Coincidence, predestination, or the voice of the subconscious17 soul! What matters it which we accept, provided we recognize the intense motive18 power a single circumstance may exert upon some individual atom. Gabriel Strong, poling out his light “outrigger” from the Saltire Hall boat-house, had no vision of judgment19 before his eyes. He bared his elbows, swung out manfully, heard the ripples20 prattling21 at the prow22. He was a man who loved to possess his physical moments in solitude23. The quickened blood set streams of thought aspinning, the deeper breathing etherealized the brain.
There had been heavy rain in the night, and blue shadows covered the woods. A haze24 of heat shimmered25 above the mist-dimmed hills. Infinite freshness breathed from the dew-brilliant meadows. May seemed to have lifted once again her fair young face to the sun. A deep splendor26 shone upon wood and meadow, a green radiance dappled over with gold. Earth smiled through her tears; the shadowy trees shook pearls from their stately towers.
“Young man, my ribbon.”
The hail came like elfin music from under the green canopy27 of a willow28. There was a suggestive beauty in the voice that had spoken. Gabriel, dreamer of dreams, had imagined himself supreme29 in most egotistic solitude. He “backed water” spontaneously. His sculls foamed30 in the tide.
Philosophy or no philosophy, he saw a young girl standing31 above him on the bank, with sudden sunlight streaming through her loosened hair. Her face shone like ivory under the green foliage32 arching her head. The water ran silver bright below the grass and water-weeds at her feet. There was a strange queenliness in her manner as she looked down upon him and pointed33 with one white hand at the rippling34 shallows.
“My ribbon.”
Gabriel colored with a curious spontaneity that was particularly boyish. The girl stood above him like some golden child peering deep-eyed from the green umbrage35 of romance. Her left hand was hooked in the unfastened collar of her blouse. Her shapely throat showed to its ivory base betwixt the golden curtaining of her hair.
“My ribbon,” she explained, with no lessening36 of her unmeditated stateliness. “I have dropped it in the water. You will give it me.”
A sudden memory swept out from the shadows of days past. Gabriel had seen that face, that cloud of hair, before. He remembered as in a forsaken37 dream, the blue sea and yellow sand, the black cliffs crescenting the still lagoon38. A great silence seemed to fall within his heart as of a forest awed39 by the full moon.
A band of light blue silk floated amid the green weeds. Gabriel reached for it, pressed out the water with his fingers, stood up in the shallow boat, and hesitated. The girl did not move from her grassy41 dais under the willow. Her shadow fell athwart the water. When Gabriel looked at her, her eyes were not on the ribbon but upon his face.
The coincidence decided42 him. He took the near scull from the swivel, poled in, stepped into the bow as the stem brushed the bank, took the painter, gripped a tuft of coarse grass, and scrambled43 ashore44. He twisted the rope round the straggling root of a willow and stood up.
“Thank you.”
The ribbon passed between them; their fingers touched. It was mere mesmerism, nothing more. Gabriel felt stolid45.
“I am afraid the color will run,” he remarked.
“Will it?”
“I am not an authority.”
She looked at him with a certain critical candor46, and said nothing. The man colored, though he considered himself a metaphysician.
She had a number of pins in a kerchief on the grass, and without more ado she began calmly to bind47 her hair. The man could see that it was damp and lustreless48, not yet reburnished by the sun. The girl had been bathing in the Mallan. The idea inspired him. It was so medi?val—nay, classic.
“Do not let me waste your time.”
“I am not in a hurry,” he answered.
“You want to talk to me.”
“I?”
“You do not go.”
“Why should I?”
There was a curious and superb simplicity49 about her that confounded custom. Gabriel had a glib tongue on most occasions. For the nonce he discovered gaucherie in his constitution.
“You are fond of the river?” said the girl, smoothing the blue ribbon between her fingers.
“I am fond of being alone.”
“So am I.”
“Do you mean that for a hint?”
“I am always alone. What should I hint at? I dislike obscurities.”
“I was only sensitive for your sake,” said the man, with a smile.
“That is chivalry50, is it not?”
“Perhaps.”
“You may talk to me—if you like.”
Gabriel considered her with an elemental sense of awe40. Her manner was so essentially51 natural that he could imagine no flaw in her modesty52. He had had abundant experience of coquettes. The girl did not appeal to him as such, rather as a Diana or a Belph?be.
She sat down a short distance from him, and flicked53 her skirt over her feet. She had bound back her hair over her neck in rich and ample clusters. Her blouse was still open at the throat.
“Do you live here?”
“At Saltire. And you?”
“With my father, on the hills above Rilchester. Are you twenty yet?”
Gabriel smiled in such fashion that her eyes echoed his.
“I am older than you are,” he said.
“Much?”
“You are illogical; how should I know?”
“You do not look older; I am twenty. I like your face; you have gray eyes, so have I. I like your hair, too; it is dark and shines in the sun. What shall we talk about?”
“As we have begun.”
“Our ages?”
“Ourselves, rather.”
“I never talk about myself.”
“Why not?”
“I never have any one to talk to.”
The sense that he had passed back to childhood seized upon Gabriel with intense vividness. An artificial intellectuality appeared to have fallen from his being. The rust54 of experience no longer roughened his soul. He faced his deeper self, and the impression startled him. His manhood seemed to untrammel itself from the intricacies of world-wise philosophy; and he stood in the sun.
“You are lonely?” he said, with a sympathetic flexion of voice.
Her face brightened with a peculiarly luminous55 look, and her eyes held his.
“No.”
“You have friends?”
“None.”
“Strange.”
“Is it?”
“I imagine so. Even the most reserved being possesses some one he can call a friend. Perhaps you are jealous of conferring the epithet56.”
“What epithet?”
“Friend.”
“My father does not believe in friends.”
“No?”
“He says they are too expensive.”
Gabriel smiled, but the girl’s face was unceasingly solemn. Her expression, indeed, appeared to partake of the perpetual seriousness of an earnest nature. A calm, unconscious melancholy57 shone forth58 from her mind like a glimmer59 of sunlight reflected from some golden shrine60.
“Your father must be something of a cynic.”
“My father is poor.”
“Only in gold, perhaps.”
“In mind, too,” she said, with transcendent and ingenuous61 candor.
“But you love him?”
“I do not know,” she retorted, with a certain contemplative sincerity62. “I have only read of love. I know Britomart and Florimel. I do not think Britomart would have loved my father.”
“Why not?”
“I do not know.”
“Perhaps I ought not to ask you.”
They lapsed63 suddenly into silence. The girl with the gray eyes was looking afar into the shadows of the woods. The water murmured at their feet, a calm, unceasing monologue64 like the soft prattle65 of a mother.
The silence proved but a prelude66 to one of the girl’s strange and flashing interrogations of the enigmas67 of life.
“Do you believe in a God?” she said.
“You ask strange questions.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps because I never talk to any one. People only speak to me in books. And one reads of so many gods—Zeus and Apollo, Allah and Christ, Venus, and great Ormuzd. Some mysterious sorrow often seems to tantalize68 my soul. All nature, the sea, the winds, yearn69 for something that can never be, and my soul echoes them. I stretch out my hands blindly, as to a dark sky. There should be power and light beyond, yet my heart gropes under the dim stars. There is often great hunger in me, hunger that I cannot satisfy. I yearn for something—what, I cannot tell. I wonder what we live for?”
“Perhaps to die.”
“And then?”
“There men disagree.”
She mused70 a moment like a Cassandra.
“All men seem to disagree,” she said.
Probably another half-hour passed before the girl rose from the grass with the consciousness of parting. Gabriel, soft-fibred pessimist71, stood beside her with an utter sense of unreality bearing upon his brain.
“Good-bye; I must go home.”
“And I, too.”
She flushed a very little and her eyes kindled72.
“Do you know—” she began.
“Well?”
“I am feeling lonely for the first time in my life.”
Gabriel said nothing.
“You will tell me your name?”
“Yes. Gabriel Strong.”
“I like it.”
“And yours?”
“Joan Gildersedge.”
She made a step towards him suddenly and extended her hand.
“You may kiss it,” she said. “They did that in the old days.”
And then she left him.
But Gabriel rowed home slowly down the Mallan with his head bowed down in thought. There were certain words of an old legend stirring in his heart, and the girl’s eyes followed him.
“Now when Tristan and Iseult had drunk of the potion, Love, who never resteth but besetteth all hearts, crept softly into the hearts of the twain. But it was not wine that was therein, though like unto it, but bitter pain and enduring sorrow of heart, of which the twain at last lay dead.”
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1
expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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scoff
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| n.嘲笑，笑柄，愚弄；v.嘲笑，嘲弄，愚弄，狼吞虎咽 | |
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sentimentally
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| adv.富情感地 | |
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comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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contemned
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| v.侮辱，蔑视( contemn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cypress
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| n.柏树 | |
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thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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opulence
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| n.财富，富裕 | |
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scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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13
gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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14
pandering
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| v.迎合（他人的低级趣味或淫欲）( pander的现在分词 )；纵容某人；迁就某事物 | |
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15
glib
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| adj.圆滑的，油嘴滑舌的 | |
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16
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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17
subconscious
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| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
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18
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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19
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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20
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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21
prattling
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| v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话( prattle的现在分词 )；发出连续而无意义的声音；闲扯；东拉西扯 | |
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22
prow
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| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
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23
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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24
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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25
shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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27
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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28
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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30
foamed
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| 泡沫的 | |
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31
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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32
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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33
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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34
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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35
umbrage
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| n.不快；树荫 | |
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36
lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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37
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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38
lagoon
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| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
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39
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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40
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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41
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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42
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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43
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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44
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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45
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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46
candor
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| n.坦白，率真 | |
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47
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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48
lustreless
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| adj.无光泽的，无光彩的，平淡乏味的 | |
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49
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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50
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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51
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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52
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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53
flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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54
rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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55
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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56
epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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58
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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60
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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61
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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62
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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63
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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64
monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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65
prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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66
prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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67
enigmas
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| n.难于理解的问题、人、物、情况等，奥秘( enigma的名词复数 ) | |
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68
tantalize
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| vt.使干着急，逗弄 | |
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69
yearn
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| v.想念；怀念；渴望 | |
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70
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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pessimist
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| n.悲观者；悲观主义者；厌世 | |
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72
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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