Good Lord, he must have more room. He must get out into the dawn—out where he could share these emotions which now surged in upon him with some virginal passion as big and fresh as the new-born day. He crossed to the window and looked out upon the dormant7 city. The morning light was just beginning to wash out the dark and to sketch8 in the outlines of buildings and the gray path of the road between them. He watched the new creation of a world. Around him lay a million souls ready to people it—ready to seize it and make it a part of themselves. In a few hours that dim street would be a bridge over which tens of thousands of people would pass to sorrow, to joy; to poverty, to riches; to hate, to love; to death, to life. That was a drama worth looking at. He must get out and rub shoulders with those who were playing their parts. He, too, must play his part in it.
He descended9 to the office and left instructions with the night clerk to insist upon a message from whoever might call him up. He would be back, he said, in an hour. He had not walked long before he found the city gently astir with life. Passing cars were soon well filled, traffic fretted10 the streets lately so quiet, while yawning pedestrians11 reminded him that there were still those who slept. At the end of thirty minutes more of brisk walking, the sky had melted through the entire gamut12 of colors, and finally settled into a blinding golden blue. A newsboy clicking out of space like a locust13, shouted "Extra!" Donaldson gave little heed to the cry until he heard the word "Riverside," and caught the blatant14 headlines, "Another robbery." With an interest growing out of Saul's connection with the case, he skimmed through the story.
Then he tossed his paper away and took his course back to the hotel, glad to forget that sordid15 bit of drama, in the movement of the crowd now forcing its way to work. But something was lacking in the spectacle this morning. The play of light and color he still saw, the vibrancy16 of it he still felt, the dramatic quality of it he still appreciated, but still with the consciousness that it lacked something—that it had gone a bit flat. He no longer felt that princely sense of superiority to it—as though it were a gorgeous pageant17 upon which he was a mere18 onlooker19. He felt now a harrying20 sense of responsibility towards it. It was as though they called him to join them. He quickened his pace. He must get back to the hotel and see if any message awaited him.
He caught his breath—he must get back to her. That was it. That was what the hurrying passers-by had called to him. Get back to her—what did the morning count until she became a part of it? It was because she had placed the red-blooded actuality of life before his eyes in contrast to the superficial picturesqueness21 of its expression as he had viewed it yesterday that the show had lost its vividness. She was making him see it again with eyes as they were at twenty. He recoiled22. That way lay danger. He must put himself on guard. But from that moment he had but one object in mind—to get back to her as soon as possible.
A telephone message waiting him from Chung reported that no trace could be found of the boy.
He jumped into a cab and went at once to the Arsdale house. Miss Arsdale herself came to the door, her eyes heavy from lack of sleep but her face lighting23 instantly at sight of him.
"You have news?" she exclaimed.
"No," he answered directly.
She was a woman with whom one might be direct.
"No news may be good news," he added. "They have n't been able to locate him in Chinatown. I don't think there is a nook there in which he could hide from those people."
"Then," she exclaimed, "he has gone to Cranton."
"Then," he answered deliberately24, "I will follow him there."
"No, I could n't allow you. It is two hours from town. You have already given generously of your time."
"Miss Arsdale," he said gently, "we of the inner woods must stand by each other. This week is a sort of vacation for me. I am quite free."
Yes, she was she he had seen through the tops of the whispering pines when he had thought it nothing but the blue sky; she was she who had brushed close to him when he had thought it only the rustling25 of dry leaves. Now that she stood beside him, his heart cried out, "Why did you not come before? Why did you not come a week ago?" If she could have stood for one brief second in that dingy26 office which had slowly closed in upon him until it squeezed the soul out of him, then he would have forced back the walls again. If only once she had walked by his side through the crowds, then he would have caught their cry in time. The world had narrowed down to a pin prick27, but if only she had come a scant28 two days ago, she would have bent29 his eye to this tiny aperture30 as to the small end of a telescope as she did now and made him see big enough to grasp the meaning of life.
Well, the past was dead—even with her eyes magnifying the days to eternities; the past was dead, even with the delicate poise31 of her lips ready to utter prophecies. He must not forget that, and in remembering this he must choose this opportunity for exiling himself from her for the day. This mission would consume some six hours. It would take him out of the city where he would be able to think more clearly. This was well.
"Have you any idea how the trains run?" he inquired.
"I looked them up. There is one at 9.32."
"I can make it easily," he answered, glancing at the big clock. He had left his own watch at the hotel. He refused to carry so grim a reminder32. "I suppose I 'll have no trouble in finding the place."
"You would ask for the Arsdale bungalow33," she answered. "Every one there knows it. But the chances are so slight—it is only that his father went out there once. After several days Jacques, Marie's boy and father's servant, found him hidden in the unused cottage. I thought that possibly Ben might remember this."
"I should say that it was more than probable that he would go there if his object is to keep in hiding."
"It is three miles from the station and quite secluded34."
"That will make a good walk for me."
He rose to leave at once. But she, too, rose.
"If you think it best to go," she said firmly, "then I must go, too. I could not remain here passive another day. And, besides, if he is there, it is better that I should be with you. I know how to handle him. He is always gentle with me."
Donaldson caught his breath. This was an emergency that he had not foreseen. Manifestly, she could not go. She must not go. It would be to take her back to the blue sky beneath which she was born. It would be to give her a setting that would intensify35 every wild thought he was trying so hard to throttle36.
"No," he exclaimed. "You had better permit me to go alone."
"I should not think of it," she answered decisively.
"But he may not be there. He might come back here while you were gone."
"He will be quite safe if he returns here."
"But—"
"I will see Marie and come down at once."
She hurried upstairs.
"Marie," she asked, "is it quite safe to leave you here alone until afternoon?"
"Safe? Why not?"
"I was going out to the bungalow."
The old servant looked up shrewdly.
"Is anything the matter?"
"Nothing that you can help," the girl answered.
She had not yet told her of Ben's last disappearance37. There was no use in worrying those who could give no help.
"Bien. Go on. It will do you both good."
"The telephone is at your bed—you can summon Dr. Abbot if you need anything."
"Bien."
"And perhaps while I am gone Jacques may come for a visit."
"Perhaps. Run along. The air will do you good."
The girl kissed the wrinkled forehead and hurried to her own room. There, before the mirror, she was forced to ask herself the question which she had tried to escape: "Why are you going?"
"Because if Ben were there and sick, he might need me!"
"Why are you going?"
The woman in the mirror was relentless38.
"Because the house here is so full of shadows."
"Why are you going?"
"Because the sun will give me strength."
"Why are you going?"
"Because," she flushed guiltily,—"because it will be very much pleasanter than remaining here alone."
Whereupon the woman in the mirror ceased her questioning.
And, in the meanwhile, the relentless old clock was goading39 Donaldson. Its methodical, interminable ticking sounded like the approaching footsteps of a jailer towards the death cell.
"Don't you know better than to risk yourself out there one whole spring-time day with her?" it demanded.
"But with a full realization40 of the danger I can guard myself," he answered uneasily.
"Can you guard her?"
"That is unpardonable presumption," replied Donaldson heatedly.
"The mellow41 sun and the birthing flowers are ever presumptuous," answered the wise old clock.
"But a man may fight them off."
"I have ticked here many years and seen many things that man has prided himself upon having the power to do and yet has failed of doing."
"I cannot help myself. I should offend her unwarrantedly if I made further objection."
"Then you are not all-powerful."
"I have power over myself. And you are insulting her."
"Tick-tock. Tick-tock," answered the clock, jeeringly42.
And Donaldson was saved from his impulse to kick the inanimate thing into splinters by the sound of her footsteps.
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收听单词发音
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1
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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4
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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5
intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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7
dormant
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| adj.暂停活动的；休眠的；潜伏的 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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9
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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10
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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12
gamut
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| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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13
locust
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| n.蝗虫；洋槐，刺槐 | |
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14
blatant
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| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
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15
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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16
vibrancy
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| n.活跃；震动 | |
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pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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18
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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onlooker
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| n.旁观者，观众 | |
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20
harrying
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| v.使苦恼( harry的现在分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
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21
picturesqueness
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22
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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23
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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26
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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28
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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29
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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30
aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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31
poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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32
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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33
bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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34
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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35
intensify
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| vt.加强；变强；加剧 | |
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36
throttle
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| n.节流阀，节气阀，喉咙；v.扼喉咙，使窒息，压 | |
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37
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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38
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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39
goading
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| v.刺激( goad的现在分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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40
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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41
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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42
jeeringly
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| adv.嘲弄地 | |
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