As he walked, the village faded in the haze4. The tide was low and the sand firm and hard. The waves broke leisurely5 in films and fringes of white, gurgling an invitation to their roomy embrace. And when the hotels were lost in the distance and the solitude6 was murmurous7 with nature alone, Tristrem, captivated by the allurements8 of the sea, went down into the waves and clasped them to him as lovers clasp those they love.
The sun was well on its amble9 to the zenith before he returned to the cottage. His hostess, he found, had not yet appeared, and as breakfast seemed to be served in that pleasant fashion which necessitates10 nothing, not even an appetite, Tristrem drank his coffee in solitude. And as he idled over the meal he recalled the horrors of the night, and smiled. The air of the morning, the long and quiet stroll, the plunge11 in the sea, and the after-bath of sunlight that he had taken stretched full length on the sand, had dissipated the enervating12 emotions of dream and brought him in their stead a new invigoration. He was about to begin the dithyrambs of the day before, when the servant appeared, bearing a yellow envelope, and a book in which he was to put his name. He gave the receipt and opened the message, wonderingly.
"Please come to town," it ran, "your father is dying.—Robert Harris."
"Your father is dying," he repeated. "H'm. Robert Harris. I never knew before what the butler's first name was. But what has that to do with it? There are times when I am utterly14 imbecile. Your father is dying. Yes, of course, I must go at once. But it isn't possible. H'm. I remember. He looked ghastly when I saw him. I suppose—I ought to—good God, why should I attempt to feign15 a sorrow that I do not feel? It is his own fault. I would have—But there, what is the use?"
He bit his nail; he was perplexed16 at his absence of sensibility. "And yet," he mused17, "in his way he has been kind to me. He has been kind; that is, if it be kindness in a father to let a son absolutely alone. After all, filial affection must be like patriotism18, ingrained as an obligation, a thing to blush at if not possessed19. Yet then, again, if a country acts like a step-mother to its children, if a father treats a son as a guardian20 might treat a ward2, the ties are conventional; and on what shall affection subsist21? It was he who called me into being, and, having done so, he assumed duties which he should not have shirked. It was not for him to make himself a stranger to me; it was for him to teach me to honor him so much, to love him so well that at his death my head would be bowed in prostrations of grief. I used to try to school myself to think that it was only his way; that, outwardly cold and undemonstrative, his heart was warm as another's. But—well, it may have been, it may have been. After all, if I can't grieve, I would cross the continent to spare him a moment's pain. It was he, I suppose, who told Harris to wire. Yes, I must hurry."
He called the servant to him. "Can you tell me, please, when the next train goes?" But the servant had no knowledge whereon to base a reply. She suggested, however, that information might be obtained at an inn which stood a short distance up the road. He scribbled22 a few lines on a card, and gave it to the woman. "Take that to Miss Raritan, please, will you?" he said, and left the house.
At the inn a very large individual sat on the stoop, coatless, a straw covering of a remoter summer far back on his head, and his feet turned in. He listened to Tristrem with surly indifference23, and spat24 profusely25. He didn't know; he reckoned the morning train had gone.
"Hay, Alf," he called out to the negro who had taken Tristrem from the station the night before, and who was then driving by, "when's the next train go?"
"'Bout13 ten minutes; I just took a party from Taylor's."
"Thank you," said Tristrem to the innkeeper, who spat again by way of acknowledgment. "Can you take me to the station?" he asked the negro; and on receiving an affirmative reply, he told him to stop at Mrs. Raritan's for his traps.
As Tristrem entered the gate he saw Viola's assistant of the preceding evening drive up, waving a hat.
"I got it," the man cried out, "here it is. First time it ever passed a night out of doors, I'll bet. And none the worse for it, either." He handed it over to Tristrem. "I dreamt about you last night," he added.
"That's odd," Tristrem answered, "I dreamed about you." The man laughed at this as had he never heard anything so droll26. "Well, I swan!" he exclaimed, and cracked his whip with delight. His horse started. "Here," he said, "I near forgot. Whoa, there, can't you. This goes with the hat." And he crumpled27 a handkerchief in his hand, and tossing it to Tristrem, he let the horse continue his way unchecked.
The hat which the man had found did not indeed look as though it had passed a night on the roadside. Save for an incidental speck28 or two it might have come fresh from a bandbox. Tristrem carried it into the cottage, and was placing it on the hall-table when Mrs. Raritan appeared.
"I am so sorry," she began, "Viola has told me——"
"How is she? May I not see her?"
"She scarcely slept last night."
Tristrem looked in the lady's face. The lids of her eyes were red and swollen29.
"But may I not see her? May I not, merely for a moment."
"She is sleeping now," Mrs. Raritan answered; "perhaps," she added, "it is better that you should not. The doctor has been here. He says that she should be quiet. But you will come back, will you not? Truly I sympathize with you."
Mrs. Raritan's eyes filled with tears, but to what they were due, who shall say? She seemed to Tristrem unaccountably nervous and distressed30.
"There is nothing serious the matter, is there?" he asked, anxiously. And at the question, Mrs. Raritan almost choked. She shook her head, however, but Tristrem was not assured. "I must see her," he said, and he made as would he mount the stair.
"Mr. Varick! she is asleep. She has had a wretched night. When you are able to come back, it will be different. But if you care for her, let her be."
The protest was almost incoherent. Mrs. Raritan appeared beside herself with anxiety.
"Forgive me," said Tristrem, "I did not mean to vex31 you. Nor would I disturb her." He paused a second, dumbly and vaguely32 afflicted33. "You will tell her, will you not?" he added; "tell her this, that I wanted to see her. Mrs. Raritan, my whole life is wrapped up in her." He hesitated again. "You are tired too, I can see. You were up with her last night, were you not?"
Mrs. Raritan bowed her head.
"You must forgive me," he repeated, "I did not understand. Tell me," he continued, "last night I awoke thinking that I heard her calling. Did she call?"
"Call what?"
"I thought—you see I was half, perhaps wholly asleep, but I thought I heard her voice. I was mistaken, was I not?"
"Yes, you must have been."
The negro had brought down the luggage, and stood waiting at the gate.
"You will tell her—Mrs. Raritan—I love her with all my heart and soul."
The lady's lips quivered. "She knows it, and so do I."
"You will ask her to write."
"Yes, I will do so."
Tristrem took her hand in his. "Tell her from me," he began, but words failed him, it was his face that completed the message. In a moment more he was in the coach on his way to the station.
There was a brisk drive along the sea, a curve was rounded, and the station stood in sight. And just as the turn was made Tristrem caught the shriek34 of a whistle.
"There she goes," the negro exclaimed, "you ought to have been spryer."
"Has the train gone?" Tristrem asked.
"Can't you see her? I knew you'd be late." The man was insolent35 in his familiarity, but Tristrem did not seem to notice it.
"I would have given much not to be," he said.
At this the negro became a trifle less uncivil. "Would you ree-ly like to catch that train?" he asked.
"I would indeed."
"Is it worth twenty-five dollars to you?"
Tristrem nodded.
"Well, boss, I tell you. That train stops at Peacedale, and at Wakefield she shunts off till the mail passes. Like as not the express is late. If I get you to Kingston before the Newport passes, will you give me twenty-five?"
"If I make the connection I will give you fifty."
"That's talking. You'll get there, boss. Just lay back and count your thumbs."
The negro snapped his whip, and soon Tristrem was jolted36 over one of the worst and fairest roads of New England, through a country for which nature has done her best, and where only the legislator is vile37. One hamlet after another was passed, and still the coach rolled on.
"We'll get there," the negro repeated from time to time, and to encourage his fare he lashed38 the horses to their utmost speed. Peacedale was in the distance; Wakefield was passed, and in a cloud of dust they tore through Kingston and reached the station just as the express steamed up.
"I told you I'd do it," the negro exclaimed, exultingly39. "I'll get checks for your trunks."
A minute or two more, and the checks were obtained; the negro was counting a roll of bills, and in a drawing-room car Tristrem was being whirled to New York.
For several hours he sat looking out at the retreating uplands, villages, and valleys. But after a while he remembered the scantiness40 of his breakfast, and, summoning the porter, he obtained from him some food and drink. By this time the train had reached New Haven41, and there Tristrem alighted to smoke a cigarette. He was, however, unable to finish it before the whistle warned him that he should be aboard again. The porter, who had been gratified by a tip, then told him that there was a smoking compartment42 in the car beyond the one in which he had sat, and, as the train moved on, Tristrem went forward in the direction indicated.
The compartment was small, with seats for two on one side, and for three, or for four at most, on the other. As Tristrem entered it he saw that the larger sofa was occupied by one man, who lay out on it, full length, his face turned to the partition. Tristrem took a seat opposite him, and lit a fresh cigarette. As he smoked he looked at the reclining form of his vis-à-vis. About the man's neck a silk handkerchief had been rolled, but one end had come undone43 and hung loosely on the cushion, and as Tristrem looked he noticed that on the neck was a wound, unhealed and fresh, a line of excoriation44, that neither steel nor shot could have caused, but which might have come from a scratch. But, after all, what business was it of his? And he turned his attention again to the retreating uplands and to the villages that starred the route.
When the cigarette was done, he stood up to leave the compartment. But however quietly he had moved, he seemed to arouse his neighbor, who turned heavily, as though to change his position. As he did so, Tristrem saw that it was Royal Weldon, and that on his face was a bruise45. He would have spoken, for Weldon was looking at him, but he recalled the wanton lie of the week before, and as he hesitated whether to speak or pass on, Weldon half rose. "Damn you," he said, "you are everywhere." Then he lay down, turning his face again to the wall, and Tristrem, without a word, went to the other car and found his former seat.
Two hours later he reached his home. He let himself in with a latch-key, and rang the bell. But when Harris appeared he knew at once, by the expression which the butler assumed, that he had come too late.
"When did it happen?" he asked.
"It was last evening, sir; he came in from his drive and inquired for you, sir. I said that you had gone out of town, and showed him the address you left. When I went to hannounce dinner, sir, he was sitting in his arm-chair with his hat on. I thought he was asleep. I sent for Dr. McMasters, sir, but it was no use. Dr. McMasters said it was the 'art, sir."
"You have notified my grandfather, have you not?"
"Yes, sir, I did, sir; Mr. Van Norden came in this morning, and left word as how he would like to see you when you got back, sir."
"Very good. Call Davis, and get my things from the cabman."
"Yes, sir; thank you, sir. I beg pardon, sir," he added, "would you wish some dinner? There's a nice fillet and a savory46."
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1
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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3
tenantless
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| adj.无人租赁的，无人居住的 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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5
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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7
murmurous
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| adj.低声的 | |
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8
allurements
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| n.诱惑( allurement的名词复数 )；吸引；诱惑物；有诱惑力的事物 | |
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9
amble
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| vi.缓行，漫步 | |
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necessitates
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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11
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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12
enervating
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| v.使衰弱，使失去活力( enervate的现在分词 ) | |
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13
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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14
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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15
feign
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| vt.假装，佯作 | |
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16
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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18
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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21
subsist
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| vi.生存，存在，供养 | |
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scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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24
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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25
profusely
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| ad.abundantly | |
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droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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27
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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28
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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29
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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30
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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31
vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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32
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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33
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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35
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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36
jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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38
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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39
exultingly
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| 兴高采烈地，得意地 | |
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40
scantiness
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| n.缺乏 | |
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41
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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42
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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43
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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44
excoriation
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| n.严厉的责难；苛责；表皮脱落；抓痕 | |
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45
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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46
savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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