Wratislaw found himself staring dully at a snowy bank of flowers and looking listlessly at the faces beyond. He was extremely worried, and his grey face and sunken eyes showed the labour he had been passing through. The country was approaching the throes of a crisis, and as yet the future was a blind alley4 to him. There was an autumn session, and he had been badgered all the afternoon in the Commons; his even temper had been perilously5 near its limits, and he had been betrayed unconsciously into certain ineptitudes which he knew would grin in his face on the morrow from a dozen leading articles. The Continent seemed on the edge of an outbreak; in the East especially, Russia by a score of petty acts had seemed to foreshadow an incomprehensible policy. It was a powder-barrel waiting for the spark; and he felt dismally6 that the spark might come at any moment from some unlooked-for quarter of the globe. He ran over in his mind the position of foreign affairs. All seemed vaguely7 safe; and yet he was conscious that all was vaguely unsettled. The world was on the eve of one of its cyclic changes, and unrest seemed to make the air murky8.
He tried to be polite and listened attentively9 to the lady on his right, who was telling him the latest gossip about a certain famous marriage. But his air was so manifestly artificial that she turned to the presumably more attractive topic of his doings.
“You look ill,” she said—she was one who adopted the motherly air towards young men, which only a pretty woman can use. “Are they over-working you in the House?”
“Pretty fair,” and he smiled grimly. “But really I can’t complain. I have had eight hours’ sleep in the last four days, and I don’t think Beauregard could say as much. Some day I shall break loose and go to a quiet place and sleep for a week. Brittany would do—or Scotland.”
“I was in Scotland last week,” she said. “I didn’t find it quiet. It was at one of those theatrical10 Highland11 houses where they pipe you to sleep and pipe you to breakfast. I used to have to sit up all night by the fire and read Marius the Epicurean, to compose myself. Did you ever try the specific?”
She made a mouth at the thought. “And do you know I met such a nice man up there, who said you were a great friend of his? His name was Haystoun.”
“Lewis,” she said without hesitation14.
He laughed. “He is a man who should only have one name and that his Christian one. I never heard him called ‘Haystoun’ in my life. How is he?”
“He seemed well, but he struck me as being at rather a loose end. What is wrong with him? You know him well and can tell me. He seems to have nothing to do; to have fallen out of his niche15, you know. And he looks so extraordinarily16 clever.”
“He is extraordinarily clever. But if I undertook to tell you what was wrong with Lewie Haystoun, I should never get to the House to-night. The vitality17 of a great family has run to a close in him. He is strong and able, and yet, unless the miracle of miracles happens, he will never do anything. Two hundred years ago he might have led some mad Jacobite plot to success. Three hundred and he might have been another Raleigh. Six hundred, and there would have been a new crusade. But as it is, he is out of harmony with his times; life is too easy and mannered; the field for a man’s courage is in petty and recondite18 things, and Lewie is not fitted to understand it. And all this, you see, spells a kind of cowardice19: and if you have a friend who is a hero out of joint20, a great man smothered21 in the wrong sort of civilization, and all the while one who is building up for himself with the world and in his own heart the reputation of a coward, you naturally grow hot and bitter.”
The lady looked curiously22 at the speaker. She had never heard the silent politician speak so earnestly before.
“It seems to me a clear case of chercher la femme,” said she.
“That,” said Wratislaw with emphasis, “is the needle-point of the whole business. He has fallen in love with just the wrong sort of woman. Very pretty, very good, a demure23 puritanical24 little Pharisee, clever enough, too, to see Lewie’s merits, too weak to hope to remedy them, and too full of prejudice to accept them. There you have the makings of a very pretty tragedy.”
“I am so sorry,” said the lady. She was touched by this man’s anxiety for his friend, and Mr. Lewis Haystoun, whom she was never likely to meet again, became a figure of interest in her eyes. She turned to say something more, but Wratislaw, having unburdened his soul to some one, and feeling a little relieved, was watching his chief’s face further down the table. That nobleman, hopelessly ill at ease, had given up the pretence25 of amiability26 and was now making frantic27 endeavours to send mute signals across the flowers to his under secretary.
The Montrayner guests seldom linger. Within half an hour after the ladies left the table Beauregard and Wratislaw were taking leave and hurrying into their greatcoats.
“You are going down to the House,” said the elder man, “and I’ll come too. I want to have some talk with you. I tried to catch your eye at dinner to get you to come round and deliver me from old Montrayner, for I had to sit on his right hand and couldn’t come round to you. Heigho-ho! I wish I was a Trappist.”
The cab had turned out of Piccadilly into St. James’s Street before either man spoke28 again. The tossing lights of a windy autumn evening were shimmering29 on the wet pavement, and faces looked spectral30 white in the morris-dance of shine and shadow. Wratislaw, whose soul was sick for high, clean winds and the great spaces of the moors31, was thinking of Glenavelin and Lewis and the strong, quickening north. His companion was furrowing32 his brow over some knotty33 problem in his duties.
“We had better wait till we get to the House,” said Beauregard. “We must have peace, for I have got the most vexatious business to speak about.” And again he wrinkled his anxious brows and stared in front of him.
They entered a private room where the fire had burned itself out, and the lights fell on heavy furniture and cheerless solitude36. Beauregard spread himself out in an arm-chair, and stared at the ceiling. Wratislaw, knowing his chief’s manners, stood before the blackened grate and waited.
“Fetch me an atlas—that big one, and find the map of the Indian frontier.” Wratislaw obeyed and stretched the huge folio on the table.
The elder man ran his forefinger37 in a circle.
“There—that wretched radius38 is the plague of my life. Our reports stop short at that line, and reliable information begins again some hundreds of miles north. Meanwhile—between?” And he shrugged39 his shoulders.
“I got news to-day in a roundabout way from Taghati. That’s the town just within the Russian frontier there. It seems that the whole country is in a ferment40. The hill tribes are out and the Russian frontier line is threatened. So they say. I have the actual names of the people who are making the row. Russian troops are being massed along the line there. The whole place, you know, has been for long a military beehive and absurdly over-garrisoned, so there is no difficulty about the massing. The difficulty lies in the reason. Three thousand square miles or so of mountain cannot be so dangerous. One would think that the whole Afghan nation was meditating41 a descent on the Amu Daria.” He glanced up at his companion, and the two men saw the same anxiety in each other’s eyes.
“Anything more of Marka?” asked Wratislaw.
“Nothing definite. He is somewhere in the Pamirs, up to some devilry or other. Oh, by the by, there is something I have forgotten. I found out the other day that our gentleman had been down quite recently in south-west Kashmir. He was Arthur Marker at the time, the son of a German count and a Scotch42 mother, you understand. Immensely popular, too, among natives and Europeans alike. He went south from Bardur, and apparently43 returned north by the Punjab. At Bardur, Logan and Thwaite were immensely fascinated, Gribton remained doubtful. Now the good Gribton is coming home, and so he will have the place for a happy hunting-ground.”
Wratislaw was puffing44 his under-lip in deep thought. “It is a sweet business,” he said. “But what can we do? Only wait?”
“Yes, one could wait if Marka were the only disquieting45 feature. But what about Taghati and the Russian activity? What on earth is going on or about to go on in this square inch of mountain land to make all the pother? If it is a tribal46 war on a first-class scale then we must know about it, for it is in the highest degree our concern too. If it is anything else, things look more than doubtful. All the rest I don’t mind. It’s open and obvious, and we are on the alert. But that little bit of frontier there is so little known and apparently so remote that I begin to be afraid of trouble in that direction. What do you think?”
Wratislaw shook his head. He had no opinion to offer.
“At any rate, you need fear no awkward questions in the House, for this sort of thing cannot be public for months.”
“I am wondering whether somebody should not go out. Somebody quite unofficial and sufficiently47 clever.”
“My thought too,” said Beauregard. “The pinch is where to get our man from. I have been casting up possibilities all day, and this one is too clever, another too dull, another too timid, and another too hare-brained.”
Wratislaw seemed sunk in a brown study.
“Do you remember my telling you once about my friend Lewis Haystoun?” he asked.
“That’s part of my point,” said the other. “If I knew him less well than I do I should say he was the man cut out by Providence49 for the work. He has been to the place, he knows the ropes of travelling, he is exceedingly well-informed, and he is uncommonly50 clever. But he is badly off colour. The thing might be the saving of him, or the ruin—in which case, of course, he would also be the ruin of the thing.”
“As risky51 as that?” Beauregard asked. “I have heard something of him, but I thought it merely his youth. What’s wrong with him?”
“Oh, I can’t tell. A thousand things, but all might be done away with by a single chance like this. I tell you what I’ll do. After to-night I can be spared for a couple of days. I feel rather hipped52 myself, so I shall get up to the north and see my man. I know the circumstances and I know Lewis. If the two are likely to suit each other I have your authority to give him your message?”
“Certainly, my dear Wratislaw. I have all the confidence in the world in your judgment53. You will be back the day after to-morrow?”
“I shall only be out of the House one night, and I think the game worth it. I need not tell you that I am infernally anxious both about the business and my friend. It is just on the cards that one might be the solution of the other.”
“You understand everything?”
“Everything. I promise you I shall be exacting54 enough. And now I had better be looking after my own work.”
Beauregard stared after him as he went out of the room and remained for a few minutes in deep thought. Then he deliberately55 wrote out a foreign telegram form and rang the bell.
“I fancy I know the man,” he said to himself. “He will go. Meantime I can prepare things for his passage.” The telegram was to the fugitive56 Gribton at Florence, asking him to meet a certain Mr. Haystoun at the Embassy in Paris within a week for the discussion of a particular question.
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1
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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2
celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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7
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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8
murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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11
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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13
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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15
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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16
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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recondite
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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20
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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21
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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22
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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23
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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24
puritanical
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| adj.极端拘谨的；道德严格的 | |
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25
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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26
amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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28
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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29
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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30
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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31
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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32
furrowing
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的现在分词 ) | |
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knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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35
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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36
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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37
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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38
radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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39
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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40
ferment
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| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
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41
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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42
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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43
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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44
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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45
disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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46
tribal
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| adj.部族的，种族的 | |
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47
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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48
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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49
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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50
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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51
risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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52
hipped
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| adj.着迷的，忧郁的 | |
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53
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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54
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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55
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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56
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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