Then it was that Louise stirred and opened her eyes. They were very wide and very full of perplexity. She had not been sleeping, but had feigned2 sleep because she dreaded3 the ordeal4 of talking. She wanted to be alone, and she wanted to think—all night. A feverish5 zeal6 was upon her.
Barry was abed too. His light had gone out and his room was quite silent. Was he asleep? She wondered. Or was he, too, lying there in the dark with eyes wide open, thinking?
The walk back from the roast had been a very silent one. The day had been crowded with emotion, and during the journey back to Beachcrest the tenseness had seemed, curiously7, to be eased a little. At least there seemed a tacit understanding that, whatever the further developments might be, tomorrow must do. Tomorrow, tomorrow! Tonight[Pg 276] all was hazed8 and half drowned in unshed, groping tears. Even emotion itself, through sheer, blessed weariness, was subtly obscured. So the walk had been silent, while somehow both had felt as though the air had cleared a little. It was easier to breathe.
They had stood together a moment on the porch.
"Goodnight," she said huskily.
"Goodnight, Louise," he returned gravely, giving her hand just a frank, brief pressure.
She wanted to throw herself at his feet. The impulse to do something splendid and expiating9 swept over her almost irresistibly10. She wanted to implore11 his forgiveness—would that set their lives in order? If this were to be the end, she felt there ought to be something at least vaguely12 stupendous about it.
"Louise, dear—what is it?" he asked, quite tenderly and calmly, yet with an intensity13, too, which seemed like a hot, reproachful breath against one's very soul.
She swayed a little, almost as though she might be about to fall in a faint. He touched her arm gently.
The opportunity passed. "It's nothing," she murmured. "I'm tired, that's all—so tired!" And she did not throw herself at his feet, or do anything splendid at all.
It was true, she was very tired. She expected to drop at once into a merciful drugged sleep. It had been like that after the affair with Richard. But now, lo! she found herself more wide awake, it seemed, than she had ever been. The weariness seemed all[Pg 277] slipping from her, and her mind grew quite vibrant14, as with a slowly dawning purpose.
Ah, tomorrow!
Would the situation be as tragic15 then? Could it be otherwise than tragic? But perhaps—perhaps they would see things more clearly....
"Yes," she thought, "I'll go to sleep now and let tomorrow bring what it must."
Mañana, mañana!
But this was not to be. She closed her eyes. She tried to turn into a snug16 and sleepy position. But she could not woo sleep; and every effort merely sharpened her senses. Again she found herself lying in the dark with wide eyes, and went on thinking, thinking.
What was the meaning of this strange commotion18? Phantoms19—of the past—presaging phantoms endlessly to follow.... At dawn she had gone out blithely20 enough to welcome her lover. He had come. And then.... But even before his coming, that curious battle had set in. Not his hat or the twist of his profile.... Phantoms. Phantoms rising up in her heart like some sinister21 cloud of retribution. And their single adversary22: "You are mine, all mine...."
Now, in this sombre hour shunned23 by sleep, the conflict achieved an effect of climax24: she felt it to be that, obscurely yet with a desperate poignancy—felt that an issue precious in the scheme of her unfolding destiny faced decision. Legions of spent loves went[Pg 278] by in marshalled battle trim. With an inward cry she watched them as they passed. Perfume still lingering in the house, though with the guest departed. Ghosts of a many-vizaged passion, homing at length, for the fulfilment of a barter25 Faust-like in its essence.
How lavish26 she had always been: how free! Shambles27, now the glamour28 was gone stale. A monstrous29 cheapening—a heart flung out to-let in a public street. Yes, how easily and extravagantly30 she had spent herself—a profligate31 spending, for what the moment could return. Here, at last, was a love that demanded: "You must be mine, all mine—you must belong to me forever!" Curious, that of them all—of all the voices that had spoken of love before—it should be Lynndal's which, in fancy, thus first framed a so momentous32 contract!
He had been always so modest; in the beginning, to be loved in return had figured for him as a too, too generous conjecture33. Gradually, however, there had been a return. Their lives had drawn34 together. The fact that this love had, from almost the very beginning, been challenged to the bridging of such distance began to assume for Louise a new and arresting significance. There had been something in it, in its very fibre, rising above any mere17 convenience of contact: a phenomenon unique, it struck her, in the long and turbulent history of her heart interests. Those letters.... "That was just it," she had groped when confronted by Aunt Marjie. Romancing appeared to have carried her far, how far! Mirage35.[Pg 279] And yet, behind the mirage a something deeper lurked36. She sensed this now; but all the weary day she had sensed it also, dimly. Lynndal. Hitherto, the man himself had barely figured. Yet ever he had been there, too. He had come from far in the west to put a ring on her finger, and had found her in a panic of goblin doubt. That fancied voice in the shriek37 of steam: "Mine—mine!" Then the kiss which exposed her dilemma38. But behind these things—the man; the man himself. And what was this that seemed for so long, in a fine and utter silence, to have been building? Sanctuary39!...
Her mind, as she lay here in the dark, became indeed a battleground for this ultimate climax of struggle. An unimagined realm they made of it. Her heart beat faster and her cheeks grew hot. To-let, in a public street. "Richard! I have done what he would have done—what he did! I am no better—no better!" She writhed40, and the bitterness did not leave her—carried her instead to a yet more awful conclusion: "I am no better than a—than a—" The terrible word scorched41 across her heart, leaving a scar behind. Sobs42 shook her body, and the tears were bitter tears of hopelessness and regret.
But then, slowly, the bitterness eased a little; and, full of amazement43, she felt a shy presence of freshness stealing mysteriously in, as from some empire where struggle is no citizen. A strange and beautiful sense of disentanglement. In the previous moment of unwithheld relentless44 purgatory45, she had caught[Pg 280] the rhythm of that something—that something behind the mirage! So that, in time, as she lay relaxed, with tears undried on her face, it came to her that just one fact remained, of all the febrile facts which, out of a long inglorious past, had attained46 the immortality47 of ghost-hood. Just one—one "living" fact: Lynndal!
Until today he had but filled a niche—but carried on the pattern of the many; now, however, the power to stem this ruinous tide revealed itself as at hand, just waiting to be seized—the courage to give herself completely, and to achieve a love as steadfast48 and unchanging as his had proved to be.
The night wore on. The moon grew sleepy and drooped in the starry49 western sky. But Louise did not sleep. There was high drama in her heart, and she could not sleep till it was all played out.
She began laying plans. What would her life be like if she married Lynndal? Dry-farming. But later he would run for Congress—perhaps he would be Governor some day. And in the meantime, love—and there would perhaps be children.... Security! Peace! An anchorage—something to steady her and set her wayward heart at rest!
"I'm the kind of girl," she told herself, with a grimness which still went hand in hand with the orgy of honesty and fearless insight that had been making these dark hours so memorable50, "—the kind that must be married. I—I'm not safe otherwise—not to be trusted."
[Pg 281]
And then her mood lightened again a little and grew grimly whimsical: "They say a minister's children are always the worst!"
She must have fallen into a little sleep; for she opened her eyes with a start and gazed up at a slight abrasion51 in the shingle52 roof through which morning blinked. For a moment she wondered why she had waked so early. The July birds were all aflutter outside. It was a radiant summer dawn.
Hilda lay beside her, sound asleep. The house was very still. It was tomorrow!
Downstairs on the mantelpiece in the cottage living room the Dutch clock was ticking in its wiry, indignant way. There came a whirr—so like a wheeze53 of decrepitude54. And then it struck: one, two, three, four....
Very quietly Louise slipped out of bed. She did not want to waken Hilda, but she had a sudden desire to be out under the sky.
Quickly putting on her clothes, she stole from the cottage. The morning was very still and fresh. She felt as though she must shout the gladness that was in her. Tomorrow! Who could possibly have foreseen that it would be like this?
Louise climbed up out of the valley toward the little rustic55 "tea-house" where Leslie had waited for her yesterday at dawn. She thought she would sit there a long, long time, trying to realize her great new contrite56 happiness. She reached the door. A[Pg 282] figure stirred. Lynndal was there. He had risen even before she was awake, for slumber57 had not come to him at all. When he saw her face, he could not believe the new happiness that seemed rushing upon him out of the dark chaos58 of their yesterday.
She stretched out her hands to him. She snuggled up against him with a brief, glad sigh. "I want to be yours, all yours, Lynndal," she said softly and just a little humorously. "I want to be yours forever and ever. I don't want to belong to any one but you!"
The End
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1
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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feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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7
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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8
hazed
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| v.（使）笼罩在薄雾中( haze的过去式和过去分词 )；戏弄，欺凌（新生等，有时作为加入美国大学生联谊会的条件） | |
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9
expiating
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| v.为（所犯罪过）接受惩罚，赎（罪）( expiate的现在分词 ) | |
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10
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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11
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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12
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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14
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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15
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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16
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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17
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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18
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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20
blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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21
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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22
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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23
shunned
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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25
barter
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| n.物物交换，以货易货，实物交易 | |
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26
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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27
shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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28
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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29
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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extravagantly
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| adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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31
profligate
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| adj.行为不检的；n.放荡的人，浪子，肆意挥霍者 | |
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32
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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33
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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34
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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35
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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36
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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37
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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38
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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39
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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40
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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41
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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42
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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43
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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44
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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45
purgatory
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| n.炼狱；苦难；adj.净化的，清洗的 | |
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46
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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47
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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48
steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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49
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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50
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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51
abrasion
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| n.磨（擦）破，表面磨损 | |
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52
shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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53
wheeze
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| n.喘息声，气喘声；v.喘息着说 | |
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54
decrepitude
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| n.衰老；破旧 | |
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55
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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56
contrite
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| adj.悔悟了的，后悔的，痛悔的 | |
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57
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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58
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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