On the following day, the artist was putting away his things, at the close of the afternoon's work, when the girl appeared.
The long, slanting1 bars of sunshine and the deepening shadows marked the lateness of the hour. As he bent2 over his paint-box, the man was thinking with regret that she would not come--that, perhaps, she would never come. And at the thought that he might not see her again, an odd fear gripped his heart. His thoughts were interrupted by a low, musical laugh; and he sprang to his feet, to search the glade3 with careful eyes.
"Come out," he cried, as though adjuring4 an invisible spirit. "I know you are here; come out."
With another laugh, she stepped from behind the trunk of one of the largest trees, within a few feet of where he stood. As she went toward him, she carried in her outstretched hands a graceful5 basket, woven of sycamore leaves and ferns, and filled with the ripest sweetest blackberries. She did not speak as she held out her offering; but the man, looking into her laughing eyes, fancied that there was a meaning and a purpose in the gift that did not appear upon the surface of her simple action.
Expressing his pleasure, as he received the dainty basket, he could not refrain from adding, "But why do you bring me things?"
She answered with that wayward, mocking humor that so often seized her; "Because I like to. I told you that I always do what I like--up here in the mountains."
"I hope you always will," he returned, "if your likes are all as delicious as this one."
With the manner of a child playfully making a mystery yet anxious to have the secret discussed, she said, "I have one more gift to bring you, yet."
"I knew you meant something by your presents," he cried. "It isn't just because you want me to have the things you bring."
"Oh, yes it is," she retorted, laughing mischievously6 at his triumphant7 and expectant tone. "If I didn't want you to have the things I bring--why--I wouldn't bring them, would I?"
"But that isn't all," he insisted. "Tell me--why do you say you have one _more_ gift to bring?"
She shook her head with a delightful8 air of mystery "Not until I come again. When I come again, I will tell you."
"And you will come to-morrow?"
She laughed teasingly at his eagerness. "How can I tell?" she answered. "I do not know, myself, what I will do to-morrow--when I am up here in the mountains--when the canyon9 gates are shut and the world is left outside." Even as she spoke10, her mood changed and the last words were uttered wistfully, as a captive spirit--that, by nature wild and free, was permitted, for a brief time only, to go beyond its prison walls--might have spoken.
The artist--puzzled by her flash-like change of moods, and by her manner as she spoke of the world beyond the canyon gates--had no words to reply. As he stood there,--in that little glade where the light fell as in a quiet cathedral and the air trembled with the deep organ-tones of the distant waters--holding in his hands the basket of leaves and ferns with its wild fruit, and looking at the beautiful girl who had brought her offering with the naturalness of a child of the mountains and the air of a woodland spirit,--he again felt that the world he had always known was very far away.
The girl, too, was silent--as though, by some subtle power, she knew his thoughts and did not wish to interrupt.
So still were they, that a wild bird--darting through the screen of alder11 boughs12--stopped to swing on a limb above their heads, with a burst of wild-wood melody. In the arroyo13 beyond the willow14 wall, a quail15 called his evening call, and was answered by his mate from the top of the bank under the mistletoe oak. A pair of gray squirrels crept down the gray trunks of the trees and slipped around the granite16 boulder17 to drink at the spring; then scampered18 away again--half in frolic, half in fright--as they caught sight of the man and the maid. As the squirrels disappeared, the girl laughed--a low laugh of fellowship with the creatures of the wilderness--in complete understanding of their humor. Then--as though following the path of a sunbeam--two gorgeously brown and yellow winged butterflies came flitting through the draperies of virgin's-bower, and floated in zigzag19 flight about the glade--now high among the alder boughs; now low over the tops of the roses and berry-bushes; down to the fragrant20 mint at the water's edge; and up again to the tops of the willows21, as if to leave the glade; but only to return again to the vines that covered the bank, and to the flowers that, here and there, starred the grassy22 sward.
"Oh!"--cried the girl impulsively23, as the beautiful winged creatures disappeared at last,--"if people could only be like that! It's so hard to be yourself in the world. Everybody, there, seems trying to be something they are not. No one dares to be just themselves. Everything, up here, is so right--so true--so just what it is--and down there, everything tries so hard to be just what it is not. The world even _sees_ so crooked24 that it _can't_ believe when a thing is just what it is."
While watching the butterflies, she had turned away from the artist and, in following their flight with her eyes, had taken a few light steps that brought her into the open, grassy center of the glade. With her face upturned to the opening in the foliage25 through which the butterflies had disappeared, she had spoken as if thinking aloud, rather than as addressing her companion.
Before the artist could reply, the beautiful creatures came floating back as they had gone. With a low exclamation26 of delight, the girl watched them as they circled, now, above her head, in their aerial waltz among the sunbeams and leafy boughs. Then the man, watching, saw her--unheeding his presence--stretch her arms upward. For a moment she stood, lightly poised27, and then, with her wide, shining eyes fixed28 upon those gorgeously winged spirits whirling in the fragrant air, with her lips parted in smiling delight, she danced upon the smooth turf of the glade--every step and movement in perfect harmony with the spirit of care-free abandonment that marked the movements of the butterflies that danced above her head. Unmindful of the watching man, as her dainty companions themselves,--forgetful of his presence,--she yielded to the impulse to express her emotions in free, rhythmic29 movement.
Instinctively30, Aaron King was silent--standing motionless, as if he feared to startle her into flight.
Suddenly, as the girl danced--her eyes always upon her winged companions--the insects floated above the artist's head, and she became conscious of his presence. Her cheeks flushed and, laughing low,--as she danced, lightly as a spirit,--she impulsively stretched out her arms to him, in merry invitation--as though challenging him to join her.
The gesture was as spontaneous and as innocent, in its freedom, as had been her offering of the gifts from mountain stream and bush. But the man--lured into forgetfulness of everything save the wild loveliness of the scene--started toward her. At his movement, a look of bewildered fear came into her face; but--too startled to control her movements on the instant, and as though impelled31 by some hidden power--she moved toward him--blindly, unconsciously--her eyes wide with that look of questioning fright. He had almost reached her when, as though by an effort of her will, she stopped and stood still--gazing into his face--trembling in every limb. Then, with a low cry, she sank down in a frightened, cowering32, pleading attitude, and buried her crimson33 face in her hands.
As though some unseen hand checked him, the man halted, and the girl's cheeks were not more crimson than his own.
A moment he stood, then a step brought him to her side. Putting out his hand, he touched her upon the shoulder, and was about to speak. But at his touch, with another cry, she sprang to her feet and, whirling with the flash-like quickness of a wild thing, vanished into the undergrowth that walled in the glade.
With a startled exclamation, the man tried to follow calling to her, reassuring34 her, begging her to come back. But there was no answer to his words; nor did he catch a glimpse of her; though once or twice he thought he heard her in swift flight up the canyon.
All the way to the place where he had first seen her, he followed; but at the cedar35 thicket36 he stopped. For a long time, he stood there; while the twilight37 failed and the night came. Slowly,--in the soft darkness with bowed head, as one humbled38 and ashamed,--he went back down the canyon to the little glade, and to the camp.
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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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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glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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adjuring
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| v.（以起誓或诅咒等形式）命令要求( adjure的现在分词 )；祈求；恳求 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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mischievously
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| adv.有害地；淘气地 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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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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alder
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| n.赤杨树 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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arroyo
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| n.干涸的河床，小河 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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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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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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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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cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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