The doctor, too, had avoided him of late and he noticed that his clothes had begun to look shabby. He hurried down stairs, determined3 to see him a moment before leaving.
He caught him hurrying from the house and laid his hand affectionately on his arm.
"These are tough times, Doctor, and if you need any help you must let me know."
The older man's voice trembled as he replied:
"Thank you, my boy, that's a very unusual speech to hear these days. It renews my faith in the world."
"You're not in trouble?"
The doctor lifted his head gently.
"My troubles are so much lighter4 than those of the people I know, I can't think of them. So many of my friends and patients have given up in this panic. So many have died for the lack of bread. I'll let you know if I'm in trouble myself."
He paused and pressed Stuart's hand.
"I'm glad you asked me. The sun will shine brighter to-day. I must hurry."
With a swing of his stalwart form and a generous wave of his hand he was gone.
When Stuart reached the Drive he alighted and walked slowly toward the Bivens palace. He had never been there before. He had always avoided the spot. He smiled now at the childishness of his attitude toward Nan. It seemed incredible that a sane5 man should taboo6 one of the most beautiful spots in the city, merely because a woman lived in the neighbourhood who once professed7 her love to him.
He paused in front of the block on which the millionaire's house stood, amazed at the perfection of its detail, and above all amazed at the impression of homelike comfort and friendly hospitality which it gave. He had expected an imposing8 front, whose effects would impress and stun9. He had not conceived the possibility of such a huge palace, set so commandingly in the centre of a block amid trees and shrubbery and iron picket10 fence, that it would suggest comfort and happiness. Yet the impression was unmistakable. The friendly lights seemed to reprove him for a long and foolish absence.
The full moon had just risen and flooded the Drive and park and river with silvery mystery. He studied the effects of the building with wonder and admiration11. Evidently Bivens had given his architects a free hand and they had wrought12 a poem in marble. The fact was they had an easy task to persuade him. He had never boasted his culture or taste or ancestry13. He knew and keenly felt the humility14 of his early origin and his one terror when he became rich was that he might be crude and ridiculous before others. When he found that his architects were men of genius he submitted to their guidance without a word.
So fascinated was Stuart with the beauty and perfection of the great house he walked around the block before entering, viewing it from every angle—always to find some new line shimmering15 in the moonlight that held his eye and charmed his fancy.
What a strange thing, this medieval palace, standing16 in stately beauty in the midst of the hideous17, ugly uniformity of the most modern, unromantic and materialistic18 city of the world!
What was its meaning?
And the tall iron fence with the bristling19 spikes20 to keep out the mob, and that queer underground entrance on the side. These feudal21 minarets22, battlements and frowning black iron pikes, were they symbolic23 of a revival24 of the feudal spirit of the Middle Ages? Or were they merely the day-dreams of an artist with no social meaning beyond the vagaries25 of his fancy?
Had a new master of the world really been born? And had he begun to build his castles to stun and overawe the rabbles that pass his door? Or was this strange being as yet neither fish nor fowl26, neither beast nor human, merely a fungous growth on the diseased tissue of the modern world? Who could tell? Surely his like had never been seen in the history of man—this modern money-maniac, this strange creature of iron muscles, always hurrying, daring, scheming, plotting, with never a moment's relaxation27, day or night, eating or drinking, working or sleeping, in his office or in his home, going or coming in his yacht with wireless28 tower, his private car with telegraph office, his secretary always by his side, a telephone always at his bed, with no time to live, no time to love, with only time to fight and kill and pile the spoils of war on high!
The old baron29 who lived beneath those graceful30 minarets and walked behind these pikes felt his high responsibilities. He was the champion of his people against their enemies. He was their protector while he claimed to be their lord. But this strange new creature, who had begun to masquerade in his ancient armour31 and steal his crests32, who is he? Certainly he acknowledges no obligations to any people.
Stuart was roused from his reverie by the passing of a powerfully built man who had been following him since he had first approached the Bivens palace. The keen eyes searched has face with piercing gaze and the lawyer smiled as he recognized in the stranger one of the private guards of which the modern masters of the world have felt the need. In the Middle Ages he stood watch on the ramparts of the baron's castle—now he walks the block and lifts his finger to suspicious persons. In the old days he wore his armour on the outside and carried a spear. Now he wears a hidden coat of mail and carries concealed33 two automatic guns.
The guard smiled in friendly recognition and Stuart knew that he was expected by the servants of the great man.
The sentinel was an Italian. Bivens, the son of a poor white man of the South, whom even negroes once pitied, had recruited his palace guard from the children of the C?sars. Could any fact more loudly proclaim the passing of the era of political fictions and the dawn of the age of materialism34, the passing of the king who ruled by divine right and the coming of the reign35 of the huckster?
Stuart was shown into the drawing room by a powdered flunky whose costume was designed by one of the court tailors of Europe. While awaiting the arrival of the mistress of the house he looked about the room with increasing amazement36. He had expected to find that the authority of the artist-architect would yield at the door to the personal whims37 of the owner. He expected to find here a vulgar and extravagant38 taste, a vernal art without mind or genius. Instead he found the perfection of grace, elegance39, quiet richness and surprising beauty, everywhere the overwhelming impression of conscious dignity and exhaustless reserve power.
He rubbed his eyes to see if he were dreaming, entranced with his surroundings. In spite of the tragedy it all meant to his own life he drank in its effects as a poet long exiled from his native land drinks in the beauty and glory of his home-coming. Somewhere in this world or another in the mists of eternity40 his soul had seen this before. The whole conception of the thing was noble and it had been nobly and beautifully executed. The artist who wrought his vision thus in matter had sung for joy in its creation and the joyous41 beat of his heart throbbed42 in the rhythm of every exquisite44 line.
He began to realize for the first time the triumph of the woman who had bartered45 him for gold. His eye rested on a life-size portrait of Nan done by the foremost artist of Europe. It filled the entire space above the great mantel reaching to the ceiling and so skilfully46 had it been set in the massive panel one seemed to be looking through an opening into another room—the figure was not a picture but the living woman about to extend her hand in friendly greeting to her guests.
The artist had caught the secret of her character and expressed it with genius in the poise47 of the superb form, the incarnation of sensuous48 soulless beauty dominated by keen intelligence.
This portrait on which he stood gazing as if in a spell was evidently painted the second year of their marriage. He remembered now her diary had given an account of it when the painter came over from the Continent to execute the commission. He tried to recall her appearance the day of the assault. The impression was too blurred49 by excitement to have much meaning. He wondered if she really showed the ten years added to her age. At least he knew that she had not been happy. There was some consolation51 in that. Her ceaseless efforts to win back his friendship had left no room for doubt. He sank deep into the great chair and silently waited her coming.
When he suddenly heard the rustle52 of her dress in the hall his heart began to pound. He rose with a movement of nervous anger. His boasted self-control was a myth, after all.
When Nan's radiant figure appeared in the doorway53, her bare arm extended, her lips parted in a tender smile, Stuart knew that his face was red. The fact that he knew it increased his confusion until the whole room became a blur50. His feet refused to move, and he stood staring at the approaching vision as if in a trance.
Her hand touched his. The shock was sobering; he remembered himself and smiled.
"What a long, long time, Jim!"
"A thousand years—I think, Nan," he stammered54.
"Nine hundred to be exact, sir, but better late than never. I began to think your stubbornness would postpone55 this call until the next world."
"And we may not land at the same place on the other side?"
"A compliment or an insult?"
"I don't know, do you?"
He was laughing quietly now, his nerves stronger by the tension of the challenge of her evident gaiety.
She smiled a gracious forgiveness of his dubious56 answer.
"Mr. Bivens was detained down town on business. I am awfully57 sorry he's not here to join in my welcome."
"Well, I'm not."
He was looking steadily58 at her with curious concentration.
She answered with a flash from her dark eyes and critically looked him over.
"Well?" he asked.
"I'm awfully disappointed."
"Why?"
"My vanity is hurt. I expected to find you, after nine years, with deep lines of suffering written on your face. You are better looking than ever. The few gray hairs about your temples are extremely becoming. Your honours have given you a new repose59, a dignity and reserve power I couldn't conceive when I saw you battered60 by that mob."
"Allow me to return the compliment by saying that you are even a more startling disappointment to me. I was sure that I should find you broken."
"And you don't?"
Stuart smiled.
"I'd as well confess it frankly61. You are far more beautiful than ever."
The woman softly laughed.
"You see no change?"
"The only changes I see merely add to your power: the worldly wisdom which marriage writes on every woman's face, a new strength, a warmth and fascination62 and a conscious joy at which I wonder and rage."
"Why wonder and rage?"
She drew him gently to a seat by her side, leaned forward and gazed smilingly at him.
Stuart was silent a moment and turned suddenly on her.
"Because Nan, when I look into your face to-night and see its joy, I can't help thinking such happiness is a crime. I saw joy like that once on the face of an Italian I defended and acquitted63 of murder. I believed him innocent but when he was free he confessed to me his guilt64, confessed with such joy that I sprang on him and choked him into silence."
"And you think of me as a murderess, Jim?"
"No, no, my dear little playmate, but when I see you to-night in all this splendour so insolently65 happy——"
Nan sprang to her feet laughing.
"You are delicious to-night, Jim, and I'm so glad you are here. Come into the art gallery. It will take you days to see it; we'll just peep in to-night."
He followed her into a stately room packed with masterpieces of art; gleaming marbles and sombre bronze in groups of bewildering beauty, with every inch of wall-space crowded with canvases in massive gold frames glowing with the soft radiance of concealed electric lights.
Stuart gazed a moment in rapture66.
"You must spend days here, Jim. Now honestly, with all your high-browed ideals, wouldn't you like to own this?"
"I wouldn't dare."
"Dare?"
"No. Not if I had the wealth of Croesus."
"Why not?"
"It's a crime to rob the world of these masterpieces of genius. They should be the free inheritance and inspiration of all the children of men. The humblest child of the street should own them because he is human. The man who has the power to buy them, of all men, should give to the people whose lives and toil67 gave him his power."
Nan gazed at Stuart in vague bewilderment and then a mischievous68 smile crept into the corners of her mouth.
"You're trying to throw dust in my eyes, but I can tell you what you are really thinking. Would you like to hear?"
"Very much."
"You are really wondering why the wicked prosper69?"
The man remained silent while a look of deep seriousness overspread his face.
"Confess!" Nan insisted. "Am I not right?"
"Absolutely wrong," he replied slowly. "Why the wicked prosper has never worried me in the least. The first big religious idea I ever got hold of was that this is the best possible world God could have created—because it's free. Man must choose, otherwise his deeds have no meaning. A deed of mine is good merely because I have the power to do its opposite if I choose. In this free world step by step I can rise or fall through suffering and choosing."
"Oh, Jim," Nan broke in softly, "I've made you suffer horribly. You have the right to be hard and bitter."
"But I'm not, Nan," was the quiet answer. "I've been made generous and warm and tender by disappointment. Through the gates of pain I've entered into fellowship with my fellow-men, the humblest and the greatest. This sense of kinship has given me a larger vision. I've learned to love all sentient70 things. I've made friends with all sorts and conditions of men, the rich, the poor, the good, the bad. You have taught me the greatest secret of life."
"I wish I could blot71 out the memory of the pain."
"Well, I'm glad you can't. Life has become to me a thing so wonderful, so mysterious, so beautiful—just life within itself—I'd live it all over again if I could."
"Every moment of it?"
"Every moment with every light and shadow. It's glorious to live!"
A solemn English butler entered and announced dinner.
Seated by Nan's side alone in the great dining room, while servants in gorgeous liveries hurried with soft light footfall to do her slightest bidding, Stuart could scarcely shake off the impression that he was dreaming. Such pictures he had weaved in his fancy the first wonderful days of their conscious love-life. But it seemed centuries ago now. They had both died and come to life again in a new mysterious world, a world in which he was yet a stranger and Nan at home. The splendours of the stately room pleased his poetic72 fancy and in spite of his hostile effort he had to confess in his heart that Nan's magnificent figure gave the scene just the touch of queenly dignity which made it perfect. He tried again and again to recall the girl he had known in the old days, but the vision faded before the dazzling light of the present.
He looked at Nan cautiously and began to study her every word and movement and weigh each accent. Did she mean what her words and tones implied? In a hundred little ways more eloquent73 than speech she had said to him to-night that the old love of the morning of life was still the one living thing. Did she mean it or had she merely planned another triumph for her vanity in his second conquest, knowing that his high sense of honour would hold him silent and yet her slave. With a lawyer's cunning he put her to little tests to try the genuineness of her feeling. He threw off his restraint and led her back to the scenes of their youth. With a frankness that delighted her he told of his own struggles of the past nine years and watched with patient furtive74 care for every tone of feeling she might betray. When dinner ended, she was leaning close, her eyes misty75 with tears, and a far-away look in them that told of memories more vivid and alluring76 than all the splendours of her palace.
Stuart drew a breath of conscious triumph and his figure suddenly grew tense with a desperate resolution. But only for a moment.
He frowned, looked at his watch and rose abruptly77.
"I must be going, Nan," he said with sudden coldness.
"Why, Jim," she protested. "It's only ten o'clock. I won't hear of such a thing."
"Yes, I must," he persisted. "I've an important case to-morrow. I must work to-night."
"You shall not go!" Nan cried. "I've waited nine years for this one evening's chat with you. Cal has told me of his offer. It's the most generous thing he ever did in his life. I know the kind of fight going on in your heart. Come into the music room, sit down and brood as long as you like. I've planned to charm you with an old accomplishment78 of mine to-night."
She led him to a rich couch, piled the pillows high, made him snug79, drew a harp80 near the other end, and began to tune81 its strings82.
Stuart gazed at the mural paintings in the ceiling and in a moment was lost in visions of the future his excited fancy began to weave.
Nan's fingers touched the strings in the first soft notes of an old melody. He woke with a start and looked at her. What a picture she made, with her full lips parted in a warm smile, her magnificent bare arms moving in rhythmic83 unison84 with the music! In just that pose he had seen her a hundred times in the days when he called her his own. And now that he had lost—her beauty had just reached the full splendour of perfection.
He closed his eyes to shut out the picture and again the fight began for the mastery of life.
A voice whispered:
"Unless you are a coward, grasp the power that is yours by divine right of nature. Why should you walk while pigmies ride? Why should you lag behind the age in this fierce struggle for supremacy85? The woman who sits before you is yours if you only dare to tear her from the man who holds her by the fiction of dying customs!"
He felt his heart throb43 as another voice within cried:
"Yet why should I, an heir to immortality86, whose will can shape a world, why should I live a beast of prey87 with my hand against every man?"
The answer was the memory of dirty finger nails closing on his throat while a mob of howling fools surged over his body and cursed him for trying to save them from themselves. Again he heard a woman's voice as she held his head close, whispering:
"I've something to say to you, Jim!"
His lips tightened88 with sudden decision. The golden gates of the forbidden land swung open and his soul entered.
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1
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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6
taboo
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| n.禁忌，禁止接近，禁止使用；adj.禁忌的；v.禁忌，禁制，禁止 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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stun
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| vt.打昏，使昏迷，使震惊，使惊叹 | |
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picket
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| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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15
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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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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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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materialistic
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| a.唯物主义的，物质享乐主义的 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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spikes
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| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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minarets
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| n.（清真寺旁由报告祈祷时刻的人使用的）光塔( minaret的名词复数 ) | |
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symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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materialism
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| n.［哲］唯物主义，唯物论；物质至上 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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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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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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44
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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bartered
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| v.作物物交换，以货换货( barter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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49
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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50
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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51
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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52
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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53
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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54
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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55
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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56
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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57
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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58
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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60
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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insolently
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| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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sentient
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| adj.有知觉的，知悉的；adv.有感觉能力地 | |
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blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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82
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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84
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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87
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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