They had christened her the "little widow" down at Sierre, and the embarrassing distinction of a pardonable error had followed her to Andana. So much she had achieved by her desire to obliterate1 the past and to recall, if it were possible, the innocence2 and the freedom of her girlhood. But she knew now that the attempt had failed, and that she stood upon the brink3 of a discovery which must be attended by shame. Luton Delayne would come to Andana sooner or later, and all would know the truth.
It is true that she did not lack courage, and had the perception to see that worldly sympathy, so far as she cared to win it, must be upon her side; but the ordeal4 through which she must pass, in a sense the exposure, affrighted her and robbed her even of a desire to sleep. The morning of the day might bring the man to the hotel; the evening might send her upon her way again, a derelict upon a lonely sea which offered no safe harbourage.
There had been no child of her marriage, and thus no chain upon her desire for freedom. Her father, Sir Frederick Kennaird, had married again at the age of fifty-seven; and while the gates of the old home were not shut against her, she shrank from the thought of such a shelter. Her only brother, Harold, was with his regiment5 in India, and had already condemned6 her conduct in strenuous7 letters full of childish complaints. "Would she drag her story into the papers? Wash their dirty linen8 in public?"—and all that sort of thing. To these she made answer that she would be the arbiter9 of her own fortune, and that if the family honour depended upon her tolerance10 of such a man as Luton Delayne, she would not lift a finger to save it.
This was well enough as an expression of her promise, but more difficult as a practice. Enjoying an allowance of three thousand a year from her father, whose collieries brought him ten times that sum, she discovered presently that candour is a factor in the due enjoyment11 of life, and that the world has little love of anonymity12. Go where she would, to remote cities of Europe, to the East, even to America, there were some who knew her story and would sell secrecy13 at a price. She made no friends, won no sure refuge, could find no sanctuary14. Sometimes she regretted her determination to be known henceforth as Lily Kennaird, and wondered if her brother were not right when he described such a subterfuge16 as madness. Sacrifice carried her into a new world, and one with which she was unfamiliar17. She missed the amenities18 of the state she had abandoned, its overt19 dignities, its influence and power. Mrs. Kennaird was merely the "little widow" to the multitude. It had been otherwise when she was Lady Delayne.
All this troubled her during the night, and the new day found her afflicted20 by apprehensions21 to which she had long been a stranger. Twice in as many years she had seen her husband, Luton, and upon each occasion at a crisis of his life. A wanderer like herself, he lived chiefly upon the allowance of one thousand a year which she made him, and when that was exhausted22, upon his wits, which were considerable. The latter occupation was not unattended by danger and the curiosity of the police. Lily wondered sometimes at her patience.
And now he had followed her to Switzerland, and unquestionably would visit her at Andana. What shameful23 story lay behind the pursuit she could not imagine; but of the existence of such a story she was sure. Luton Delayne rarely troubled her unless his case were desperate—and desperate indeed it must be for him to abandon the purlieus of Monte Carlo at such a season. She resolved, upon her part, to refuse him audience if that were possible; and if it were not possible, then to summon all her courage and insist that this interview should be final. The day for compromise was past.
It had been her promise to the parson, Harry24 Clavering, that she would submit to the ordeal of the skis on this morning; and when, with Kavanagh, she met him on the veranda25 of the hotel, he reminded her pleasantly of her obligations.
Unwilling26 to disappoint, she professed27 her readiness to face the ordeal, and skis having been commanded from the hotel porter, the parson upon one side and Kavanagh upon the other set to work to imprison28 the smallest pair of feet in Andana and to tell the owner the news while they did so.
"You've heard that the ghost has been seen?" asked Clavering, a little excitedly. She shook her head incredulously.
"Oh, but it's quite true. Miss Nellie Rider saw it from her bedroom window and so did her sister. Sir Gordon Snagg is another. He declares it was a man in a flying machine. I shouldn't wonder if he were right."
Kavanagh was of this opinion.
"There are fools in the world who will do anything," he said. "Some idiot out of Hanwell may have brought his aeroplane here to scare the natives; and jolly well he's succeeded. I hope he may break his neck, that's all. He deserves to, that's sure."
He thought that the "little widow" would agree with him as a matter of course, and her answer rather astonished him.
"Then you think that pioneers are very wicked people?" she remarked; "you have no sympathy with them, Mr. Kavanagh?"
"Oh, I won't say that—good for science and all that sort of thing. What I mean is, let's keep the mountains anyway. We don't want ginger-beer bottles on our heads up here—do we now? I'm sure Mr. Clavering agrees to that."
The parson dissented29 altogether.
"I think it would be a brave thing to fly here," he said quietly, "a very brave thing. And I hope the day when we cannot admire courage is distant. If there had been no pioneers in the world, I should not be travelling through the Simplon Tunnel to Bellagio in three weeks' time, and you would not be smoking that excellent tobacco. If there is an aeroplane at Andana, it must be owned by one of the men who is about to fly for the great prize offered by the English daily paper. I hope he will win it."
"But you wouldn't go up in one yourself?" Kavanagh insisted.
"Not for a thousand sovereigns, poor as I am."
Kavanagh laughed, but found no support from Lily Kennaird. She, grown a little less pale in the glorious freshness of the morning, was more concerned with the difficulties of the uncouth30 implements32 they had strapped33 to her boots than with any question of flight and its consequences. How awkward she felt! How impossible it seemed to do anything at all with those great wooden skates, so much taller than she was, and so exceedingly slippery.
"Now," said the parson, who had fixed34 his own skis and become a little more anxious when he had done so, "just shuffle35 along without lifting your feet, if you can; it's quite easy to walk up—-the coming down is the difficulty. We'll go to the slopes by the Park Hotel and find a very gentle one. I'm sure you'll like it when you become accustomed to the balance. The great thing is not to be afraid."
Kavanagh seconded this, and was in the act of showing her exactly how to place her feet, when he sat down without warning, and having remained some moments in an attitude of despair, explained that he had done it to show the ease with which one can rise when the boots and straps36 are all right. This process he repeated at intervals37 on their way to the Park Hotel; indeed, he proved a paragon38 of good nature in the matter.
The fine weather of the previous day favoured them again, and the famous slopes were merry with the gambols39 of the players. Here there is a great basin of the snow with a lake at its depths and the white mountains towering high above it. The banks themselves are often gentle and rarely difficult; and hither go the inexperienced to be tutored by kindly40 masters, who are themselves but children at the game. On every side you hear the injunction not to be afraid—so pompously41 uttered, so difficult to obey. Elderly gentlemen, who would be more at home upon a rocking-horse, glide42 down gentle declivities and are proud of the success which follows them to the bottom. Spinsters, of far from mature aspect, sit down upon less than no provocation43 at all, and declare it to be glorious. The great white kindergarten is the merriest place in all the world—and the world is far distant from it.
Parson Clavering had an excellent eye for an easy slope, and he chose one just suited to his own capacities. It was about three hundred yards from the chalet which Benny had hired, and that excellent fellow, looking out of the window and blaming his hard luck, forgot the latter employment when he espied44 the "little widow." How he envied the cheery parson, who was holding her arm; how he detested45 that gilded46 popinjay (Benny had got the expression from a novel) who stood by her side and smoked a cigarette as though he had hired the parson to do the manual work of which he himself would reap the fruit. But Benny carried his arm in a sling47 to-day, and even his zeal48 prompted no thought of skis. He was lucky to be alive.
Meanwhile he could watch the lesson—and instructive it was. First Clavering would show his pupil exactly how to stand, with one leg slightly before the other and the arms, which carried the trailing sticks, held well behind the body. Then the amiable49 little man would proceed to slide down the slope himself, perhaps sitting hurriedly at the foot of it, or arriving triumphantly50 at his goal as a man who has achieved greatness. When his pupil essayed to do the same and sank immediately into the soft snow, he assured her that such a proceeding51 was correct, and that by tribulation52 only would perfection be attained53.
"They tell boys who hunt that they must fall forty times before they can ride—anyone who skis must fall four hundred times," he said reassuringly54. "Now don't be afraid—we are all in the same boat, and we sink together. You are not hurt, I hope?"
She told him that she was not hurt at all—though, as a fact, she had dashed a little wildly down the slope and fallen heavily upon her side at the bottom. A fine effort to save her upon Kavanagh's part resulted in that lordly person falling headlong and in such a position that his skis held him immobile, and he had to cry for help. When he was rescued and had brushed the snow from his immaculate collar, he asked her if she did not find it "rather rotten"; but being answered in the negative, he retired55 to the path again and watched her a little jealously. That "infernal parson" was having the time of his life—really it was too ridiculous.
In plain truth, Lily had begun already to enjoy herself exceedingly. The keenness of the air, the glorious sunshine, the delight of this new exercise drove all other thoughts from her head; and for the time being she was a child again with all a child's ardour. This ski-ing must be the most fascinating thing on earth, she thought, while she watched those experts, Bob Otway and Keith Rivers, sailing down the mountain-side with a dexterity56 which amazed her. Patience would teach her to imitate them, and then the heights would be open to her. A vain desire whispered that the mountains might be her safe refuge after all, and that they would harbour her—an altitude of dreams upon which Bob Otway's hard voice intruded57 painfully: "I say, Kavanagh," he roared, "come up and jump. Miss Rivers wants to see you do it; you aren't going to disappoint her?"
Kavanagh retorted by fixing his glass in his eye and turning upon that wild youth a glance which deserved the attribute "stony58."
"I am not an acrobat," he snapped severely59. "If you will tell me how much you require to begin, I will put something into your hat."
Bob Otway turned away with a laugh.
"By Jove, old chap, it would want a precious big hat to make you start," and with that for a shot he began to climb up the mountain-side toward the chalet where Nellie Rivers was waiting for him.
"Otway's a fine jumper," said the parson, "I believe he learned in Norway. It's quite impossible to do what he does unless you are caught young. Shall we watch him come down? It is really a fine thing to see."
She assented60 willingly, and they watched the "happy pair," who were now far up the slope by the Park Hotel and preparing to take the jump which has been fashioned about half-way down the valley. This was nothing more nor less than a kind of diving board of snow, from which the runners would take off as they dashed down the steep. "A clever performer," said the parson, "would jump ninety or a hundred feet before his skis touched ground again"; but the proceeding was hazardous61, and some wonderful falls resulted. However, he had no fears about Bob Otway, and when that young gentleman started with a flourish, he followed him with expectant eyes. Alas62 for his hopes! Master Bob flew high into the air, missed his footing as he landed, and rolled over and over as though he would never stop. Then he sat motionless for many minutes—the situation required some thinking about, and Bob was rapidly becoming a philosopher.
Nellie Rivers was more successful. A graceful63 performer at Alpine64 games, there was no prettier figure upon skis then in the mountains. And her jumping was, as Bob would tell you, divine. Hardly seeming to leave the track, she shot through the air at a tremendous pace, and landed so evenly and with such perfect balance that the run was resumed as though it had never been interrupted. Then she skimmed by the parson, and raising one foot suddenly and bringing the other round, she "telemarked" most gracefully65 and stood laughingly before him.
"Bob always falls when I am coming down," she said, "I suppose it's to make a soft place for me. Mr. Kavanagh would not be so obliging—I can see it in his eye."
Kavanagh said that he would prefer to dig a hole with a spade; but he admitted that Master Bob was an obliging fellow enough.
"If nobody cut capers66, this would be a rotten place. It's a man's duty to do something of the sort," he said, "but, of course—um—er—mere youth has the responsibility!"
"And the glory," said Clavering, who thought that the lesson might well be resumed upon so inspiring an example and immediately turned a somersault to demonstrate his aptitude67 as a pupil. The little man was wonderfully active from this time forth15, and when half-past twelve came and they heard the bell calling them back to the Palace for lunch, he resolutely68 refused to go indoors. Had he not brought baskets packed with chicken and the mysterious sausage in which "Chic," the cook, delighted? They would bivouac up there in the woods—perhaps that generous person, Mr. Benjamin Benson, would permit them to use the table in the garden of his chalet—a suggestion which annoyed Kavanagh, but made an instantaneous appeal to Madame Lily. Yes, she would like it, she said, and having said it, repented69 immediately of the admission. What right had she to think with pleasure of any friendship of the kind?
Nevertheless, they went up to the chalet and received the warm welcome they expected. Benny himself, his arm in a sling and his sallow face paler than ordinary, busied about the place with amazing ardour directly he heard that Mrs. Kennaird was of the party. His brother, apologising for the black-handled knives and the forks which matched them, declared that the kitchen fire was at their service; but he did so rather knavishly70 and with a glance aside at the beautiful woman who had intruded upon their privacy. It remained for the Abbé Villari to join the party, and he cut the oddest figure of all, for his cassock was girdled high about his waist while the sleeves of it were tucked up to his elbow. Moreover, he was exceedingly black, and when Benny explained with a very red face that the abbé had a penchant71 for amateur mechanics, it was easy to believe him.
"The gospel of the hammer, I suppose," said Kavanagh, staring fixedly72 at them as he spoke73.
Benny replied that some heads were very thick and that a corkscrew was the only implement31 to let a joke into them—a correct rendering74 of the great doctor's bon mot, which made but a poor appeal to his enemy. Then they all sat down to lunch, and a merrier meal was not known that day at Andana.
Lily could hardly believe in this sense of contentment which now came upon her. The magic power of the mountains as an antidote75 to ill had never been wholly understood by her before; she realised it as she sat there in the glowing sunshine and looked up to a sky infinitely76 blue. The great fields of the dazzling snow, the beauty of the woods, the grandeur77 of the prospect78 spoke of peace and rest as no other scene she could remember. And with it there came the idea that one man's good will contributed not a little to this gift of self-deception, and that in the humanity and good nature of such a personality as Benny the true secret was to be found. Much had the great world of artificiality and of false ideals taught her in her youth, but here was something different, something to be learned with gratitude79, and being learned, not to be forgotten.
Benny, for his part, hovered80 about her as a shadow, and when she inquired with a woman's gentleness of his hurt, he blushed like any schoolgirl.
"It was nothing—nothing at all," he said—but his brother Jack81 muttered that it was everything—and as he said it, he glanced at the "little widow" and wondered what evil fortune had sent her to Andana.
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1
obliterate
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| v.擦去，涂抹，去掉...痕迹，消失，除去 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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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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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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arbiter
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| n.仲裁人，公断人 | |
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tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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anonymity
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| n.the condition of being anonymous | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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subterfuge
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| n.诡计；藉口 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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amenities
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| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
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overt
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| adj.公开的，明显的，公然的 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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imprison
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| vt.监禁，关押，限制，束缚 | |
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dissented
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| 不同意，持异议( dissent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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implement
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| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
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implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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paragon
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| n.模范，典型 | |
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gambols
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| v.蹦跳，跳跃，嬉戏( gambol的第三人称单数 ) | |
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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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pompously
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| adv.傲慢地，盛大壮观地；大模大样 | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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51
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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tribulation
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| n.苦难，灾难 | |
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53
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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54
reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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56
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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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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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hazardous
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| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
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62
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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63
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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64
alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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65
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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66
capers
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| n.开玩笑( caper的名词复数 )；刺山柑v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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67
aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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68
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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69
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
knavishly
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| adv.恶棍地，不正地 | |
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71
penchant
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| n.爱好，嗜好；（强烈的）倾向 | |
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72
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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73
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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74
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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75
antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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76
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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77
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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78
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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79
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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80
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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81
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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