He faltered10 at the door and then crossed the room with a poise11 that reminded her of the father who to the end had never shown evidence of any physical weakness in his bearing. In fact in look and carriage, even in the spotless freshness of his dress which was a characteristic of the elder, he appeared like his father. She could hardly believe. She sat as silent as though this were some illusion.
There was color in the ordinarily yellow cheeks, there was life in the usually dull eyes, though the spasmodic twitching12 testified to nerves still unsteady. When he held out his trembling hand, she took it as though in a trance. She saw that it was difficult for him to speak. It was impossible for her. The suggested metamorphosis was too striking.
He broke the strained, glad silence.
"Elaine, can you forget?"
She uttered his name but could go no further.
"I can't apologize," he stammered13, "it's too ghastly. But if we could start fresh from to-day, if you could wait a little before judging, and watch. Perhaps then—"
She drew him quickly towards her.
"Can I believe what I see?" she asked.
"I—I don't know what you see," he answered unsteadily.
"I see your father. I see the man who was the only father I myself knew."
He bent15 over her. He kissed her forehead.
"Dear Elaine," he said hoarsely16, "you see a man who is going to be a better man to you."
"To yourself, Ben,—be better to yourself! Are you going to be that?"
"That is the way,—by being a man to you and to the others."
"The others?"
"The unseen others. You must get Donaldson to tell you about the others."
She grasped his wrist with both her hands, looking up at him intently. Where was the change? A photograph would not have shown all the change. Yet it was there. Nor was this a temporal reformation based upon cowardly remorse17. It showed too calm, too big an impulse for that. It was so sincere, so deep, that it did not need words to express it.
"I believe you, Ben," she said, "I believe you with all my heart and soul."
In the words he realized the divine that is in all women, the eagerness that is Christ-like in its eternal hunger to seize upon the good in man. He stooped again and with religious reverence18 kissed the white space above her eyes.
"We 'll not talk about it much, shall we?" he said. "I want you to believe only as I go on from day to day. I 've some big plans that I thought up on the way home. Some day we 'll talk those over, but not now. Donaldson is downstairs."
He saw the color sweep her face. It suggested to him something that he had not yet suspected. It came to him like a new revelation of sunlight.
He smiled. It was the smile of the father which she had so long missed, the smile that always greeted her when his sad heart was fullest of hope and gladness. It was so he used to smile when at twilight20 he stood at her side, his long thin arm over her shoulder and talked of Ben with a new hope born of his own victory.
"I was going to tell you," he said tenderly, "I was going to tell you of what a big fine fellow this Donaldson is. But—perhaps you know."
She refused not to meet her brother's eyes.
"Yes, Ben," she said, "I know that."
He took her hand, seating himself on the arm of her chair, the other arm resting affectionately across her shoulders. So the father had sometimes sat.
"Is there more?" he asked softly.
"So," she answered, starting a little, "not as you mean. But tell me about him—tell me all about him, Ben."
He felt her hand throb21 as he held it.
"It's just this; that I owe everything in the world to him. I owe my life to him; I owe," his voice lowered, "I owe my soul to him. You ought to have heard him talk. But it was n't talking, it wasn't preaching. I don't know what it was, unless—unless it was praying. Yet it was n't like that either. He got inside me and made me talk to myself. It was the first time words ever meant anything to me—that they ever got a hold on me. You 've talked, little sister, Lord knows how often, and how deep from the heart, but somehow, dear, nothing of it sank in below the brain. I understood as in a sort of dream. Sometimes I even remembered it for a little, but that was all.
"But he was different, Elaine! If I forgot every word he spoke22, the meaning of it would still be left. I 'd still feel his hand upon my shoulder, the hand that sank through my shoulder and got a grip on something inside me. I 'd still feel his eyes burning into mine. I 'd still see that street out the window and know what it meant. I 'd even see the little old lady picking her way to the other side,—see the blind beggar on the corner and the Others. Oh, the Others, Elaine!"
He had risen from beside her and pressed towards the window as though once again he wished to taste the air that came down to him from the star-country to sweeten the decaying soul of him.
"What was it, Elaine?" he demanded.
"You heard," she answered, "because every fibre of him is true. Tell me more."
"He showed me the sun on the windows!" he ran on eagerly. "He showed me the people passing on the streets! He showed me what I—even I—had to do among them. Did you know that we are n't just ourselves—that we 're a part of a thousand other lives? Did you know that?"
"It takes a seer really to know that," she answered, "but it's true."
"That's it," he broke in. "He knows! He doesn't guess, he doesn't reason, he knows!"
She was leaning forward, her head a little back, her eyes half-closed. He saw the veins23 in her neck—the light purple penciling of them—as they throbbed24. He was held a moment by the sight. Then he laughed gently.
"Little sister," he said, "you know him even better than I."
She started back.
He was surprised at the shy beauty he perceived. She had always seemed to him such a sober body.
The nurse rapped at the door.
"It is bedtime," she announced,
"Yes, nurse," she answered quickly.
"He asked if he might come to say good night. He 's going to stay here with me a day or so. Shall I bring him up?"
She hesitated a moment and then meeting her brother's eyes steadily14, answered,
"Yes, Ben."
When Donaldson came into the room she was shocked at the change in his appearance. It was almost as though what Arsdale had gained Donaldson had lost. He was colorless, wan19, and haggard. His eyes seemed more deeply imbedded in the dark recesses25 below his brows. Even his hair at the temples looked grayer. But neither his voice nor his manner betrayed the change. The grip of his hand was just as sure; there was the same certainty in gesture and speech, save perhaps for some abstraction.
"They tell me I may stay but a minute," he said, "but it is good to see you even that long."
"You brought him back home," she cried. "But it has cost you heavy. You look tired."
"I am not tired," he answered shortly. Then turning the talk away from himself, as he was ever eager to do, he continued,
"I brought him home, but the burden is still on you."
"Not a burden any longer. You have removed the burden."
"I 'm afraid not. There still remains26 the fight to make him stay. This is only a beginning."
His face grew worried.
"He will stay," she answered confidently, "he will stay because you reached the father in him and the father was a fighter. I saw the father in his eyes—I heard his father's voice. It is a miracle!"
"No. The miracle is how we men keep blind."
"I feel blind myself when I think how you see."
"I am no psychic," he exclaimed impatiently. "I see nothing that is n't before me. You can't help seeing unless you close your eyes. The world presses in upon you from every side. It is insistent27. Even now the stars outside there are demanding recognition."
He drew back the crimson28 curtains draping the big French windows, which opened upon a balcony. The silver stiletto rays darted29 a greeting to him. He swung open the windows.
"Come out with me and see my friends," he said.
She rose instantly and followed him.
He stood there a moment in silence, his head back as he seemed to lead her into the limitless fragrant30 purple above. She caught his profile and saw him like some prophet. It was as though a people were at his back and he trying to pierce the road ahead for them. The thin face and erect31 head seemed to dominate the night. He looked down at her, a sad smile about his mouth.
"Out here," he said, "out here with a million miles over our heads we are freer."
In her eyes he saw now just what he saw in the stars, the same freedom of unpathed universes. He saw the same limitlessness. Here there were no boundaries. A man could go on forever and forever in those eyes—in their marvelous unfolding. More! More! He would go beyond the cognate32 universe, straight into the golden heart of universes beyond. Eternity33 was written there. The beacon34 of her eyes flamed a path that reached beyond the stars!
She seemed like nothing but a trusting child. So, she was one with the great poets. So, she was a great poem. He listened to the same music which had moved Isaiah.
"The stars,—they seem to be dancing!" she exclaimed.
It was to the music of the spheres they were dancing.
"You!" he commanded, "you must get away from this house. You must take Ben and get away from here. You must go into a new country. You must begin your life anew and forget all this, forget everything."
He paused.
"Everything," he repeated. "They tell us that the road is straight and narrow. It's narrow, but it is n't straight. It's crooked35 and it's winding36 and it goes through brake and brush. It's a hard road to find and a hard road to keep, even with the polestar over our heads. Maybe, if we were a little above earth—maybe for those who are winged—the road is straight, but we are n't all winged. Some of us have n't even sturdy legs and have to creep. Some of us find our legs only after we are helplessly lost. For down below there is a terrible tangle37 with things to be gone around, with things to beat down, and always the tangle above our heads. So what wonder that we get lost? What wonder?"
"But I am not lost—you are not lost!"
"I! I do not matter," he answered slowly. "You must n't let me matter. I come into your life and I go out of your life and I pray that I have done no harm."
His words to her were like words caught in a wind. She heard snatches of them, but she was unable to piece them together.
"In your new life you must forget even me. We have met in the brush and gone on a little way together. We have helped each other in finding each his true road again. Whether the paths will meet again—whether the paths will meet again—" he repeated as though deep in some new and grander reflection, "why, God knows. If we go on forever, perhaps they will in an aeon38 or two."
He paused to give her an opportunity to say something which he might use as a subject for proceeding39 farther. His thoughts did n't go very far along any one line. Always he seemed checked by a wall of darkness. But she said nothing. The silence lengthened40 into a minute.
"Do you understand?" he asked gently.
"No," she answered frankly41.
"Then—then perhaps we had better go in," he said, fearing for himself.
He led the way through the swinging windows and closed them behind him. In the light he saw that she was shivering.
"I 'm afraid I kept you out there too long," he said anxiously. He reached her shawl and placed it about her shoulders. His throat ached.
"I haven't hurt you?"
"I think you have hurt yourself, somehow."
She raised her head a little.
Marie was calling.
"Good night," he said quickly.
"Good night."
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1
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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2
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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3
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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4
abasement
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| n.滥用 | |
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5
maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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6
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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7
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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8
condone
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| v.宽恕；原谅 | |
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9
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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10
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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11
poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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12
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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13
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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14
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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15
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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16
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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17
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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18
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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19
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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20
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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21
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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22
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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23
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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24
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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25
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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26
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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27
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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28
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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29
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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30
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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31
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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32
cognate
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| adj.同类的，同源的，同族的；n.同家族的人，同源词 | |
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33
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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34
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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35
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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36
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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37
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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38
aeon
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| n.极长的时间；永久 | |
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39
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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40
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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