“I can estimate it,” she answered, gently, “by my need of you.”
“Not at all,” said Philip, gazing in her trustful face. “Any one whom you loved would adore you, could he be by your side. You need nothing. It is I who need you.”
“Why?” she asked, simply.
“Because,” he said, “I am capable of behaving very much like a fool. Hope, I am not worthy1 of you; why do you love me? why do you trust me?”
“I do not know how I learned to love you,” said Hope. “It is a blessing2 that was given to me. But I learned to trust you in your mother’s sick-room.”
“Ay,” said Philip, sadly, “there, at least, I did my full duty.”
“As few would have done it,” said Hope, firmly,—“very few. Such prolonged self-sacrifice must strengthen a man for life.”
“Not always,” said Philip, uneasily. “Too much of that sort of thing may hurt one, I fancy, as well as too little. He may come to imagine that the balance of virtue3 is in his favor, and that he may grant himself a little indulgence to make up for lost time. That sort of recoil4 is a little dangerous, as I sometimes feel, do you know?”
“And you show it,” said Hope, ardently5, “by fresh sacrifices! How much trouble you have taken about Emilia! Some time, when you are willing, you shall tell me all about it. You always seemed to me a magician, but I did not think that even you could restore her to sense and wisdom so soon.”
Malbone was just then very busy putting the boat about; but when he had it on the other tack6, he said, “How do you like her?”
“Philip,” said Hope, her eyes filling with tears, “I wonder if you have the slightest conception how my heart is fixed7 on that child. She has always been a sort of dream to me, and the difficulty of getting any letters from her has only added to the excitement. Now that she is here, my whole heart yearns8 toward her. Yet, when I look into her eyes, a sort of blank hopelessness comes over me. They seem like the eyes of some untamable creature whose language I shall never learn. Philip, you are older and wiser than I, and have shown already that you understand her. Tell me what I can do to make her love me?”
“Tell me how any one could help it?” said Malbone, looking fondly on the sweet, pleading face before him.
“I am beginning to fear that it can be helped,” she said. Her thoughts were still with Emilia.
“Perhaps it can,” said Phil, “if you sit so far away from people. Here we are alone on the bay. Come and sit by me, Hope.”
She had been sitting amidships, but she came aft at once, and nestled by him as he sat holding the tiller. She put her face against his knee, like a tired child, and shut her eyes; her hair was lifted by the summer breeze; a scent9 of roses came from her; the mere10 contact of anything so fresh and pure was a delight. He put his arm around her, and all the first ardor11 of passion came back to him again; he remembered how he had longed to win this Diana, and how thoroughly12 she was won.
“It is you who do me good,” said she. “O Philip, sail as slowly as you can.” But he only sailed farther, instead of more slowly, gliding13 in and out among the rocky islands in the light north wind, which, for a wonder, lasted all that day,—dappling the bare hills of the Isle14 of Shadows with a shifting beauty. The tide was in and brimming, the fishing-boats were busy, white gulls15 soared and clattered16 round them, and heavy cormorants17 flapped away as they neared the rocks. Beneath the boat the soft multitudinous jellyfishes waved their fringed pendants, or glittered with tremulous gold along their pink, translucent18 sides. Long lines and streaks19 of paler blue lay smoothly20 along the enamelled surface, the low, amethystine21 hills lay couched beyond them, and little clouds stretched themselves in lazy length above the beautiful expanse. They reached the ruined fort at last, and Philip, surrendering Hope to others, was himself besieged22 by a joyous23 group.
As you stand upon the crumbling24 parapet of old Fort Louis, you feel yourself poised25 in middle air; the sea-birds soar and swoop26 around you, the white surf lashes27 the rocks far below, the white vessels28 come and go, the water is around you on all sides but one, and spreads its pale blue beauty up the lovely bay, or, in deeper tints29, southward towards the horizon line. I know of no ruin in America which nature has so resumed; it seems a part of the living rock; you cannot imagine it away.
It is a single round, low tower, shaped like the tomb of Cacilia Metella. But its stately position makes it rank with the vast sisterhood of wave-washed strongholds; it might be King Arthur’s Cornish Tyntagel; it might be “the teocallis tower” of Tuloom. As you gaze down from its height, all things that float upon the ocean seem equalized. Look at the crowded life on yonder frigate30, coming in full-sailed before the steady sea-breeze. To furl that heavy canvas, a hundred men cluster like bees upon the yards, yet to us upon this height it is all but a plaything for the eyes, and we turn with equal interest from that thronged31 floating citadel32 to some lonely boy in his skiff.
Yonder there sail to the ocean, beating wearily to windward, a few slow vessels. Inward come jubilant white schooners33, wing-and-wing. There are fishing-smacks towing their boats behind them like a family of children; and there are slender yachts that bear only their own light burden. Once from this height I saw the whole yacht squadron round Point Judith, and glide34 in like a flock of land-bound sea-birds; and above them, yet more snowy and with softer curves, pressed onward35 the white squadrons of the sky.
Within, the tower is full of debris36, now disintegrated37 into one solid mass, and covered with vegetation. You can lie on the blossoming clover, where the bees hum and the crickets chirp39 around you, and can look through the arch which frames its own fair picture. In the foreground lies the steep slope overgrown with bayberry and gay with thistle blooms; then the little winding40 cove38 with its bordering cliffs; and the rough pastures with their grazing sheep beyond. Or, ascending41 the parapet, you can look across the bay to the men making hay picturesquely42 on far-off lawns, or to the cannon43 on the outer works of Fort Adams, looking like vast black insects that have crawled forth44 to die.
Here our young people spent the day; some sketched45, some played croquet, some bathed in rocky inlets where the kingfisher screamed above them, some rowed to little craggy isles46 for wild roses, some fished, and then were taught by the boatmen to cook their fish in novel island ways. The morning grew more and more cloudless, and then in the afternoon a fog came and went again, marching by with its white armies, soon met and annihilated47 by a rainbow.
The conversation that day was very gay and incoherent,—little fragments of all manner of things; science, sentiment, everything: “Like a distracted dictionary,” Kate said. At last this lively maiden48 got Philip away from the rest, and began to cross-question him.
“Tell me,” she said, “about Emilia’s Swiss lover. She shuddered49 when she spoke50 of him. Was he so very bad?”
“Not at all,” was the answer. “You had false impressions of him. He was a handsome, manly51 fellow, a little over-sentimental. He had travelled, and had been a merchant’s clerk in Paris and London. Then he came back, and became a boatman on the lake, some said, for love of her.”
“Did she love him?”
“Passionately, as she thought.”
“Did he love her much?”
“I suppose so.”
“Then why did she stop loving him?”
“She does not hate him?”
“No,” said Kate, “that is what surprises me. Lovers hate, or those who have been lovers. She is only indifferent. Philip, she had wound silk upon a torn piece of his carte-de-visite, and did not know it till I showed it to her. Even then she did not care.”
“Such is woman!” said Philip.
“Nonsense,” said Kate. “She had seen somebody whom she loved better, and she still loves that somebody. Who was it? She had not been introduced into society. Were there any superior men among her teachers? She is just the girl to fall in love with her teacher, at least in Europe, where they are the only men one sees.”
“There were some very superior men among them,” said Philip. “Professor Schirmer has a European reputation; he wears blue spectacles and a maroon53 wig54.”
“Do not talk so,” said Kate. “I tell you, Emilia is not changeable, like you, sir. She is passionate52 and constant. She would have married that man or died for him. You may think that your sage55 counsels restrained her, but they did not; it was that she loved some one else. Tell me honestly. Do you not know that there is somebody in Europe whom she loves to distraction56?”
“I do not know it,” said Philip.
“Of course you do not KNOW it,” returned the questioner. “Do you not think it?”
“I have no reason to believe it.”
“That has nothing to do with it,” said Kate. “Things that we believe without any reason have a great deal more weight with us. Do you not believe it?”
“No,” said Philip, point-blank.
“It is very strange,” mused57 Kate. “Of course you do not know much about it. She may have misled you, but I am sure that neither you nor any one else could have cured her of a passion, especially an unreasonable58 one, without putting another in its place. If you did it without that, you are a magician, as Hope once called you. Philip, I am afraid of you.”
“There we sympathize,” said Phil. “I am sometimes afraid of myself, but I discover within half an hour what a very commonplace land harmless person I am.”
Meantime Emilia found herself beside her sister, who was sketching59. After watching Hope for a time in silence, she began to question her.
“Tell me what you have been doing in all these years,” she said.
“O, I have been at school,” said Hope. “First I went through the High School; then I stayed out of school a year, and studied Greek and German with my uncle, and music with my aunt, who plays uncommonly60 well. Then I persuaded them to let me go to the Normal School for two years, and learn to be a teacher.”
“A teacher!” said Emilia, with surprise. “Is it necessary that you should be a teacher?”
“Very necessary,” replied Hope. “I must have something to do, you know, after I leave school.”
“To do?” said the other. “Cannot you go to parties?”
“Not all the time,” said her sister.
“Well,” said Emilia, “in the mean time you can go to drive, or make calls, or stay at home and make pretty little things to wear, as other girls do.”
“I can find time for that too, little sister, when I need them. But I love children, you know, and I like to teach interesting studies. I have splendid health, and I enjoy it all. I like it as you love dancing, my child, only I like dancing too, so I have a greater variety of enjoyments61.”
“But shall you not sometimes find it very hard?” said Emilia.
“That is why I shall like it,” was the answer.
“What a girl you are!” exclaimed the younger sister. “You know everything and can do everything.”
“A very short everything,” interposed Hope.
“Kate says,” continued Emilia, “that you speak French as well as I do, and I dare say you dance a great deal better; and those are the only things I know.”
“If we both had French partners, dear,” replied the elder maiden, “they would soon find the difference in both respects. My dancing came by nature, I believe, and I learned French as a child, by talking with my old uncle, who was half a Parisian. I believe I have a good accent, but I have so little practice that I have no command of the language compared to yours. In a week or two we can both try our skill, as there is to be a ball for the officers of the French corvette yonder,” and Hope pointed62 to the heavy spars, the dark canvas, and the high quarter-deck which made the “Jean Hoche” seem as if she had floated out of the days of Nelson.
The calm day waned63, the sun drooped64 to his setting amid a few golden bars and pencilled lines of light. Ere they were ready for departure, the tide had ebbed65, and, in getting the boats to a practicable landing-place, Malbone was delayed behind the others. As he at length brought his boat to the rock, Hope sat upon the ruined fort, far above him, and sang. Her noble contralto voice echoed among the cliffs down to the smooth water; the sun went down behind her, and still she sat stately and noble, her white dress looking more and more spirit-like against the golden sky; and still the song rang on,—
“Never a scornful word should grieve thee, I’d smile on thee, sweet, as the angels do; Sweet as thy smile on me shone ever, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.”
All sacredness and sweetness, all that was pure and brave and truthful66, seemed to rest in her. And when the song ceased at his summons, and she came down to meet him,—glowing, beautiful, appealing, tender,—then all meaner spells vanished, if such had ever haunted him, and he was hers alone.
Later that evening, after the household had separated, Hope went into the empty drawing-room for a light. Philip, after a moment’s hesitation67, followed her, and paused in the doorway68. She stood, a white-robed figure, holding the lighted candle; behind her rose the arched alcove69, whose quaint70 cherubs71 looked down on her; she seemed to have stepped forth, the awakened72 image of a saint. Looking up, she saw his eager glance; then she colored, trembled, and put the candle down. He came to her, took her hand and kissed it, then put his hand upon her brow and gazed into her face, then kissed her lips. She quietly yielded, but her color came and went, and her lips moved as if to speak. For a moment he saw her only, thought only of her.
Then, even while he gazed into her eyes, a flood of other memories surged over him, and his own eyes grew dim. His head swam, the lips he had just kissed appeared to fade away, and something of darker, richer beauty seemed to burn through those fair features; he looked through those gentle eyes into orbs73 more radiant, and it was as if a countenance74 of eager passion obliterated75 that fair head, and spoke with substituted lips, “Behold your love.” There was a thrill of infinite ecstasy76 in the work his imagination did; he gave it rein77, then suddenly drew it in and looked at Hope. Her touch brought pain for an instant, as she laid her hand upon him, but he bore it. Then some influence of calmness came; there swept by him a flood of earlier, serener78 memories; he sat down in the window-seat beside her, and when she put her face beside his, and her soft hair touched his cheek, and he inhaled79 the rose-odor that always clung round her, every atom of his manhood stood up to drive away the intruding80 presence, and he again belonged to her alone.
When he went to his chamber81 that night, he drew from his pocket a little note in a girlish hand, which he lighted in the candle, and put upon the open hearth82 to burn. With what a cruel, tinkling83 rustle84 the pages flamed and twisted and opened, as if the fire read them, and collapsed85 again as if in agonizing86 effort to hold their secret even in death! The closely folded paper refused to burn, it went out again and again; while each time Philip Malbone examined it ere relighting, with a sort of vague curiosity, to see how much passion had already vanished out of existence, and how much yet survived. For each of these inspections87 he had to brush aside the calcined portion of the letter, once so warm and beautiful with love, but changed to something that seemed to him a semblance88 of his own heart just then,—black, trivial, and empty.
Then he took from a little folded paper a long tress of dark silken hair, and, without trusting himself to kiss it, held it firmly in the candle. It crisped and sparkled, and sent out a pungent89 odor, then turned and writhed90 between his fingers, like a living thing in pain. What part of us has earthly immortality91 but our hair? It dies not with death. When all else of human beauty has decayed beyond corruption92 into the more agonizing irrecoverableness of dust, the hair is still fresh and beautiful, defying annihilation, and restoring to the powerless heart the full association of the living image. These shrinking hairs, they feared not death, but they seemed to fear Malbone. Nothing but the hand of man could destroy what he was destroying; but his hand shrank not, and it was done.
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1
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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3
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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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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yearns
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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13
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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16
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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cormorants
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| 鸬鹚，贪婪的人( cormorant的名词复数 ) | |
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translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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amethystine
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| adj.紫水晶质的，紫色的；紫晶 | |
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besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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28
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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29
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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frigate
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| n.护航舰，大型驱逐舰 | |
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thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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schooners
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| n.（有两个以上桅杆的）纵帆船( schooner的名词复数 ) | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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disintegrated
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| v.（使）破裂[分裂，粉碎]，（使）崩溃( disintegrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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chirp
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| v.(尤指鸟)唧唧喳喳的叫 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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picturesquely
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43
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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45
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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46
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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47
annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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48
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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49
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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50
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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51
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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52
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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53
maroon
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| v.困住，使（人）处于孤独无助之境；n.逃亡黑奴；孤立的人；酱紫色，褐红色；adj.酱紫色的，褐红色的 | |
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54
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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55
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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56
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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57
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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58
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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59
sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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60
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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61
enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ebbed
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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alcove
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| n.凹室 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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cherubs
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| 小天使，胖娃娃( cherub的名词复数 ) | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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orbs
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| abbr.off-reservation boarding school 在校寄宿学校n.球，天体，圆形物( orb的名词复数 ) | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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serener
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| serene（沉静的，宁静的，安宁的）的比较级形式 | |
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inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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intruding
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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inspections
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| n.检查( inspection的名词复数 )；检验；视察；检阅 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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