“It was all so like his life,” her father said, when they sat together in his room, that night; “brave and quiet and full of thought for us all. Once he rallied for a few hours, and we felt there was hope. At the very last, he gave me this for you. He said you would understand.” And the doctor laid in Nancy’s palm a tiny figure of the Good Sainte Anne, the exact duplicate of her own, save that its silver base bore the arms of St. Jacques and, beneath, two plain initials: N and H.
A week later, Nancy rose from her knees beside her father’s open trunk, and stood staring down into the courtyard. Wrapped to his ears, the old habitant still sat on his block in the corner, peeling potatoes without end. Far above his head, a stray shaft1 of sunshine gilded2 the gray wall and reminded Nancy of her resolution to take a final walk, that morning.
It was almost with a feeling of relief that Nancy saw the approaching end of her stay at The Maple3 Leaf. The past days had held some of the saddest hours she had ever known. Till then, she had never realized how the bright, brave personality of the sturdy little Frenchman had pervaded4 the place, how acutely she could mourn for a man of whom, less than six weeks before, she had never even heard. Forget him she could not. She and Brock talked of him by the hour, now laughing over the merry days they had spent together, then giving up to the sudden wave of loneliness which swept over them at the thought of the nevermore that separated them from their good comrade. As yet, it was too soon for them to take comfort from the doctor’s words, that the swift passing of Adolphe St. Jacques had been but the merciful forestalling5 of a pitiful, lingering death in life.
To one day, Nancy never made any allusion6. That was the day she had spent alone, at the shrine7 of the Good Sainte Anne.
Now, as she stood before her mirror, fastening on her hat, her glance fell to the little figure of the good saint and, taking it up, she looked long at the symbols graven on its base. She hesitated. Then she gently slid it into the breast pocket of her coat. In loyalty8 to St. Jacques, it still should be her companion. His eyes now, in the clearer light, could see what had before been hidden from them. Adolphe St. Jacques was too unselfishly loyal to fail to understand the nature of the only love she could ever have given him and, understanding, to reject it.
Inside the city wall, the early snow had vanished; but it still lay white over the Cove10 Fields, over the ruins of the old French fortifications, and over the plains beyond. Beyond Saint Sauveur, the hills were blue in the sunshine, and the light wind that swept in from their snowy caps, was crisp and full of ozone11. Nancy had left The Maple Leaf with slow step and drooping12 head; she went tramping along the Grand Allée as if the world were all before her, to be had for the mere13 sake of asking. Then, as she turned again and halted by the Wolfe monument, her buoyant mood forsook14 her. That simple shaft marked the end of one who died, victorious15. It spoke16 no word of those others, Frenchmen, brave, true-hearted fellows who fell there in their hour of defeat. And not one of them was braver, more true-hearted than little Adolphe St. Jacques.
“Oh, Miss Howard.”
Impatiently she raised her head from the cold iron palings. Barth was standing9 close at her side. Even as she nodded to him, she felt a sudden shrinking from his inevitable17 question as to the cause for her tears. To her surprise, no question came.
“After all, he was a wonderfully good little fellow,” Barth said simply.
She nodded, without speaking. Barth let full five minutes pass, before he spoke again.
“I saw you go by the house,” he said then. “I fancied you would come out here. I knew you liked the place.”
“Yes.”
“And so I followed you. I wanted to see you, if I could. Miss Howard, I shall miss you.”
“Oh, yes,” Barth agreed. “Shall we go on for a little walk?”
With one last look at the shaft and its deathless words, Nancy turned and followed him back to the Grand Allée, back from the place of the dead to the haunts of the living.
“Do you go, to-morrow?” Barth asked, after another pause.
“To-morrow noon.”
“It is going to be very lonely,” he said.
“I am glad,” she repeated.
Even to Barth’s conservative mind, the conversation did not appear to be making much progress. He turned and peered into Nancy’s thoughtful face.
“Rather! I might call on you, you know, if I ever went to The States.”
“That would be delightful21. So you think you will come across the border?”
“Perhaps. I have often wondered, just lately, you know, what I would think of The States. What do you think?”
“That I love them,” Nancy said loyally.
“Oh, yes. But what do you think that I would think?”
“That it is never safe to predict. I advise you to come and see for yourself.”
Barth’s face cleared.
“Thank you, you know. And the address?”
“I haven’t any cards here.”
“Oh, but I have.” And Barth hastily took out his cardcase. Then, with infinite difficulty, he focussed upon a card the tip of the little gold pencil that dangled23 from his watchchain.
“The idea of tying your pencil to you!” she commented irreverently.
“Why not? Then one doesn’t lose it, you know.”
“Yes, I do know. It reminds me of the way I used to have my mittens25 sewed to the ends of a piece of braid,” Nancy responded.
Barth looked up from his half-written card.
“Really? How interesting! But, Miss Howard—” He halted abruptly.
“What now?”
“About The States. You feel they are the only place to live in?”
“Oh. Have you ever been to England?”
“No.” Nancy began to wonder at the antiquity27 of British customs. At this rate of progress, it would take aeons for a Britisher to evolve a custom of any sort. Already her mind had outstripped28 the deliberate mental processes of Barth. She also began to wonder impatiently how long it would take him to come to the point. There seemed to her something inhuman29 in allowing him to remain on the rack of suspense30. Nevertheless, she felt that it would be altogether unseemly for her to refuse anything before she was asked.
“Don’t you want to go to England?” Barth continued calmly.
“Yes, of course. I want to visit it. However, that doesn’t mean that I wish to take up my abode31 there.”
“Oh. I am sorry. Still,” Barth went on meditatively32; “I dare say one could make out very well, even if he had to live in The States.”
“I certainly expect to,” Nancy responded coolly.
Again he peered into her face.
“Oh; but I don’t refer to you,” he said hastily. “I was speaking of myself.”
“That was before I met you,” Barth answered, with quiet directness.
Suddenly a change came over him. Throwing back his shoulders, he faced Nancy with a resolution which brought new lustre34 to his eyes, new lines of character into his boyish face. And Nancy, as she saw the change in him, trembled for the decision which, with infinite difficulty, she had long been fixing in her girlish mind.
“Miss Howard,” he asked abruptly; “do you believe in the Good Sainte Anne?”
Without speaking, Nancy let her hand rest lightly on the little silver image in the pocket of her coat. Then she nodded in silence.
“So do I,” Barth answered. “I am not a Catholic; still, I believe that the good lady has had me in her keeping, and I trust she may continue her care for me. Miss Howard, I am English; you are American, very American indeed. However, different as we are, I think our lives need each other. I had never thought,” he hesitated; then, cap in hand, he stood looking directly into her blushing face; “I had never supposed that my life could hold a love like what has grown into it. I dare not face that life without—Miss Howard,” he added, with a swift change to the simple boyishness which became him so well; “my life is all yours, to do what you like with. I shall try to meet your decision bravely; but I do hope you won’t throw me to one side, as of no use.”
But Nancy walked on without answering; and Barth, still cap in hand, moved on at her side.
“It began a long while ago,” he added at length. “I really think it must have started, that day at the shrine of Sainte Anne.”
“I think perhaps it did,” she assented.
For a moment, Barth walked on in silence, unable to construe36 her words into the phrase which he was waiting to hear. Then he spoke again.
“I went out to Sainte Anne-de-Beaupré, one morning last week,” he said slowly. “It was very desolate37 there, at this season. I walked out on the pier38. Then I went back and sat in the church for quite a long time, and I thought about things. Miss Howard, I wish I had never given you that guinea.”
With an odd little laugh, which was yet half a sob39, Nancy put her hand into her pocket, felt about underneath40 the little silver image, and slowly drew out a shining bit of gold.
“Here it is, Mr. Barth,” she said. “Take it back, if you wish it.”
Taking it from her outstretched hand, he stared at it intently for a moment. Then he held it out to her again.
“And you have carried it, all this time?”
“No,” she confessed reluctantly. “Only lately.”
“Oh, but—”
“I have called it my lucky penny,” she interrupted, with a smile. “I had never supposed you would regret giving it to me.”
Still with the coin in the hollow of his hand, he put on his glasses and peered into her face. He read there something which he had missed in her tone. Dropping his glasses again, he held out the shining golden guinea.
“Please take it back again,” he said, and in his voice there came a sudden imperious accent which was new to Nancy. “And, when you take it, take me, too. We both are yours, you know.”
The girl moved steadily41 on for a step or two, her eyes fixed42 upon the strip of path before her. Then her step lagged a little and, turning, she smiled up into Barth’s troubled, waiting eyes, while she held out her hand for the coin.
“Give it back to me, then,” she said quietly. “It is mine.”
“With all it must mean,—Nancy?”
“Yes. With all it does mean.”
Their hands met about the shining piece of gold, and it was an instant before they dropped apart again. Then Barth gave a contented43 little sigh.
“And now,” he said slowly; “now at last I really can call you my Good Sainte Anne. Oh, rather!”
The End
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1
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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forestalling
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| v.先发制人，预先阻止( forestall的现在分词 ) | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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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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8
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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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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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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ozone
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| n.臭氧，新鲜空气 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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16
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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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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25
mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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outstripped
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| v.做得比…更好，（在赛跑等中）超过( outstrip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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construe
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| v.翻译，解释 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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41
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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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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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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