“If you want to,” said she, “you may come out on the porch with me for a little while, monsieur. I want you to talk to me.”
“Yvonne,” exclaimed her mother, in a rebuking3 voice, “will not this room do as well?”
“No, indeed, little mamma,” said she wilfully4. “Nothing will do as well as the porch, where the moonlight is, and the smell of the apple-blossoms. You know, dear, Grand Pré is not Paris!”
“Nor yet is it Quebec,” said I pointedly5.
Monsieur de Lamourie smiled. Whatever Yvonne would was in his eyes good. But her mother yielded only with a little gesture of protest.
51“Yvonne is always a law unto herself,” she murmured.
“And to others, I judge,” said I, following the light figure out upon the porch, and closing the door behind me.
I praised the saints for the freedom of Grand Pré. At Quebec Mademoiselle would have been the most formal of the formalists, because in Quebec it was easy to be misjudged.
In the corner of the porch, where a huge apple-bough thrust its blossoms in beneath the roof, was slung7 a stout8 hammock such as sailors use on shipboard. Mademoiselle de Lamourie had seen these during a voyage down the Gulf9 from Quebec, and had so fancied them that her father had been impelled10 to have one netted for her by the shad-fishers. It was her favoured lounging-place, and thither11 she betook herself now without apology. In silence I held the tricksy netting for her. In silence I placed the cushion beneath her head. Then she said:
“You may sit there,” and she pointed6, with a little imperious motion, to a stout bench standing12 against the wall.
I accepted the seat, but not its location. I brought it and placed it as close as I dared to the hammock. In doing so I clumsily set the hammock swinging.
“Please stop it,” said Mademoiselle; and as I 52seated myself I laid my hand on the side of the hammock to arrest its motion. My fingers found themselves in contact with other fingers, very slim and warm and soft. My breath came in a quick gasp13, and I drew away my hand in a strange and overwhelming perturbation. The hammock was left to stop of itself—and, indeed, its swinging was but slight. As for me, I was possessed14 by an infinite amazement15 to find myself thus put to confusion by a touch. I had no word to say, but sat gazing dumbly at the white figure in the moonlight.
Her face was very pallid16 in that colorless light, and her eyes greater and darker than ever, deeps of mystery,—and now, I thought, of grave mockery as well. She watched me for a little in silence, and then said:
“I let you come out here to talk to me, monsieur!”
I straightened myself upon the bench, and tried my voice. My misgivings17 were justified18. It trembled, beyond a doubt. The witch had me at a grave disadvantage. But I spoke19 on quietly.
“From my two years in the woods of the West, mademoiselle,” said I, “I brought home to Grand Pré certain wonderful dreams. Of these I find some more than realized; but one, which gave all meaning to the rest, has been put to death this night.”
53“Even in Grand Pré dreams are no new thing,” she said in haste. “I want to hear of deeds, of brave and great action. Tell me what you have done—for I know that will be brave.” And she smiled at me such kind encouragement that my heart began thumping20 with vehemence21. However, I made shift to tell her a little of my wanderings—of a bush fight here, a night march there, of the foiling of a foe22, of the timely succour of a friend—till I saw that I was pleasing her. Her face leaned a little toward me. Her eyes spoke, dilating23 and contracting. Her lips were slightly parted as she listened. And into every adventure, every situation, every movement, I contrived24 to weave a suggestion of her influence, of the thought of her guiding and upholding me. These things, touched lightly and at once let pass, she did not rebuke25. She feigned26 not to understand them.
At last I paused and looked at her, waiting for a word of praise or blame.
“And your poetry, monsieur?” she said gently. “Surely that was not all the time forgotten. This Acadian land, with its wonder and its beauty, has found no interpreter but you, and your brave work in the field would be a misfortune, not a benefit, if it cost us your song.”
“The loss of my verses were no great loss,” said I.
“Indeed, monsieur,” she said earnestly, “I do 54not think you can be as modest as you pretend. But I am sincere. Since we have known your song of them, I think that mamma and I have watched only through your eyes the great sweep of the Minas tides. And only the other day I heard papa, who cares for no poetry but his old ‘Chansons de Gestes,’ quoting you to Father Fafard with evident enthusiasm.” She paused—but I said nothing. I had talked long; and I wished her to continue. What she was saying, the manner of her saying it, were such as I could long listen to.
“As for me,” she went on, “I never walk down the orchard27 in summer time without saying over to myself your song of the apple-leaves.”
“You do, really, remember my verses?” said I, flushing with surprise and joy. I was not used to commendation for such things, my verses being wont28 to win no more approval than they merited, which I felt to be very little.
She laughed softly, and began to quote:
“O apple leaves, so cool and green
Against the summer sky,
You stir, although the wind is still
And not a bird goes by!
You start,
And softly move apart
In hushed expectancy29.
Who is the gracious visitor
Whose form I cannot see?
55“O apple leaves, the mystic light
All down your dim arcade30!
Why do your shadows tremble so,
Half glad and half afraid?
The air
Is an unspoken prayer;
Your eyes look all one way.
Who is the secret visitor
Your tremors31 would betray?”
It was a slight thing, which I had never thought particularly well of; but on her lips it achieved a music unimagined before.
“Your voice,” said I, “makes it beautiful, as it makes all words beautiful. Yes, I have written some small bits of verse during my exile, but they have been different from those of mine which you honour with your praise. They have had another, a more wonderful, theme—a theme all too high for them, which nevertheless spurred them to their best. They have at least one merit—they speak the truth from my heart.” As I spoke I felt myself leaning forward, though not of set purpose, and my voice sank almost to a whisper.
“One of them,” I continued, begins in this way:
“A moonbeam or a breath, above thine eyes I bow,
Silent, unseen,
But not, ah! not unknown”—
“Wait!” she interrupted, in a voice that sounded a little faint. “Wait! I want to hear them all, 56monsieur; but not to-night. You shall say them to me to-morrow. I must not stay to listen to them to-night. I am a little—cold, I think! Help me out, please!” And she rashly gave me her hand.
Now, it was my honest intention at that instant to do just her bidding and no more; but when I touched her fingers reason and judgment32 flowed from me. I bowed my head over them to the edge of the hammock, and with both my hands crushed them to my lips. She sank back upon her cushion, with a little catching33 of her breath.
After a few moments I raised my head—but with no speech and with no set purpose—and looked at her face. It was very grave, and curiously34 troubled, but I detected no reproach in the great eyes that met mine. A fierce impulse seized me to gather her in my arms—but I durst not, and my eyes dropped as I thought of it. By chance they rested upon her feet—upon the tiny, quill-worked, beaded white moccasins, demurely35 crossed, the one over the other. Her skirt was so closely gathered about her ankles that just an inch or two of one arched instep was visible over the edge of the low-cut moccasin. Before I myself could realize what I was about to do, or half the boldness of the act, in a passion that was all worship I threw myself down beside her feet and kissed them.
57It was for an instant only that my daring so prevailed. Then she suddenly slipped away. In a breathless confusion I sprang to my feet, and found her standing erect36 at the other side of the hammock. Her eyes blazed upon me; but one small hand was at her throat, as if she found it hard to speak.
“How could you dare?” she panted. “What right did I give you? What right did I ever give you?”
I leaned against the pillar that supported one end of the hammock.
“Forgive me! I could not help it. I have loved you, worshipped you, so long!” I said in a very low voice.
“How dare you speak so?” she cried. “You forget that”—
“No, I remember!” I interrupted doggedly37. “I forget nothing. You do not love him. You are mine.”
“Oh!” she gasped38, lifting both hands sharply to her face and dropping them at once. “I shall never trust you again.”
And in a moment she had flashed past me, with a sob39, and disappeared into the house.
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收听单词发音
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1
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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rebuking
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的现在分词 ) | |
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wilfully
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| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
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pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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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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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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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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20
thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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dilating
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| v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
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24
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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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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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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29
expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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31
tremors
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| 震颤( tremor的名词复数 )； 战栗； 震颤声； 大地的轻微震动 | |
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32
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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33
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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34
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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35
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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36
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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37
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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38
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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39
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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