a first family of tasajara-第22部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



slim　gauntleted　hands　lightly　swaying　the　reins；　she　looked　like

Queen　Guinevere　in　the　forest。　　Not　that　he　particularly　fancied

Queen　Guinevere；　or　that　he　at　all　imagined　himself　Launcelot；　but

it　was　quite　in　keeping　with　the　suggestion…haunted　brain　of　John

Milton　Harcourt；　whom　the　astute　reader　has　of　course　long　since

recognized。



Preceding　her　through　the　soft　carpeted　vault　with　a　woodman's

instinct；for　there　was　apparently　no　trail　to　be　seen；the　soft

inner　twilight　began　to　give　way　to　the　outer　stronger　day；　and

presently　she　was　startled　to　see　the　clear　blue　of　the　sky　before

her　on　apparently　the　same　level　as　the　brown　pine…tessellated

floor　she　was　treading。　　Not　only　did　this　show　her　that　she　was

crossing　a　ridge　of　the　upland；　but　a　few　moments　later　she　had

passed　beyond　the　woods　to　a　golden　hillside　that　sloped　towards　a

leafy；　sheltered；　and　exquisitely…proportioned　valley。　　A　tiny　but

picturesque　tower；　and　a　few　straggling　roofs　and　gables；　the

flashing　of　a　crystal　stream　through　the　leaves；　and　a　narrow　white

ribbon　of　road　winding　behind　it　indicated　the　hostelry　they　were

seeking。　　So　peaceful　and　unfrequented　it　looked；　nestling　between

the　hills；　that　it　seemed　as　if　they　had　discovered　it。



With　his　hand　at　times　upon　the　bridle；　at　others　merely　caressing

her　mustang's　neck；　he　led　the　way；　there　were　a　few　breathless

places　where　the　crown　of　his　straw　hat　appeared　between　her

horse's　reins；　and　again　when　she　seemed　almost　slipping　over　on

his　shoulder；　but　they　were　passed　with　such　frank　fearlessness　and

invincible　youthful　confidence　on　the　part　of　her　escort　that　she

felt　no　timidity。　　There　were　moments　when　a　bit　of　the　charmed

landscape　unfolding　before　them　overpowered　them　both；　and　they

halted　to　gaze；sometimes　without　a　word；　or　only　a　significant

gesture　of　sympathy　and　attention。　　At　one　of　those　artistic

manifestations　Mrs。　Ashwood　laid　her　slim　gloved　fingers　lightly

but　unwittingly　on　John　Milton's　arm；　and　withdrew　them；　however；

with　a　quick　girlish　apology　and　a　foolish　color　which　annoyed　her

more　than　the　appearance　of　familiarity。　　But　they　were　now　getting

well　down　into　the　valley；　the　court　of　the　little　hotel　was

already　opening　before　them；　their　unconventional　relations　in　the

idyllic　world　above　had　changed；　the　new　one　required　some　delicacy

of　handling；　and　she　had　an　idea　that　even　the　simplicity　of　the

young　stranger　might　be　confusing。



〃I　must　ask　you　to　continue　to　act　as　my　escort；〃　she　said；

laughingly。　　〃I　am　Mrs。　Ashwood　of　Philadelphia；　visiting　San

Francisco　with　my　sister　and　brother；　who　are；　I　am　afraid；　even

now　hopelessly　waiting　luncheon　for　me　at　San　Mateo。　　But　as　there

seems　to　be　no　prospect　of　my　joining　them　in　time；　I　hope　you　will

be　able　to　give　me　the　pleasure　of　your　company；　with　whatever　they

may　give　us　here　in　the　way　of　refreshment。〃



〃I　shall　be　very　happy；〃　returned　John　Milton　with　unmistakable

candor；　〃but　perhaps　some　of　your　friends　will　be　arriving　in　quest

of　you；　if　they　are　not　already　here。〃



〃Then　they　will　join　us　or　wait；〃　said　Mrs。　Ashwood　incisively；

with　her　first　exhibition　of　the　imperiousness　of　a　rich　and　pretty

woman。　　Perhaps　she　was　a　little　annoyed　that　her　elaborate

introduction　of　herself　had　produced　no　reciprocal　disclosure　by

her　companion。　　〃Will　you　please　send　the　landlord　to　me？〃　she

added。



John　Milton　disappeared　in　the　hotel　as　she　cantered　to　the　porch。

In　another　moment　she　was　giving　the　landlord　her　orders　with　the

easy　confidence　of　one　who　knew　herself　only　as　an　always　welcome

and　highly　privileged　guest；　which　was　not　without　its　effect。

〃And；〃　she　added　carelessly；　〃when　everything　is　ready　you　will

please　tellMr。〃



〃Harcourt；〃　suggested　the　landlord　promptly。



Mrs。　Ashwood's　perfectly　trained　face　gave　not　the　slightest　sign

of　the　surprise　that　had　overtaken　her。　　〃Of　course；Mr。　Harcourt。〃



〃You　know　he's　the　son　of　the　millionaire；〃　continued　the　landlord；

not　at　all　unwilling　to　display　the　importance　of　the　habitues　of

Crystal　Spring；　〃though　they've　quarreled　and　don't　get　on

together。〃



〃I　know；〃　said　the　lady　languidly；　〃and；　if　any　one　comes　here　for

ME；　ask　them　to　wait　in　the　parlor　until　I　come。〃



Then；　submitting　herself　and　her　dusty　habit　to　the　awkward

ministration　of　the　Irish　chambermaid；　she　was　quite　thrilled　with

a　delightful　curiosity。　　She　vaguely　remembered　that　she　had　heard

something　of　the　Harcourt　family　discord；but　that　was　the

divorced　daughter　surely！　　And　this　young　man　was　Harcourt's　son；

and　they　had　quarreled！　　A　quarrel　with　a　frank；　open；　ingenuous

fellow　like　thata　mere　boycould　only　be　the　father's　fault。

Luckily　she　had　never　mentioned　the　name　of　Harcourt！　　She　would

not　now；　he　need　not　know　that　it　was　his　father　who　had　originated

the　party；　why　should　she　make　him　uncomfortable　for　the　few

moments　they　were　together？



There　was　nothing　of　this　in　her　face　as　she　descended　and　joined

him。　　He　thought　that　face　handsome；　well…bred；　and　refined。　　But

this　breeding　and　refinement　seemed　to　himin　his　ignorance　of　the

world；　possiblyas　only　a　graceful　concealment　of　a　self　of　which

he　knew　nothing；　and　he　was　not　surprised　to　find　that　her　pretty

gray　eyes；　now　no　longer　hidden　by　her　veil；　really　told　him　no

more　than　her　lips。　　He　was　a　little　afraid　of　her；　and　now　that

she　had　lost　her　naive　enthusiasm　he　was　conscious　of　a　vague

remorsefulness　for　his　interrupted　work　in　the　forest。　　What　was　he

doing　here？　　He　who　had　avoided　the　cruel；　selfish　world　of　wealth

and　pleasure；a　world　that　this　woman　represented；the　world　that

had　stood　apart　from　him　in　the　one　dream　of　his　lifeand　had　let

Loo　die！　　His　quickly　responsive　face　darkened。



〃I　am　afraid　I　really　interrupted　you　up　there；〃　she　said　gently；

looking　in　his　face　with　an　expression　of　unfeigned　concern；　〃you

were　at　work　of　some　kind；　I　know；　and　I　have　very　selfishly

thought　only　of　myself。　　But　the　whole　scene　was　so　new　to　me；　and

I　so　rarely　meet　any　one　who　sees　things　as　I　do；　that　I　know　you

will　forgive　me。〃　　She　bent　her　eyes　upon　him　with　a　certain　soft

timidity。　　〃You　are　an　artist？〃



〃I　am　afraid　not；〃　he　said；　coloring　and　smiling　faintly；　〃I　don't

think　I　could　draw　a　straight　line。〃



〃Don't　try　to；　they're　not　pretty；　and　the　mere　ability　to　draw

them　straight　or　curved　doesn't　make　an　artist。　　But　you　are　a

LOVER　of　nature；　I　know；　and　from　what　I　have　heard　you　say　I

believe　you　can　do　what　lovers　cannot　do；make　others　feel　as　they

do；and　that　is　what　I　call　being　an　artist。　　You　write？　　You　are

a　poet？〃



〃Oh　dear；　no；〃　he　said　with　a　smile；　half　of　relief　and　half　of

naive　superiority；　〃I'm　a　prose　writeron　a　daily　newspaper。〃



To　his　surprise　she　was　not　disconcerted；　rather　a　look　of

animation　lit　up　her　face　as　she　said　brightly；　〃Oh；　then；　you　can

of　course　satisfy　my　curiosity　about　something。　　You　know　the　road

from　San　Francisco　to　the　Cliff　House。　　Except　for　the　view　of　the

sea…lions　when　one　gets　there　it's　stupid；　my　brother　says　it's

like　all　the　San　Francisco　excursions；a　dusty　drive　with　a　julep

at　the　end　of　it。　　Well；　one　day　we　were　coming　back　from　a　drive

there；　and　when　we　were　beginning　to　wind　along　the　brow　of　that

dreadful　staring　Lone　Mountain　Cemetery；　I　said　I　would　get　out　and

walk；　and　avoid　the　obtrusive　glitter　of　those　tombstones　rising

before　me　all　the　way。　　I　pushed　open　a　little　gate　and　passed　in。

Once　among　these　funereal　shrubs　and　cold　statuesque　lilies

everything　was　changed；　I　saw　the　staring　tombstones　no　longer；

for；　like　them；　I　seemed　to　be　always　facing　the　sea。　　The　road　had

vanished；　everything　had　vanished　but　the　endless　waste　of　ocean

below　me；　and　the　last　slope　of　rock　and　sand。　　It　seemed　to　be　the

fittest　place　for　a　cemetery；this　end　of　the　crumbling　earth；

this　beginning　of　the　eternal　sea。　　There！　don't　think　that　idea　my

own；　or　that　I　thought　of　it　then。　　No；I　read　it　all　afterwards；

and　that's　why　I'm　telling　you　this。〃



She　could　not　help　smiling　at　his　now　attentive　face；　and　went　on：

〃Some　days　afterwards　I　got　hold　of　a　newspaper　four　or　six　months

old；　and　there　was　a　description　of　all　that　I　thought　I　had　seen

and　felt；only　far　more　beautiful　and　touching；　as　you　shall　see；

for　I　cut　it　out　of　the　paper　and　have　kept　it。　　It　seemed　to　me

that　it　must　be　some　personal　experience；as　if　the　writer　had

followed　some　dear　friend　there；although　it　was　with　the

unostentation　and　indefiniteness　of　true　and　delicate　feeling。　　It

impressed　me　so　much　that　I　went　back　there　twice　or　thrice；　and

always　seemed　to　move　to　the　rhythm　of　that　beautiful　funeral

marchand　I　am　afraid；　being　a　woman；　that　I　wandered　around　among

the　graves　as　though　I　could　find　out　who　it　was　that　had　been　sung

so　sweetly；　and　if　it　were　man　or　woman。　　I've　got　it　here；〃　she

said；　taking　a　dainty　ivory　porte…monnaie　from　her　pocket　and

picking　out　with　two　slim　finger…tips　a　folded　slip　of　newspaper；

〃and　I　thought　that　maybe　you　might　recognize　the　style　of　the

writer；　and　perhaps　know　something　of　his　history。　　For　I　believe

he　has　one。　　There！　that　is　only　a　part　of　the　article；　of　course；

but　it　is　the　part　that　interested　me。　　Just　read　from　there；〃　she

pointed；　leaning　partly　over　his　shoulder　so　that　her　soft　breath

stirred　his　hair；　〃to　the　end；　it　isn't　long。〃



In　the　film　that　seemed　to　come　across　his　eyes；　suddenly　the　print

appeared　blurred　and　indistinct。　　But　he　knew　that　she　had　put　into

his　hand　something　he　had　written　after　the　death　of　his　wife；

something　spontaneous　and　impulsive；　when　her　loss　still　filled　his

days　and　nights　and　almost　unconsciously　swayed　his　pen。　　He

remembered　that　his　eyes　had　been　as　dim　when　he　wrote　itand　now

handed　to　him　by　this　smiling；　well…to…do　woman；　he　was　as　shocked

a