The girl stirred and started up at once, smiling hopefully at the radiant sky. Each tree awoke; each leaf and bough4 sent forth5 its fragrant6 tribute. Nature had wept, was drying her tears; and all the woods were glad.
The man still slept. The girl listened again for the sounds of his breathing, and then rose slowly and walked out. She shivered with the cold and dampness, for her feet had been wet the night before and were not yet dry, but the fire still glowed warmly. The damp twigs8 sputtered9 in protest as she put them on and a shaft10 of white smoke slanted11 down the wind, but presently the grateful crackling was followed by a burst of flame.
The explosion of a pine-knot awoke the sleeper12 in the hut, who rolled over on his couch, looking around him with heavy eyes, unable to put his thoughts together. A ray of sunlight fell upon the girl’s face and rested there; and he saw that she was pale and that her hair had fallen in disorder13 about her shoulders. He understood then. He had slept upon her bed while she—for all he knew—had spent the night where he now saw her. He straightened,[61] struggled stiffly to his feet and stumbled out, rubbing his eyes.
She greeted him with a wan14 smile.
“Good morning,” she said. “I awoke first, you see.”
“I c-can’t forgive myself.”
“Oh, yes, you can, since I do.”
“I don’t know what to say to you.”
“You might say ‘good morning.’”
“I’ve been asleep,” he went on with a slow shake of his head, “while you lay—on the ground. I didn’t know. I only remember sitting there. I meant to get up——”
She laughed deliciously.
“But you couldn’t have—unless you had walked in your sleep.”
“I remember nothing.” He ran his blackened fingers through his hair. “Oh, yes, the trail—the deer—and—you cooking fish—and then—after that—we talked, didn’t we?”
He was awake now, and blundered forward eagerly to take the branch which she had lifted from the wood-pile. But she yielded grudgingly15.
“I’m to do my share—that we agreed——”
“No—you’re a woman. You shall do nothing—go into the hut and rest.”
“I’m not tired.”
Her appearance belied16 her words. He looked down at her tenderly and laid his hand gently on her shoulder.
“You have not slept?”
“Oh, yes, I slept,” looking away.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“It wasn’t necessary.”
She smiled, but did not meet his gaze, which she felt was bent17 eagerly in search of her own.
“Where did you sleep?” he asked again.
[62]
“In the shelter—beside you.”
“And I did not know! Do you think you can forgive me?”
She put her hand to her shoulder and gently removed his fingers. But his own seized hers firmly and would not let them go.
“Listen, please,” he pleaded, “won’t you? I want you to understand—many things. I want you to know that I wouldn’t willingly have slept there for anything in the world. It’s a matter of pride with me to make you comfortable. I’m under a moral obligation to myself—it goes deeper than you can ever guess—to bring you safely out of this, and give you to your people. You don’t know how I’ve blessed the chance that threw you in my way—here—since I’ve been in the woods—that it happened to be my opportunity instead of some one else’s who didn’t need it as I did. I did need it. I can’t tell you how or why, but I did. It doesn’t matter who I am, but I want you to appreciate this much, at least, that I never knew anything of the joy of living until I found it here, the delight of the struggle to satisfy the mere18 pangs19 of healthy hunger—yours and mine, the wonderful ache of muscles stretched to the snapping point.” He stopped, with a sharp sigh.
“Oh, I know you can’t understand all this. I don’t think I want you to—or why it hurts me to know that for one night at least you have suffered——”
“I do understand, I think,” she murmured slowly. She had not looked at him, and her gaze sought the distant trees. “I did not suffer, though,” she added.
“You had been crying—they hurt me, too, those anxious eyes of yours.”
“I was afraid you might not come back, that was all,” she said frankly20. “I’m rather useless, you see.”
[63]
He took her other hand and made her look at him.
“You felt the need of me?” he queried21.
“Yes, of course,” she said simply. “What would I have done without you?”
He laughed happily, “What wouldn’t you have done—if you hadn’t cut your finger?”
She colored and her eyes, in some confusion, sought the two trees which still bore the evidence of her ill-fated building operation.
“Yesterday, when I was away you started to build a shack22 for me,” he went on. “It was your right, of course——”
“No, no,” she protested, lowering her head. “I thought you’d like it so, I——”
“I understand,” gently. “But it seems——”
“It was a selfish motive23 after all,” she broke in again. “Your strength is more important than mine——”
He smiled and shook his head.
“You can’t mislead me. Last night I learned something of what you are—gentle, courageous24, motherly, self-effacing. I’ll remember you so—always.”
She disengaged her hands abruptly25 and took up the saucepan.
“Meanwhile, the breakfast is to be cooked—” she said coolly. There was no reproof26 in her tone, only good fellowship, a deliberate confirmation27 of her promises of the night before.
With a smile he took the saucepan from her hand and went about his work. It seemed that his failure yesterday to find a way out meant more to him this morning than it did to her. His limbs were heavy, too, and his body ached from top to toe; but he went to the brook28 and washed, then searched the woods for the blueberries that she liked and silently cooked the meal.
[64]
As he did not eat she asked him, “Aren’t you hungry?”
“Not very.”
He took up a fish and turned it over in his fingers. “I think I’ll wait for the venison pasty.”
“Don’t you feel well?”
“Just a little loggy,” that’s all. “I think I slept too long.”
She looked up at him suddenly, and then with friendly solicitude29, laid her fingers lightly along his brow. The gesture was natural, gentle, so exquisitely30 feminine, that he closed his eyes delightedly, conscious of the agreeable softness of her fingers and the coolness of their touch.
“Your brow is hot,” she said quickly.
“Is it?” he asked. “That’s queer, I feel chilly31.”
“You’ve caught a bad cold, I’m afraid,” she said, removing her fingers. “It’s very—very imprudent of you.”
Not satisfied with the rapidity of her diagnosis32, he thrust his hand toward her for confirmation.
“I haven’t any fever, have I?”
Her fingers lightly touched his wrist.
“I’m afraid so. Your pulse is thumping33 pretty fast.”
“Very fast?”
“Yes.”
“You must be mistaken.”
“No, you have fever. You’ll have to rest to-day.”
“I don’t want to rest. I couldn’t if I wanted to.”
“You must!” she said peremptorily34. “There’s nothing but the firewood. I can get that.”
“There’s the shack to build,” he said.
“The shack must wait,” she replied.
“And the deer to be butchered?”
She looked at the carcass and then put her fingers over her eyes. But she looked up at him resolutely35.
[65]
“Yes,” she persisted, “I’ll do that, too—if you’ll show me how.”
He looked at her a moment with a soft light in his deep-set eyes and then rose heavily to his feet.
“It’s very kind of you to want to make me an invalid,” he said, “but that can’t be. There’s nothing wrong with me. What I want is work. The more I have the better I’ll feel. I’m going to skin the deer.” And disregarding her protests, he leaned over and caught up the hind36-legs of the creature, dragging it into the bushes.
The effort cost him a violent throbbing37 in the head and pains like little needle pricks38 through his body. His eyes swam and the hand that held his knife was trembling; but after a while he finished his work, and cutting a strong young twig7, thrust it through the tendons of the hind legs and carried the meat back to camp, hanging it high on a projecting branch near the fire.
She watched him moving slowly about, but covered her eyes at the sight of his red hands and the erubescent carcass.
“Don’t you feel like a murderer?” she asked.
“Yes,” he admitted, “I think I do; half of me does—but the hunter, the primitive40 man in me is rejoicing. There’s an instinct in all of us that belongs to a lower order of creation.”
“But it—it’s unclean——”
“Then all meat is unclean. The reproach is on the race—not on us. After all we are only first cousins to the South-Sea gentlemen who eat one another,” he laughed.
“I don’t believe I can eat it,” she shuddered41.
“Oh, yes, you will—when you’re hungry.”
“I’ll never eat meat again,” she insisted. “Never! The brutality43 of it!”
“What’s the difference?” he laughed. “In town[66] we pay a butcher to do our dirty work—here we do it ourselves. Our responsibilities are just as great there as here.”
“That’s true—I never thought of that, but I can’t forget that creature’s eyes.” And while she looked soberly into the fire, he went down to the stream and cleansed44 himself, washing away all traces of his unpleasant task. When he returned she still sat as before.
“Why is it?” she asked thoughtfully, “that the animal appetites are so repellent, since we ourselves are animals? And yet we tolerate gluttony—drunkenness among our kind? We’re only in a larva state after all.”
He had sunk on the log beside her for the comfort of the blaze, and as she spoke45 the shadows under his brows darkened with his frown and the chin beneath its stubble hardened in deep lines.
“I sometimes think that Thoreau had the right idea of life,” she said slowly. “There are infinite degrees of gluttony—infinite degrees of drunkenness. I felt shame for you just now—for myself—for the blood on your hands. I can’t explain it. It seemed different from everything else that you have done here in the woods, for the forest is clean, sweet-smelling. I did not like to feel ashamed for you. You see,” she smiled, “I’ve been rating you very highly.”
“No,” he groaned46, his head in his hands. “Don’t! You mustn’t do that!”
At the somber47 note she turned and looked at him keenly. She could not see his face, but the fingers that hid it were trembling.
“You’re ill!” she gasped48. “Your body is shaking.”
He sat up with an effort and his face was the color of ashes.
“No, it’s nothing. Just a chill, I think. I’ll be all right in a minute.”
[67]
But she put her arm around him and made him sit on the log nearest to the fire.
“This won’t do at all,” she said anxiously. “You’ve got to take care of yourself—to let me take care of you. Here! You must drink this.”
She had taken the flask49 from her pocket and before he knew it had thrust it to his lips. He hesitated a moment, his eyes staring into space and then without question, drank deep, his eyes closed.
And as the leaping fires went sparkling through his body, he set the vessel50 down, screwed on the lid and put it on the log beside him. Two dark spots appeared beneath the tan and mounted slowly to his temples, two red spots like the flush of shame. An involuntary shudder42 or two and the trembling ceased. Then he sat up and looked at her.
“A mustard foot-bath and some quinine, please,” he asked with a queer laugh.
But she refused to smile. “You slept in your soaking clothes last night,” severely51.
He shrugged52 his shoulders and laughed again.
“That’s nothing. I’ve done that often. Besides, what else could I do? If you had wakened me——”
“That is unkind.”
She was on the verge53 of tears. So he got to his feet quickly and shaking himself like a shaggy dog, faced her almost jauntily54.
“I’m right as a trivet,” he announced. “And I’m going to call you Hebe—the cup-bearer to the gods—or Euphrosyne. Which do you like the best?”
“I don’t like either,” she said with a pucker55 at her brow. And then with the demureness56 which so became her. “My name is—is Jane.”
“Jane!” he exclaimed. “Jane! of course. Do you know I’ve been wondering, ever since we’ve been here what[68] name suited you best, Phyllis, Millicent, Elizabeth, and a dozen others I’ve tried them all; but I’m sure now that Jane suits you best of all. Jane!” he chuckled57 gleefully. “Yes, it does—why, it’s you. How could I ever have thought of anything else?”
Her lips pouted58 reluctantly and finally broke into laughter, which showed her even white teeth and discovered new dimples.
“Do you really like it?”
“How could I help it? It’s you, I tell you—so sound, sane59, determined60 and a little prim39, too.”
“I’m not prim.”
“Yes,” he decided61, “you’re prim—when you think that you ought to be.”
“Oh.”
He seated himself beside her, looking at her quizzically as though she was a person he had never seen before—as though the half-identity she provided had invested her with new and unexpected attributes.
“It was nice of you to tell me. My name is Phil,” he said.
“Is it?” she asked almost mechanically.
“Yes, don’t you like it?”
Her glance moved quickly from one object to another—the shelter, the balsam bed, and the crutch62 which leaned against the door flap.
“Don’t you like it?” he repeated eagerly.
“No,” quietly. “It isn’t like you at all.”
Probed for a reason, she would give none, except the woman’s reason which was no reason at all. Only when he ceased probing did she give it, and then voluntarily.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to change it then,” he laughed.
“Yes, change it, please. The only Phils I’ve ever known were men of a different stripe—men without purposes,[69] without ambitions.” And then, after a pause, “I believe you to be different.”
“No! I have no purposes—no ambitions,” he said glowering63 again at the fire.
“That is not true.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you have ideals—of purity, of virtue64, of courage.”
“No,” he mumbled65, “I have no ideals. Life is a joke—without a point. If it has any, I haven’t discovered it yet.”
Her eyes sought his face in a vague disquiet66, but he would not meet her look. The flush on his cheek had deepened, his gaze roved dully from one object to another and his fingers moved aimlessly upon his knees. She had proved him for three days, she thought, with the test of acid and the fire, but she did not know him at this moment. The thing that she had discovered and recognized as the clean white light of his inner genius had been suddenly smothered67. She could not understand. His words were less disturbing than his manner, and his voice sounded gruff and unfamiliar68 to her ears.
She rose quietly and moved away, and he did not follow her. He did not even turn his head and for all she knew was not aware that she had gone. This was unlike him, for there had never been a moment since they had met when she could have questioned his chivalry69, his courtesy or good manners. Her mind was troubled vaguely70, like the surface of a lake which trembles at the distant storm.
A walk through the forest soothed71 her. The brook—her brook and his—sang as musically as before, the long drawn72 aisles73 had not changed, and the note of praise still swelled74 among the fretted75 vaults76 above. The birds made[70] light of their troubles, too, and the leaves were whispering joyously77 the last gossip of the wood. What they said she could not guess, but she knew by the warm flush that had risen to her cheeks that it must be personal.
When she returned to camp her arms were full of asters and cardinal78 flowers. He greeted her gravely, with an almost too elaborate politeness.
“I hope you’ll forgive me,” he begged her. “I don’t think I’m quite myself to-day.”
“Are you feeling better?” she questioned.
“Yes, I’m quite—quite comfortable. I was afraid I had offended you.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t understand you for a moment. That was all.” She lifted the flowers so that he might see them better. “I’ve brought these for our lunch-table.”
But he did not look at them. His eyes, still glowing unfamiliarly, sought only hers.
“Will you forgive me?”
“Yes, of course,” lightly.
“I want—I want your friendship. I can’t tell you how much. I didn’t say anything that offended you, did I? I felt pretty seedy. Everything seemed to be slipping away from me.”
“Not now?”
“Oh, no. I’m all right.”
He took the flowers from her arms and laid them at the foot of a tree. Then coming forward he thrust out both his hands suddenly and took her by the elbows.
“Jane!” he cried, “Jane! Look up into my eyes! I want you to see what you’ve written there. Why haven’t you ever seen it? Why wouldn’t you look and read? It’s madness, perhaps; but if it’s madness, then madness is sweet—and all the world is mad with me.[71] There isn’t any world. There’s nothing but you and me—and Arcadia.”
She had turned her gaze to the ground and would not look at him but she struggled faintly in his embrace. The color was gone from her cheeks now and beneath the long lashes79 that swept her cheek—one great tear trembled and fell.
“No, no—you mustn’t,” she whispered, stifling80. “It can’t—it mustn’t be. I don’t——”
But he had seized her more closely in his arms and shackled81 her lips with his kisses.
“I’m mad—I know—but I want you, Jane. I love you—I love you—I want the woods to hear——”
She wrenched82 one arm free and pushed away, her eyes wide, for the horror of him had dawned slowly.
“Oh!” she gasped. “You!”
As he seized her again, she drew back, mad with fear, shrunken within herself, like a snake in a thicket83 coiling itself to thrust and then struck viciously.
He felt the impact of a blow full in the face and staggered back releasing her. And her accents, sharp, cruel, vicious, clove84 the silence like sword-cuts.
“You cad! You brute85! You utter brute!”
He came forward like a blind man, mumbling86 incoherently, but she avoided him easily, and fled.
“Jane!” he called hoarsely87. “Come back to me, Jane. Come back to me! Oh, God!”
He stumbled and fell; then rose again, putting his hands to his face and running heavily toward the spot where she had vanished into the bushes—the very spot where three days ago she had appeared to him. He caught a glimpse of her ahead of him and blundered on, calling for forgiveness. There was no reply but the echo of his own voice, nor any glimpse of her. After that he[72] remembered little, except that he went on and on, tripping, falling, tearing his face and clothes in the briars, getting to his feet and going on again, mad with the terror of losing her—an instinct only, an animal in search of its wounded mate.
He did not know how long he strove or how far, but there came a time when he fell headlong among some boulders88 and could rise no more.
That morning two Indian guides in search of a woman who had been lost, met another Indian at the headwaters of a stream, and together they followed a fresh trail—the trail of a big man wearing hob-nailed boots and carrying a burden. In the afternoon they found an empty shack beside which a fire was burning. Two creels hung side by side near the fire and upon the limb of a tree was the carcass of a deer. There were many trails into the woods—some made by the feet of a woman, some by the feet of a man.
The three guides sat at the fire for awhile and smoked, waiting.
Then two of them got up and after examining the smaller foot-marks silently disappeared. When they had gone the third guide, a puzzled look on his face, picked up an object which had fallen under a log and examined it with minute interest. Then with a single guttural sound from his throat, put the object in his pocket and bending well forward, his eyes upon the ground, glided89 noiselessly through the underbrush after them.
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1
burnishing
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| n.磨光，抛光，擦亮v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的现在分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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7
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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sputtered
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| v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的过去式和过去分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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14
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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grudgingly
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16
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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17
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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33
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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peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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pricks
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| 刺痛( prick的名词复数 )； 刺孔； 刺痕； 植物的刺 | |
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39
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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41
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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42
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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43
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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44
cleansed
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| 弄干净，清洗( cleanse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
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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46
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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48
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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49
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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50
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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52
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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pucker
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| v.撅起，使起皱；n.（衣服上的）皱纹，褶子 | |
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56
demureness
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| n.demure（拘谨的，端庄的）的变形 | |
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57
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pouted
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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crutch
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| n.T字形拐杖；支持，依靠，精神支柱 | |
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glowering
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| v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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65
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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disquiet
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| n.担心，焦虑 | |
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67
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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69
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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71
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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72
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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73
aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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74
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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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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80
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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81
shackled
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| 给（某人）带上手铐或脚镣( shackle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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83
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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84
clove
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| n.丁香味 | |
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85
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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86
mumbling
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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88
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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89
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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