　me　a　great　favour？　　It　is　a　matter　of　life　or　death　。　。　。〃

She　looked　up　at　me　with　some　surprise；　but　with　a　fine　fearless　glance；　and　almost　immediately　said；　〃Certainly；　what　can　I　do？〃

〃Spare　the　life　of　that　trout〃

〃It　is　a　singular　request；〃　she　replied；　〃and　one；〃　she　smiled；　〃self…sacrificing　indeed　for　an　angler　to　grant；　for　he　weighs　at　least　three　pounds。　　However；　since　he　seems　a　friend　of　yours；　here　goes〃　　And　with　the　gladdest；　most　grateful　sound　in　the　world；　the　happy　smack　of　a　fish　back　home　again　in　the　water；　after　an　appalling　three　minutes　spent　on　land；　that　prophetic　trout　was　once　more　an　active　unit　in　God's　populous　universe。

〃Now　that's　good　of　you；〃　I　said；　with　thankful　eyes；　〃and　shows　a　kind　heart。〃

〃And　kind　hearts；　they　say；　are　more　than　coronets；〃　she　replied　merrily；　indulging　in　that　derisive　quotation　which　seems　to　be　the　final　reward　of　the　greatest　poets。

For　a　moment　there　was　a　silence；　during　which　I　confess　to　wondering　what　I　should　say　next。　　However；　she　supplied　my　place。

〃But　of　course；〃　she　said；　〃you　owe　it　to　me；　after　this　touching　display　of　humanitarianism；　to　entertain　me　with　your　reason　for　interposing　between　me　and　my　just　trout。　　Was　it　one　of　those　wonderful　talking　fishes　out　of　the　Arabian　Nights；　or　are　you　merely　an　angler　yourself；　and　did　you　begrudge　such　a　record　catch　to　a　girl？〃

〃I　see；〃　I　replied；　〃that　you　will　understand　me。　　That　trout　was；　so　to　speak；　out　of　the　Arabian　Nights。　　Only　five　minutes　ago　it　was　a　May…day　madness　of　mine　to　think　that　he　leaped　out　of　the　water　and　gave　me　a　highly　important　message。　　So　I　begged　his　life　from　a　mere　fancy。　　It　was　just　a　whim；　which　I　trust　you　will　excuse。〃

〃A　whim！　　So　you　are　a　follower　of　the　great　god　Whim；〃　she　replied；　with　somewhat　of　an　eager　interest　in　her　voice。　　〃How　nice　it　is　to　meet　a　fellow…worshipper！〃

〃Do　women　ever　have　whims？〃　I　respectfully　asked。

〃I　don't　know　about　other　women；〃　she　replied。　　〃Indeed；　I'm　afraid　I'm　unnatural　enough　to　take　no　interest　in　them　at　all。　But；　as　for　me；well；　what　nonsense！　　Tell　me　some　more　about　the　trout。　　What　was　the　wonderful　message　he　seemed　to　give　you？

Or　perhaps　I　oughtn't　to　ask？〃

〃I'm　afraid；〃　I　said；　〃it　would　hardly　translate　into　anything　approaching　common…sense。〃

〃Did　I　ask　for　common…sense？〃　she　retorted。　　It　was　true；　she　hadn't。　　But　then　I　couldn't；　with　any　respect　for　her；　tell　her　the　trout's　message；　or；　with　any　respect　for　myself；　recall　those　atrocious　doggerel　lines。　　In　my　dilemma；　I　caught　sight　of　a　pretty　book　lying　near　her　fishing…basket；　and　diverted　the　talk　by　venturing　to　ask　its　name。

〃　'T　is　of　Aucassin　and　Nicolete；〃　she　replied；　with　something　in　her　voice　which　seemed　to　imply　that　the　tender　old　story　would　be　familiar　to　me。　　My　memory　served　me　for　once　gallantly。

I　answered　by　humming　half　to　myself　the　lines　from　the　prologue；


〃Sweet　the　song；　the　story　sweet；　There　is　no　man　hearkens　it；　No　man　living　'neath　the　sun；　　　　　　　So　outwearied；　so　foredone；　　　　　　　Sick　and　woful；　worn　and　sad；　　　　　　But　is　healed；　but　is　glad　　　　　　'T　is　so　sweet。〃


〃How　charming　of　you　to　know　it！〃　she　laughed。　　〃You　are　the　only　man　in　this　county；　or　the　next；　or　the　next；　who　knows　it；　I'm　sure。〃

〃Are　the　women　of　the　county　more　familiar　with　it？〃　I　replied。

〃But　tell　me　about　the　trout；〃　she　once　more　persisted。

At　the　same　moment；　however；　there　came　from　a　little　distance　the　musical　tinkle　of　a　bell　that　sounded　like　silver；　a　fairy…like　and　almost　startling　sound。　　

〃It　is　my　lunch；〃　she　explained。　　〃I'm　a　worshipper　of　the　great　god　Whim　too；　and　close　by　here　I　have　a　little　summer…house；　full　of　books　and　fishing…lines　and　other　childishness；　where；　when　my　whim　is　to　be　lonely；　I　come　and　play　at　solitude。　　If　you'll　be　content　with　rustic　fare；　and　promise　to　be　amusing；　it　would　be　very　pleasant　if　you'd　join　me。〃

O！　most　prophetic　and　agreeable　trout！　Was　it　not　like　the　old　fairy　tales；　the　you…help…us　and　we'll…help…you　of　Psyche　and　the　ants？

It　had　been　the　idlest　whim　for　me　to　save　the　life　of　that　poor　trout。　　There　was　no　real　pity　in　it。　　For　two　pins；　I　had　been　just　as　ready　to　cut　it　open；　to　see　if　by　chance　it　carried　in　its　belly　the　golden　ring　wherewith　I　was　to　wed　the　Golden

However；　such　is　the　gratitude　of　nature　to　man；　that　this　little　thoughtless　act　of　kindness　had　brought　me　face　to　face　with　was　it　the　Golden　Girl？



CHAPTER　IV


'T　IS　OF　NICOLETE　AND　HER　BOWER　IN　THE　WILDWOOD

But　I　have　all　this　time　left　the　reader　without　any　formal　descriptive　introduction　to　this　whimsical　young　lady　angler。　　Not　without　reason；　for；　like　any　really　charming　personality；　she　was　very　difficult　to　picture。　　Paint　a　woman！　as　our　young　friend　Alastor　said。

Faces　that　fall　into　types　you　can　describe；　or　at　all　events　label　in　such　a　way　that　the　reader　can　identify　them；　but　those　faces　that　consist　mainly　of　spiritual　effect　and　physical　bloom；　that　change　with　everything　they　look　upon；　the　light　in　which　ebbs　and　flows　with　every　changing　tide　of　the　soul；these　you　have　to　love　to　know；　and　to　worship　to　portray。

Now　the　face　of　Nicolete；　as　I　learnt　in　time　to　call　her；　was　just　soul　and　bloom；　perhaps　mainly　bloom。　　I　never　noticed　whether　she　had　any　other　features　except　her　eyes。　　I　suppose　she　had　a　nose；　a　little　lace　pocket…handkerchief　I　have　by　me　at　the　moment　is　almost　too　small　to　be　evidence　on　that　important　point。

As　I　walked　by　her　side　that　May　morning；　I　was　only　conscious　of　her　voice　and　her　exquisite　girlhood；　for　though　she　talked　with　the　APLOMB　of　a　woman　of　the　world；　a　passionate　candour　and　simple　ardour　in　her　manner　would　have　betrayed　her；　had　her　face　not　plainly　declared　her　the　incarnation　of　twenty。　　But　if　she　were　twenty　years　young；　she　was　equally　twenty　years　OLD；　and　twenty　years　old；　in　some　respects；　is　the　greatest　age　attained　to　by　man　or　woman。　　In　this　she　rather　differed　from　Alastor；　of　whom　otherwise　she　was　the　female　counterpart。　　Her　talk；　and　something　rather　in　her　voice　than　her　talk；　soon　revealed　her　as　a　curious　mixture　of　youth　and　age；　of　dreamer　and　desillusionee。

One　soon　realised　that　she　was　too　young；　was　hoping　too　much　from　life；　to　spend　one's　days　with。　　Yet　she　had　just　sufficiently　that　touch　of　languor　which　puts　one　at　one's　ease；　though　indeed　it　was　rather　the　languor　of　waiting　for　what　was　going　to　happen　than　the　weariness　of　experience　gone　by。　　She　was　weary；　not　because　of　the　past；　but　because　the　fairy　theatre　of　life　still　kept　its　curtain　down；　and　forced　her　to　play　over　and　over　again　the　impatient　overture　of　her　dreams。

I　have　no　doubt　that　it　was　largely　nervousness　that　kept　the　mysterious　playwright　so　long　fumbling　behind　the　scenes；　for　it　was　obvious　that　it　would　be　no　ordinary　sort　of　play；　no　every…day　domestic　drama；　that　would　satisfy　this　young　lady；　to　whom　life　had　given；　by　way　of　prologue；　the　inestimable　blessing　of　wealth；　and　the　privilege；　as　a　matter　of　course；　of　choosing　as　she　would　among　the　grooms　（that　is；　the　bride…grooms）　of　the　romantic　British　aristocracy。

She　had　made　youth's　common　mistake　of　beginning　life　with　books；　which　can　only　be　used　without　danger　by　those　who　are　in　a　position　to　test　their　statements。　　Youth　naturally　believes　everything　that　is　told　it；　especially　in　books。

Now；　books　are　simply　professional　liars　about　li