In his decision he took into account his duty towards the boy, the possible danger to the girl, and his own growing passion. There was but one answer: he owed it to them all to pull free while there was yet time. It would be foolhardy to risk here a full day and an evening.
He felt the approaching crisis more than he had at any time during the week.
At times he became panic-stricken at his powerlessness to check for even one brief pendulum-swing this steady tread of time. Time was such an intangible thing, and yet what a Juggernaut! There was nothing of it which he could get hold of to wrestle1, and yet it was more powerful than Samson to throw him in the end. Sly, subtle, bodiless, soulless, impersonal2; expressed in the big clock above the city, and in milady's dainty watch rising and falling upon her breast; sweeping3 away cities and nursing to life violets; tearing down and building up; killing4 and begetting5; bringing laughter and tears, it is consistent in one thing alone,—that it never ceases. There is but one word big enough to express it, and that is God. Without beginning, without end, and never ceasing. At times he grew breathless, so individualized did every second become, so fraught6 with haste. Where was he being dragged, and in the end would the seconds rest? No, they would go on just the same, and he might hear them even in his grave.
With his decision came the even more vital question as to what he should tell this girl. With the strength of his whole nature he craved7 the privilege of standing8 white before her. He longed to tell her the whole pitiful complication that he might stand before her without shadow of hypocrisy9. He could then leave with his head up to meet his doom10. But even this crumb11 of relief was refused him. To do this might break down the boy and would leave her, if only as a friend, to bear something of the ensuing hours. He must, then, leave her in darkness, suffering the lesser12 stings of doubt and suspicion and bewilderment. He must leave her in false colors to whatever she might imagine.
She came back again with her lips quivering.
"Poor Marie," she gasped13. "She lies there broken hearted, praying to die."
"I am sorry for her," he said gently.
"I feel the blame of it," she answered. "Why must the curse of the house have fallen upon her?"
"It is difficult to work out such matters," he replied. "But I don't think you should shoulder the responsibility. We each of us must bear the burden of our own acts. It makes it even harder when another tries to relieve us of this."
"But I can't relieve her. That is the pity of it. She turns away her head from me for she has taken upon herself all the responsibility for Jacques."
"That is the mother in her. There is nothing you can do."
"She will die of grief."
"Then she will be dead. So her relief will come."
The girl drew back a little.
"She must not die. I must not let her die."
She looked up at him as though she expected him even in this emergency to suggest some way out of it. But he was speechless.
"I must go back to her," she said after a minute. "I must go and comfort her."
"Yes," he said, "that is the best you can do. Take her hand and hold it. That is all you can do. Ben is upstairs?"
"Yes. I have n't told him yet."
"Tell him," he advised. "It will help him to have an opportunity to help another."
"Then you will excuse me?"
"Of course. But there is something that I must tell you before you go. I must leave you both now."
"You will come back to dinner with us?"
"I 'm afraid I shall be unable. I start on a long journey. I must say good bye."
She fixed14 her eyes upon him in a new alarm, waiting for what he should say next. But that was all. That was all he had to say. In those two words, "Good bye," he bounded all that was in the past, all that was in the future.
"You have had some sudden call?"
"Yes."
"But you will come back again. Don't—don't make it sound so final."
"I have no hope of coming back."
"Oh," she cried, "I thought that now you might find a little rest."
"Perhaps I shall. I do not know. But before I go I wish to insist again that you and Ben leave this house and get back into the country somewhere. Don't think I am presuming, but I should feel better if I knew you had this in mind. I see so clearly that it is the thing for you to do."
"Don't speak as though you were going so far," she shuddered15. "What will Ben do without you?"
"Get him away from these old surroundings. Let him make friends—clean, wholesome16 friends. Let him pursue his hobby. There are other places besides New York where he is needed. If he is kept busy I do not fear for him."
She tried to pierce the white mask he wore. It was quite useless. She knew that there was something in him now that she could not reach. Yet she felt that there was need of it. She felt that there was need that she of all women in the world should force her way into his soul and there comfort him as he had bidden her comfort Marie. She felt this with an insurge of passion that left her girlhood behind forever. It swept away all thoughts of Ben, all thoughts of Marie, all thoughts of herself. She heard his voice as though in the distance.
"It is better," he was saying, "to be direct—to be as honest as possible at such a time as this. We can't say some things very gently, try as we may, because they are brutal17 facts in themselves. But I am going to tell you all I can as simply as I can. I must leave you. It is n't of my own free will that I go, though at the beginning it was. Now I go because I must. Perhaps you will never again hear of me. If you don't you must remember me as you know me now. Do you understand that, Miss Arsdale? You know me now as I am—as no other human being knows me. Will you cling to this?"
"You are to me as you are. So you always will be."
She met his eyes unflinchingly, feeling a new strength growing within her. He went on:
"If we cling to what we ourselves know of our friends—if we cling to that through thick and thin, nothing that happens to them can matter much. It is that confidence which lifts our friendships beyond the reach of the cur snappings of circumstance. So you, whatever you may hear afterwards, whatever things you find yourself unable to understand, must hold fast to this week. You must say to yourself," his voice grew husky, "you must say this,—'If it had been possible for him to do so, he would have lived out his life as I wished him to live it out.'"
As he spoke18 on, it seemed to him that she, in some subtle way, was rising superior to him. Instead of losing strength as she stood there before him, he felt her growing in power. He had been talking to her as to a child, and now he suddenly found himself confronting a woman. She was now the dominant19 personality. When she spoke to him her voice was firmer and possessed20 of a new richness.
"I have heard you," she said. "All the things you spoke are true. Why are you going?"
He hesitated at the direct question.
"Because I must."
"Why must you?"
"I cannot tell you."
She placed a steady hand upon his arm.
"Yes. You must tell me."
"Don't tempt21 me like that!"
He felt himself weakening. If only he might stand before her with his mask off. It meant freedom, it meant peace. That was all he asked—just the privilege of standing stark22 white before this one woman.
He turned away. The burden was his and he must bear it, if it crushed his very soul into the clay. Away from those eyes, he might be able to write some poor explanation. But to put it into cold words would be only to force upon her the torture of the next few hours. It was better for her to believe as she now saw him, as she might guess, than to suffer the ghastly truth and then shiver at the mud idol23 that was left.
He moved back a step.
"You must not look at me," he cried. "You must keep your eyes away from me and—and let me go."
But she followed, pressing him to the wall as they all had done. The color leaped to her cheeks. Her eyes grew big and tender.
"I do not think you understand me," she said.
He stood awed24 before what he now saw. It was as though he were looking at a naked soul.
"I do not think you understand," she continued, lifting her head a little. "You will not go, because there can be no call so great as that which bids you stay."
He answered, "My master is the master of us all."
"Then," she returned, "I too must go to meet your master. He must claim us both."
"God forbid," he exclaimed.
"You talk of masters," she ran on more excitedly, "and you are only a man. We women have a master greater than any you know. You taught me a moment ago to be direct—to be honest. It is so I must be with you now. I must be brave," her voice trembled a little, "I must stand face to face with you. Oh, if you were not so unselfish—so unseeing, you would not make me do this!"
He stood speechless—his throat aching the length of it.
"You treat me like a child, when you have made me a woman! You treat me like a weakling, when you have given me strength! You tell me you have some great trouble and then you refuse to allow me to share it! Don't you see?"
Her face was transfigured by pure white courage. He trembled before it. Yet he only gripped himself the firmer and stood before her immovable, every word she spoke leaving a red welt upon his soul.
"Peter," she trembled, not in fright but because of her overflowing25 heart, "you have shown me the wonder of life during this last week. You have taken me by the hand and have led me out of the gray barren land into the flowers and perfume of the orchard26. You have done for me as you did for Ben. Why should I be ashamed to say this? I would not measure up to you if I kept silent now and let you go alone. I am not ashamed."
To himself he said,
"God give me courage to stand firm."
"You make it harder for me when you say nothing."
"I must not listen!"
"Don't keep me in the dark," she pleaded. "Don't send me back alone into the dark. It's being alone that hurts."
To himself he said,
"God keep me from telling her. God keep me from letting her know of my love. So it is best."
"Don't you see now?"
Again that phrase of his which had come back through Arsdale's lips to scorch27 him.
All he could say aloud was,
"I must go, and if I can, I will come back."
"I mean nothing to you if I cannot help you now," she said steadily28. "If the road were smooth to you do you think I could tell you what I have? It is your need—it is your need that has given me the strength."
To himself he said,
"God keep my lips sealed."
To her he said,
"I must go."
She was startled.
"You remember the orchard, Peter?"
"As long as I remember anything, I shall remember that."
"You remember the walk straight through things?"
"Yes—you at my side."
"I have just taken it again—alone. I have pressed straight through."
There was a pause of a few seconds. Then,
"That is a hard thing for a woman to do."
There was a longer silence. Then she said tenderly,
"You look very tired. This day has been heavy to you. Go up-stairs to your room and rest. Then in the morning—why, in the morning we may both see clearer."
"I can rest nowhere. There is no rest left to me."
"Ah, you look so tired," she repeated.
He seized her hand and pressed it. Then he turned abruptly29 towards the hall. She watched him with a new fright. He paused at the door, his eyes drawn30 back to her against his will. She was standing there quite helpless, a growing pallor sweeping over her cheeks that so lately had been as richly red as rose leaves.
"God help me hard now," he moaned.
She stood before him like a marble statue. There were no tears.
"I have been very bold," she murmured. "I can never forgive myself that."
"You have been wonderful!" he cried.
"Perhaps you had better go at once, Peter Donaldson," she said.
He saw her in a blinding white light.
"God keep you," he managed to say. "God keep you forever and ever."
He stumbled to the hall, found his hat, and staggered through the door.
At the hedge a shadow stole out to meet him. It was an ambitious young reporter.
"Is this Mr. Donaldson?" he asked.
"Damn you, no!" shouted Donaldson. "Donaldson is dead!"
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收听单词发音
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1
wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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3
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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4
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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5
begetting
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| v.为…之生父( beget的现在分词 )；产生，引起 | |
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6
fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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7
craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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8
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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9
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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10
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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11
crumb
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| n.饼屑，面包屑，小量 | |
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12
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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13
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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14
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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15
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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16
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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17
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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18
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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19
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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20
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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21
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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22
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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23
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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24
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
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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26
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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27
scorch
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| v.烧焦，烤焦；高速疾驶；n.烧焦处，焦痕 | |
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28
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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29
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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30
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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