Thus he went quietly out of doors, for the door was but latched4, since no bolts or bars or locks were used in Burgstead, and through the town-gate, which stood open, save when rumours5 of war were about. He turned his face straight towards Wildlake’s Way, walking briskly, but at whiles looking back over his shoulder toward the East to note what way was made by the dawning, and how the sky lightened above the mountain passes.
By then he was come to the place where the Maiden8 Ward6 was held in the summer the dawn was so far forward that all things had their due colours, and were clear to see in the shadowless day. It was a bright morning, with an easterly air stirring that drave away the haze9 and dried the meadows, which had otherwise been rimy; for it was cold. Gold-mane lingered on the place a little, and his eyes fell on the road, as dusty yet as in Redesman’s song; for the autumn had been very dry, and the strip of green that edged the outside of the way was worn and dusty also. On the edge of it, half in the dusty road, half on the worn grass, was a long twine10 of briony red-berried and black-leaved; and right in the midst of the road were two twigs11 of great-leaved sturdy pollard oak, as though they had been thrown aside there yesterday by women or children a-sporting; and the deep white dust yet held the marks of feet, some bare, some shod, crossing each other here and there. Face-of-god smiled as he passed on, as a man with a happy thought; for his mind showed him a picture of the Bride as she would be leading the Maiden Ward next summer, and singing first among the singers, and he saw her as clearly as he had often seen her verily, and before him was the fashion of her hands and all her body, and the little mark on her right wrist, and the place where her arm whitened, because the sleeve guarded it against the sun, which had long been pleasant unto him, and the little hollow in her chin, and the lock of red-brown hair waving in the wind above her brow, and shining in the sun as brightly as the Alderman’s cunningest work of golden wire. Soft and sweet seemed that picture, till he almost seemed to hear her sweet voice calling to him, and desire of her so took hold of the youth, that it stirred him up to go swiftlier as he strode on, the day brightening behind him.
Now was it nigh sunrise, and he began to meet folk on the way, though not many; since for most their way lay afield, and not towards the Burg. The first was a Woodlander, tall and gaunt, striding beside his ass7, whose panniers were laden13 with charcoal14. The carle’s daughter, a little maiden of seven winters, riding on the ass’s back betwixt the panniers, and prattling15 to herself in the cold morning; for she was pleased with the clear light in the east, and the smooth wide turf of the meadows, as one who had not often been far from the shadow of the heavy trees of the wood, and their dark wall round about the clearing where they dwelt. Face-of-god gave the twain the sele of the day in merry fashion as he passed them by, and the sober dark-faced man nodded to him but spake no word, and the child stayed her prattle16 to watch him as he went by.
Then came the sound of the rattle17 of wheels, and, as he doubled an angle of the rock-wall, he came upon a wain drawn18 by four dun kine, wherein lay a young woman all muffled19 up against the cold with furs and cloths; beside the yoke20-beasts went her man, a well-knit trim-faced Dalesman clad bravely in holiday raiment, girt with a goodly sword, bearing a bright steel helm on his head, in his hand a long spear with a gay red and white shaft21 done about with copper22 bands. He looked merry and proud of his wain-load, and the woman was smiling kindly23 on him from out of her scarlet24 and fur; but now she turned a weary happy face on Gold-mane, for they knew him, as did all men of the Dale.
So he stopped when they met, for the goodman had already stayed his slow beasts, and the goodwife had risen a little on her cushions to greet him, yet slowly and but a little, for she was great with child, and not far from her time. That knew Gold-mane well, and what was toward, and why the goodman wore his fine clothes, and why the wain was decked with oak-boughs25 and the yoke-beasts with their best gilded bells and copper-adorned harness. For it was a custom with many of the kindreds that the goodwife should fare to her father’s house to lie in with her first babe, and the day of her coming home was made a great feast in the house. So then Face-of-god cried out: ‘Hail to thee, O Warcliff! Shrewd is the wind this morning, and thou dost well to heed26 it carefully, this thine orchard27, this thy garden, this thy fair apple-tree! To a good hall thou wendest, and the Wine of Increase shall be sweet there this even.’
Then smiled Warcliff all across his face, and the goodwife hung her head and reddened. Said the goodman: ‘Wilt28 thou not be with us, son of the Alderman, as surely thy father shall be?’
‘Nay,’ said Face-of-god, ‘though I were fain of it: my own matters carry me away.’
‘What matters?’ said Warcliff; ‘perchance thou art for the cities this autumn?’
Face-of-god answered somewhat stiffly: ‘Nay, I am not;’ and then more kindly, and smiling, ‘All roads lead not down to the Plain, friend.’
‘What road then farest thou away from us?’ said the goodwife.
‘The way of my will,’ he answered.
‘And what way is that?’ said she; ‘take heed, lest I get a longing29 to know. For then must thou needs tell me, or deal with the carle there beside thee.’
‘Nay, goodwife,’ said Face-of-god, ‘let not that longing take thee; for on that matter I am even as wise as thou. Now good speed to thee and to the new-comer!’
Therewith he went close up to the wain, and reached out his hand to her, and she gave him hers and he kissed it, and so went his ways smiling kindly on them. Then the carle cried to his kine, and they bent30 down their heads to the yoke; and presently, as he walked on, he heard the rumble31 of the wain mingling32 with the tinkling33 of their bells, which in a little while became measured and musical, and sounded above the creaking of the axles and the rattle of the gear and the roll of the great wheels over the road: and so it grew thinner and thinner till it all died away behind him.
He was now come to where the river turned away from the sheer rock-wall, which was not so high there as in most other places, as there had been in old time long screes from the cliff, which had now grown together, with the waxing of herbs and the washing down of the earth on to them, and made a steady slope or low hill going down riverward. Over this the road lifted itself above the level of the meadows, keeping a little way from the cliffs, while on the other side its bank was somewhat broken and steep here and there. As Face-of-god came up to one of these broken places, the sun rose over the eastern pass, and the meadows grew golden with its long beams. He lingered, and looked back under his hand, and as he did so heard the voices and laughter of women coming up from the slope below him, and presently a young woman came struggling up the broken bank with hand and knee, and cast herself down on the roadside turf laughing and panting. She was a long-limbed light-made woman, dark-faced and black-haired: amidst her laughter she looked up and saw Gold-mane, who had stopped at once when he saw her; she held out her hands to him, and said lightly, though her face flushed withal:
‘Come hither, thou, and help the others to climb the bank; for they are beaten in the race, and now must they do after my will; that was the forfeit34.’
He went up to her, and took her hands and kissed them, as was the custom of the Dale, and said:
‘Hail to thee, Long-coat! who be they, and whither away this morning early?’
She looked hard at him, and fondly belike, as she answered slowly: ‘They be the two maidens35 of my father’s house, whom thou knowest; and our errand, all three of us, is to Burgstead, the Feast of the Wine of Increase which shall be drunk this even.’
As she spake came another woman half up the bank, to whom went Face-of-god, and, taking her hands, drew her up while she laughed merrily in his face: he saluted36 her as he had Long-coat, and then with a laugh turned about to wait for the third; who came indeed, but after a little while, for she had abided, hearing their voices. Her also Gold-mane drew up, and kissed her hands, and she lay on the grass by Long-coat, but the second maiden stood up beside the young man. She was white-skinned and golden-haired, a very fair damsel, whereas the last-comer was but comely37, as were well-nigh all the women of the Dale.
Said Face-of-god, looking on the three: ‘How comes it, maidens, that ye are but in your kirtles this sharp autumn morning? or where have ye left your gowns or your cloaks?’
For indeed they were clad but in close-fitting blue kirtles of fine wool, embroidered38 about the hems39 with gold and coloured threads.
The last-comer laughed and said: ‘What ails40 thee, Gold-mane, to be so careful of us, as if thou wert our mother or our nurse? Yet if thou must needs know, there hang our gowns on the thorn-bush down yonder; for we have been running a match and a forfeit; to wit, that she who was last on the highway should go down again and bring them up all three; and now that is my day’s work: but since thou art here, Alderman’s son, thou shalt go down instead of me and fetch them up.’
But he laughed merrily and outright41, and said: ‘That will I not, for there be but twenty-four hours in the day, and what between eating and drinking and talking to fair maidens, I have enough to do in every one of them. Wasteful42 are ye women, and simple is your forfeit. Now will I, who am the Alderman’s son, give forth a doom43, and will ordain44 that one of you fetch up the gowns yourselves, and that Long-coat be the one; for she is the fleetest-footed and ablest thereto. Will ye take my doom? for later on I shall not be wiser.’
‘Yea,’ said the fair woman, ‘not because thou art the Alderman’s son, but because thou art the fairest man of the Dale, and mayst bid us poor souls what thou wilt.’
Face-of-god reddened at her words, and the speaker and the last-comer laughed; but Long-coat held her peace: she cast one very sober look on him, and then ran lightly down the bent; he drew near the edge of it, and watched her going; for her light-foot slimness was fair to look on: and he noted45 that when she was nigh the thorn-bush whereon hung the bright-broidered gowns, and deemed belike that she was not seen, she kissed both her hands where he had kissed them erst.
Thereat he drew aback and turned away shyly, scarce looking at the other twain, who smiled on him with somewhat jeering46 looks; but he bade them farewell and departed speedily; and if they spoke47, it was but softly, for he heard their voices no more.
He went on under the sunlight which was now gilding48 the outstanding stones of the cliffs, and still his mind was set upon the Bride; and his meeting with the mother of the yet unborn baby, and with the three women with their freshness and fairness, did somehow turn his thought the more upon her, since she was the woman who was to be his amongst all women, for she was far fairer than any one of them; and through all manner of life and through all kinds of deeds would he be with her, and know more of her fairness and kindness than any other could: and him-seemed he could see pictures of her and of him amidst all these deeds and ways.
Now he went very swiftly; for he was eager, though he knew not for what, and he thought but little of the things on which his eyes fell. He met none else on the road till he was come to Wildlake’s Way, though he saw folk enough down in the meadows; he was soon amidst the first of the trees, and without making any stay set his face east and somewhat north, that is, toward the slopes that led to the great mountains. He said to himself aloud, as he wended the wood: ‘Strange! yestereven I thought much of the wood, and I set my mind on not going thither49, and this morning I thought nothing of it, and here am I amidst its trees, and wending towards its innermost.’
His way was easy at first, because the wood for a little space was all of beech50, so that there was no undergrowth, and he went lightly betwixt the tall grey and smooth boles; albeit51 his heart was nought52 so gay as it was in the dale amidst the sunshine. After a while the beech-wood grew thinner, and at last gave out altogether, and he came into a space of rough broken ground with nought but a few scrubby oaks and thorn-bushes growing thereon here and there. The sun was high in the heavens now, and shone brightly down on the waste, though there were a few white clouds high up above him. The rabbits scuttled53 out of the grass before him; here and there he turned aside from a stone on which lay coiled an adder54 sunning itself; now and again both hart and hind12 bounded away from before him, or a sounder of wild swine ran grunting55 away toward closer covert56. But nought did he see but the common sights and sounds of the woodland; nor did he look for aught else, for he knew this part of the woodland indifferent well.
He held on over this treeless waste for an hour or more, when the ground began to be less rugged57, and he came upon trees again, but thinly scattered58, oak and ash and hornbeam not right great, with thickets59 of holly61 and blackthorn between them. The set of the ground was still steadily62 up to the east and north-east, and he followed it as one who wendeth an assured way. At last before him seemed to rise a wall of trees and thicket60; but when he drew near to it, lo! an opening in a certain place, and a little path as if men were wont63 to thread the tangle64 of the wood thereby65; though hitherto he had noted no slot of men, nor any sign of them, since he had plunged66 into the deep of the beech-wood. He took the path as one who needs must, and went his ways as it led. In sooth it was well-nigh blind, but he was a deft67 woodsman, and by means of it skirted many a close thicket that had otherwise stayed him. So on he went, and though the boughs were close enough overhead, and the sun came through but in flecks68, he judged that it was growing towards noon, and he wotted well that he was growing aweary. For he had been long afoot, and the more part of the time on a rough way, or breasting a slope which was at whiles steep enough.
At last the track led him skirting about an exceeding close thicket into a small clearing, through which ran a little woodland rill amidst rushes and dead leaves: there was a low mound69 near the eastern side of this wood-lawn, as though there had been once a dwelling70 of man there, but no other sign or slot of man was there.
So Face-of-god made stay in that place, casting himself down beside the rill to rest him and eat and drink somewhat. Whatever thoughts had been with him through the wood (and they been many) concerning his House and his name, and his father, and the journey he might make to the cities of the Westland, and what was to befall him when he was wedded71, and what war or trouble should be on his hands — all this was now mingled72 together and confused by this rest amidst his weariness. He laid down his scrip, and drew his meat from it and ate what he would, and dipping his gilded beaker into the brook73, drank water smacking74 of the damp musty savour of the woodland; and then his head sank back on a little mound in the short turf, and he fell asleep at once. A long dream he had in short space; and therein were blent his thoughts of the morning with the deeds of yesterday; and other matters long forgotten in his waking hours came back to his slumber75 in unordered confusion: all which made up for him pictures clear, but of little meaning, save that, as oft befalls in dreams, whatever he was a-doing he felt himself belated.
When he awoke, smiling at something strange in his gone-by dream, he looked up to the heavens, thinking to see signs of the even at hand, for he seemed to have been dreaming so long. The sky was thinly overcast76 by now, but by his wonted woodcraft he knew the whereabouts of the sun, and that it was scant77 an hour after noon. He sat there till he was wholly awake, and then drank once more of the woodland water; and he said to himself, but out loud, for he was fain of the sound of a man’s voice, though it were but his own:
‘What is mine errand hither? Whither wend I? What shall I have done to-morrow that I have hitherto left undone78? Or what manner of man shall I be then other than I am now?’
Yet though he said the words he failed to think the thought, or it left him in a moment of time, and he thought but of the Bride and her kindness. Yet that abode79 with him but a moment, and again he saw himself and those two women on the highway edge, and Long-coat lingering on the slope below, kissing his kisses on her hands; and he was sorry that she desired him over-much, for she was a fair woman and a friendly. But all that also flowed from him at once, and he had no thought in him but that he also desired something that he lacked: and this was a burden to him, and he rose up frowning, and said to himself, ‘Am I become a mere80 sport of dreams, whether I sleep or wake? I will go backward — or forward, but will think no more.’
Then he ordered his gear again, and took the path onward81 and upward toward the Great Mountains; and the track was even fainter than before for a while, so that he had to seek his way diligently82.
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1
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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2
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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latched
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| v.理解( latch的过去式和过去分词 )；纠缠；用碰锁锁上（门等）；附着（在某物上） | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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6
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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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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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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10
twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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15
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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16
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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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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hems
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| 布的褶边，贴边( hem的名词复数 )； 短促的咳嗽 | |
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ails
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| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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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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42
wasteful
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| adj.（造成）浪费的，挥霍的 | |
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43
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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ordain
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| vi.颁发命令；vt.命令，授以圣职，注定，任命 | |
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45
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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46
jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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47
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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48
gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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49
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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50
beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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51
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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52
nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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53
scuttled
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| v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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54
adder
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| n.蝰蛇；小毒蛇 | |
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55
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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56
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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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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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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flecks
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| n.斑点，小点( fleck的名词复数 )；癍 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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smacking
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| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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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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diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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