There is the less need to apologize for now essaying to portray1 sundry2 scenes of which I was not an actual witness, in that the reader must by this time be heartily3 disposed to welcome an escape from my wearisome ego4, at any expense whatsoever5 of historical accuracy. Nor is it essential to set forth6 in this place the means by which I later came to be familiar with the events now to be described--means which will be apparent enough as the tale unfolds.
Dusk is gathering7 in the great room to the right and rear of the wide hall at Cairncross, and a black servant has just brought in candles, to be placed on the broad marble mantel, and on the oaken table in the centre of the room. The soft light mellows8 the shadows creeping over the white and gold panelling of the walls, and twinkles faintly in reflection back from the gilt9 threads in the heavy curtains; but it cannot dispel10 the gloom which, like an atmosphere, pervades11 the chamber12. Although it is June, and warm of mid-days, a fire burns on the hearth13, slowly and spiritlessly, as if the task of imparting cheerfulness to the room were beyond its strength.
Close by the fireplace, holding over it, in fact, his thin, wrinkled hands, sits an old man. At first glance, one would need to be told that it was Mr. Stewart, so heavily has Time laid his weight upon him in these last four years. There are few enough external suggestions now of the erect14, soldierly gentleman, swift of perception, authoritative15 of tone, the prince of courtiers in bearing, whom we used to know. The white hair is still politely queued, and the close-shaven cheeks glisten16 with the neat polish of the razor's edge; but, alas17! it is scarcely the same face. The luminous18 glow of the clear blue eyes has faded; the corners of the mouth, eloquently19 resolute20 no longer, depend in weakness. As he turns now to speak to his companion, there is a moment's relief: the voice is still calm and full, with perhaps just a thought of change toward the querulous in tone.
"I heard something like the sound of hoofs," he says; "doubtless it is Philip."
"Perhaps, father; but he is wont21 to be late, nowadays."
Here the change is in the voice, if little else be altered. It is Daisy who speaks, standing22 by his chair, with one hand upon his shoulder, the other hanging listlessly at her side. Like him she looks at the smouldering fire, preferring the silence of her own thoughts to empty efforts at talk. The formal, unsympathetic walls and hangings seem to take up the sad sound of her murmured words and return it to her, as if to emphasize her loneliness.
"The rooms are so large--so cold," she says again, after a long pause, in comment upon a little shiver which shakes the old man's bent24 shoulders. "If we heaped the fireplace to the top, it could not make them seem home-like."
The last words sink with a sigh into the silence of the great room, and no more are spoken. Both feel, perhaps, that if more were spoken there must be tears as well. Only the poor girl presses her hand upon his arm with a mute caress26, and draws closer to his side. There is nothing of novelty to them in this tacitly shared sense of gloom. This Thursday is as Monday was, as any day last year was, as seemingly all days to come will be.
The misery27 of this marriage has never been discussed between these two. The girl is too fond to impute28 blame, the old gentleman too proud to accept it; in both minds there is the silent consciousness that into this calamity29 they walked with eyes open, and must needs bear the results without repining. And more, though there is true sympathy between the two up to a certain point, even Daisy and Mr. Stewart have drifted apart beyond it. Both view Philip within the house with the same eyes; the Philip of the outer world--the little Valley-world of hot passions, strong ambitions, fierce intolerances, growing strife30 and rancor--they see differently. And this was the saddest thing of all.
Philip Cross entered abruptly31, his spurs clanking with a sharp ring at his boot-heels, and nodded with little enough graciousness of manner to the two before the fire.
"I have not ordered supper to be laid," said Daisy; "your coming was so uncertain. Shall I ring for it now?"
"I have eaten at the Hall," said the young man, unlocking an escritoire at the farther end of the room as he spoke25, and taking from it some papers. He presently advanced toward the fire, holding these in his hand. He walked steadily32 enough, but there was the evil flush upon his temples and neck--a deep suffusion33 of color, against which his flaxen, powdered hair showed almost white--which both knew too well.
"Who is at the Hall?" asked Mr. Stewart.
"There were good men there to-day--and a woman, too, who topped them all in spirit and worth. We call the Indians an inferior race, but, by God! they at least have not lost the trick of breeding women who do not whine--who would rather show us blood than tears!"
Thus young Mr. Cross spoke, with a sulky inference in his tone, as he held up his papers to the candle, and scanned the writings by its light.
"Ah," Mr. Stewart made answer, dissembling what pique34 he might have felt, and putting real interest into his words. "Is Molly Brant, then, come down from the Castle? What does she at the Hall? I thought Lady Johnson would have none of her."
"Yes, she is at the Hall, or was when I left. She was sorely needed, too, to put something like resolution into the chicken-hearts there. Things will move now--nay35, are moving! As for Lady Johnson, she is too dutiful and wise a woman to have any wishes that are not her husband's. I would to God there were others half so obedient and loyal as Polly Watts36!"
Again there was the obvious double meaning in his sullen37 tone. A swift glance flashed back and forth between Mr. Stewart and the pale-faced young wife, and again Mr. Stewart avoided the subject at which Cross hinted. Instead he turned his chair toward the young man, and said:
"Things are moving, you say. What is new?"
"Why, this is new," answered Cross, lowering the papers for the moment, and looking down upon his questioner: "blood runs now at last instead of milk in the veins38 of the king's men. We will know where we stand. We will master and punish disloyalty; we will brook40 not another syllable41 of rebellion!"
"Yes, it has been let to run overlong," said Mr. Stewart. "Often enough, since Sir William died, have I wished that I were a score of years younger. Perhaps I might have served in unravelling42 this unhappy tangle43 of misunderstandings. The new fingers that are picking at the knot are honest enough, but they have small cunning."
"That as you will; but there is to be no more fumbling44 at the knot. We will cut it now at a blow--cut it clean and sharp with the tomahawk!"
An almost splendid animation45 glowed in the young man's eyes as he spoke, and for the nonce lit up the dogged hardness of his face. So might the stolid46 purple visage of some ancestral Cross have become illumined, over his heavy beef and tubs of ale, at the stray thought of spearing a boar at bay, or roasting ducats out of a Jew. The thick rank blood of centuries of gluttonous47, hunting, marauding progenitors48, men whose sum of delights lay in working the violent death of some creature--wild beast or human, it mattered little which--warmed in the veins of the young man now, at the prospect49 of slaughter50. The varnish51 of civilization melted from his surface; one saw in him only the historic fierce, blood-letting islander, true son of the men who for thirty years murdered one another by tens of thousands all over England, nominally52 for a York or a Lancaster, but truly from the utter wantonness of the butcher's instinct, the while we Dutch were discovering oil-painting and perfecting the noble craft of printing with types.
"Yes!" he repeated, with a stormy smile. "We will cut the knot with the tomahawk!"
The quicker wit of the young woman first scented53 his meaning.
"You are going to bring down the savages54?" she asked, with dilated55 eyes, and in her emotion forgetting that it was not her recent habit to interrogate56 her husband.
He vouchsafed57 her no answer, but made a pretence58 of again being engrossed59 with his papers.
After a moment or two of silence the old gentleman rose to his feet, walked over to Philip, and put his hand on the young man's arm.
"I will take my leave now," he said, in a low voice; "Eli is here waiting for me, and the evenings grow cold."
"Nay, do not hasten your going, Mr. Stewart," said Philip, with a perfunctory return to the usages of politeness. "You are ever welcome here."
"Yes, I know," replied Mr. Stewart, not in a tone of complete conviction. "But old bones are best couched at home."
There was another pause, the old gentleman still resting his hand affectionately, almost deprecatingly, on the other's sleeve.
"I would speak plainly to you before I go, Philip," he said, at last. "I pray you, listen to the honest advice of an old man, who speaks to you, God knows, from the very fulness of his heart. I mislike this adventure at which you hint. It has an evil source of inspiration. It is a gloomy day for us here, and for the Colony, and for the cause of order, when the counsels of common-sense and civilization are tossed aside, and the words of that red she-devil regarded instead. No good will come out of it--no good, believe me. Be warned in time! I doubt you were born when I first came into this Valley. I have known it for decades, almost, where you have known it for years. I have watched its settlements grow, its fields push steadily, season after season, upon the heels of the forest. I understand its people as you cannot possibly do. Much there is that I do not like. Many things I would change, as you would change them. But those err23 cruelly, criminally, who would work this change by the use of the savages."
"All other means have been tried, short of crawling on our bellies60 to these Dutch hinds61!" muttered the young man.
"You do not know what the coming of the tribes in hostility62 means," continued Mr. Stewart, with increasing solemnity of earnestness. "You were too young to realize what little you saw, as a child here in the Valley, of Bellêtre's raid. Sir John and Guy know scarcely more of it than you. Twenty years, almost, have passed since the Valley last heard the Mohawk yell rise through the night-air above the rifle's crack, and woke in terror to see the sky red with the blaze of roof-trees. All over the world men shudder63 still at hearing of the things done then. Will you be a willing party to bringing these horrors again upon us? Think what it is that you would do!"
"It is not I alone," Philip replied, in sullen defence. "I but cast my lot on the king's side, as you yourself do. Only you are not called upon to fit your action to your words; I am! Besides," he went on, sulkily, "I have already chosen not to go with Guy and the Butlers. Doubtless they deem me a coward for my resolution. That ought to please you."
"Go with them? Where are they going?"
"Up the river; perhaps only to the Upper Castle; perhaps to Oswego; perhaps to Montreal--at all events, to get the tribes well in hand, and hold them ready to strike. That is," he added, as an afterthought, "if it really becomes necessary to strike at all. It may not come to that, you know."
"And this flight is actually resolved upon?"
"If you call it a flight, yes! The Indian superintendent64 goes to see the Indians; some friends go with him--that is all. What more natural? They have in truth started by this time, well on their way. I was sorely pressed to accompany them; for hours Walter Butler urged all the pleas at his command to shake my will."
"Of course you could not go; that would have been madness!" said Mr. Stewart, testily65. Both men looked toward the young wife, with instinctive66 concert of thought.
She sat by the fire, with her fair head bent forward in meditation67; if she had heard the conversation, or knew now that they were thinking of her, she signified it not by glance or gesture.
"No, of course," said Philip, with a faltering68 disclaimer. "Yet they urged me strenuously69. Even now they are to wait two days at Thompson's on Cosby's Manor70, for my final word--they choosing still to regard my coming as possible."
"Fools!" broke in the old gentleman. "It is not enough to force war upon their neighbors, but they must strive to destroy what little happiness I have remaining to me!" His tone softened71 to one of sadness, and again he glanced toward Daisy. "Alas, Philip," he said, mournfully, "that it should be so little!"
The young man shifted his attitude impatiently, and began scanning his papers once more. A moment later he remarked, from behind the manuscripts:
"It is not we who begin this trouble. These committees of the rebel scoundrels have been active for months, all about us. Lying accounts to our prejudice are ceaselessly sent down to the committees at Schenectady and Albany, and from these towns comes back constant encouragement to disorder72 and bad blood. If they will have it so, are we to blame? You yourself spoke often to me, formerly73, of the dangerous opinions held by the Dutch here, and the Palatines up the river, and, worst of all, by those canting Scotch-Irish Presbyterians over Cherry Valley way. Yet now that we must meet this thing, you draw back, and would tie my hands as well. But doubtless you are unaware74 of the lengths to which the Albany conspirators75 are pushing their schemes."
"I am not without information," replied Mr. Stewart, perhaps in his desire to repudiate76 the imputation77 of ignorance revealing things which upon reflection he would have reserved. "I have letters from my boy Douw regularly, and of late he has told me much of the doings of the Albany committee."
Young Cross put his papers down from before his face with a swift gesture. Whether he had laid a trap for Mr. Stewart or not, is doubtful; we who knew him best have ever differed on that point. But it is certain that his manner and tone had changed utterly78 in the instant before he spoke.
"Yes!" he said, with a hard, sharp inflection; "it is known that you hold regular correspondence with this peculiarly offensive young sneak79 and spy. Let me tell you frankly80, Mr. Stewart, that this thing is not liked overmuch. These are times when men, even old men, must choose their side and stand to it. People who talk in one camp and write to the other subject themselves to uncomfortable suspicions. Men are beginning to recall that you were in arms against His Majesty81 King George the Second, and to hint that perhaps you are not precisely82 overflowing83 with loyalty39 to his grandson, though you give him lip-service readily enough. As you were pleased to say to me a few minutes ago, 'Be warned in time,' Mr. Stewart!"
The old gentleman had started back as if struck by a whip at the first haughty84 word's inflection. Gradually, as the impertinent sentences followed, he had drawn85 up his bent, slender frame until he stood now erect, his hooked nose in the air, and his blue eyes flashing. Only the shrunken lips quivered with the weakness of years, as he looked tall young Mr. Cross full in the face.
"Death of my life!" he stammered86. "You are saying these things to me! It is Tony Cross's son whom I listen to--and her son--the young man to whom I gave my soul's treasure!"
Then he stopped, and while his eyes still glowed fiery87 wrath88 the trembling lips became piteous in their inability to form words. For a full minute the fine old soldier stood, squared and quivering with indignation. What he would have said, had he spoken, we can only guess. But no utterance89 came. He half-raised his hand to his head with a startled movement; then, seeming to recover himself, walked over to where Daisy sat, ceremoniously stooped to kiss her forehead, and, with a painfully obvious effort to keep his gait from tottering90, moved proudly out of the room.
When Philip, who had dumbly watched the effect of his words, turned about, he found himself confronted with a woman whom he scarcely knew to be his wife, so deadly pale and drawn was her face, so novel and startling were the glance and gesture with which she reared herself before him.
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1
portray
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| v.描写，描述；画(人物、景象等) | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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mellows
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| （使）成熟( mellow的第三人称单数 )； 使色彩更加柔和，使酒更加醇香 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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glisten
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| vi.（光洁或湿润表面等）闪闪发光，闪闪发亮 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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err
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| vi.犯错误，出差错 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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impute
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| v.归咎于 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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suffusion
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| n.充满 | |
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pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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watts
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| （电力计量单位）瓦，瓦特( watt的名词复数 ) | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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42
unravelling
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| 解开，拆散，散开( unravel的现在分词 )； 阐明； 澄清； 弄清楚 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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gluttonous
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| adj.贪吃的，贪婪的 | |
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progenitors
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| n.祖先( progenitor的名词复数 )；先驱；前辈；原本 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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varnish
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| n.清漆；v.上清漆；粉饰 | |
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52
nominally
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| 在名义上，表面地； 应名儿 | |
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53
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
interrogate
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| vt.讯问，审问，盘问 | |
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vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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61
hinds
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| n.（常指动物腿）后面的( hind的名词复数 )；在后的；（通常与can或could连用）唠叨不停；滔滔不绝 | |
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hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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64
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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65
testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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66
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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68
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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69
strenuously
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| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
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70
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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71
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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72
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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73
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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75
conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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76
repudiate
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| v.拒绝，拒付，拒绝履行 | |
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77
imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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78
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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79
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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80
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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81
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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82
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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83
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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84
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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85
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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86
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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88
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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89
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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90
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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