Apparently5 neither surprised nor mortified6 at this reception, he answered frankly7, “Yeth. You didn't expect me, I know. But Doloreth showed me the letter you wrote her, and—well—here I am, ready to help you, with two men and a thpare horthe waiting outside the woodth on the blind trail.”
“You—YOU—here?” she only repeated.
Curson shrugged8 his shoulders. “Yeth. Of courth you never expected to thee me again, and leatht of all HERE. I'll admit that; I'll thay I wouldn't if I'd been in your plathe. I'll go further, and thay you didn't want to thee me again—anywhere. But it all cometh to the thame thing; here I am. I read the letter you wrote Doloreth. I read how you were hiding here, under Dunn'th very nothe, with his whole pothe out, cavorting9 round and barkin' up the wrong tree. I made up my mind to come down here with a few nathty friends of mine and cut you out under Dunn'th nothe, and run you over into Yuba—that'th all.”
“How dared she show you my letter—YOU of all men? How dared she ask YOUR help?” continued Teresa, fiercely.
“But she didn't athk my help,” he responded coolly. “D—d if I don't think she jutht calculated I'd be glad to know you were being hunted down and thtarving, that I might put Dunn on your track.”
“You lie!” said Teresa, furiously; “she was my friend. A better friend than those who professed—more,” she added, with a contemptuous drawing away of her skirt as if she feared Curson's contamination.
“All right. Thettle that with her when you go back,” continued Curson philosophically10. “We can talk of that on the way. The thing now ith to get up and get out of thethe woods. Come!”
Teresa's only reply was a gesture of scorn.
“I know all that,” continued Curson half soothingly11, “but they're waiting.”
“Let them wait. I shall not go.”
“What will you do?”
“Stay here—till the wolves eat me.”
“Teresa, listen. D—- it all—Teresa—Tita! see here,” he said with sudden energy. “I swear to God it's all right. I'm willing to let by-gones be by-gones and take a new deal. You shall come back as if nothing had happened, and take your old place as before. I don't mind doing the square thing, all round. If that's what you mean, if that's all that stands in the way, why, look upon the thing as settled. There, Tita, old girl, come.”
Careless or oblivious12 of her stony13 silence and starting eyes, he attempted to take her hand. But she disengaged herself with a quick movement, drew back, and suddenly crouched14 like a wild animal about to spring. Curson folded his arms as she leaped to her feet; the little dagger15 she had drawn16 from her garter flashed menacingly in the air, but she stopped.
The man before her remained erect17, impassive, and silent; the great trees around and beyond her remained erect, impassive, and silent; there was no sound in the dim aisles18 but the quick panting of her mad passion, no movement in the calm, motionless shadow but the trembling of her uplifted steel. Her arm bent19 and slowly sank, her fingers relaxed, the knife fell from her hand.
“That'th quite enough for a thow,” he said, with a return to his former cynical ease and a perceptible tone of relief in his voice. “It'th the thame old Theretha. Well, then, if you won't go with me, go without me; take the led horthe and cut away. Dick Athley and Petereth will follow you over the county line. If you want thome money, there it ith.” He took a buckskin purse from his pocket. “If you won't take it from me”—he hesitated as she made no reply—“Athley'th flush and ready to lend you thome.”
She had not seemed to hear him, but had stooped in some embarrassment20, picked up the knife and hastily hid it, then with averted21 face and nervous fingers was beginning to tear strips of loose bark from the nearest trunk.
“Well, what do you thay?”
“I don't want any money, and I shall stay here.” She hesitated, looked around her, and then added, with an effort, “I suppose you meant well. Be it so! Let by-gones be by-gones. You said just now, 'It's the same old Teresa.' So she is, and seeing she's the same she's better here than anywhere else.”
There was enough bitterness in her tone to call for Curson's half-perfunctory sympathy.
“That be d—d,” he responded quickly. “Jutht thay you'll come, Tita, and—”
She stopped his half-spoken sentence with a negative gesture. “You don't understand. I shall stay here.”
“But even if they don't theek you here, you can't live here forever. The friend that you wrote about who wath tho good to you, you know, can't keep you here alwayth; and are you thure you can alwayth trutht her?”
“It isn't a woman; it's a man.” She stopped short, and colored to the line of her forehead. “Who said it was a woman?” she continued fiercely, as if to cover her confusion with a burst of gratuitous23 anger. “Is that another of your lies?”
Curson's lips, which for a moment had completely lost their smile, were now drawn together in a prolonged whistle. He gazed curiously24 at her gown, at her hat, at the bow of bright ribbon that tied her black hair, and said, “Ah!”
“A poor man who has kept my secret,” she went on hurriedly—“a man as friendless and lonely as myself. Yes,” disregarding Curson's cynical smile, “a man who has shared everything—”
“Naturally,” suggested Curson.
“And turned himself out of his only shelter to give me a roof and covering,” she continued mechanically, struggling with the new and horrible fancy that his words awakened25.
“And thlept every night at Indian Thpring to save your reputation,” said Curson. “Of courthe.”
Teresa turned very white. Curson was prepared for an outburst of fury—perhaps even another attack. But the crushed and beaten woman only gazed at him with frightened and imploring26 eyes. “For God's sake, Dick, don't say that!”
The amiable27 cynic was staggered. His good-humor and a certain chivalrous28 instinct he could not repress got the better of him. He shrugged his shoulders. “What I thay, and what you DO, Teretha, needn't make us quarrel. I've no claim on you—I know it. Only—” a vivid sense of the ridiculous, powerful in men of his stamp, completed her victory—“only don't thay anything about my coming down here to cut you out from the—the—THE SHERIFF.” He gave utterance29 to a short but unaffected laugh, made a slight grimace31, and turned to go.
Teresa did not join in his mirth. Awkward as it would have been if he had taken a severer view of the subject, she was mortified even amidst her fears and embarrassment at his levity32. Just as she had become convinced that his jealousy33 had made her over-conscious, his apparent good-humored indifference34 gave that over-consciousness a guilty significance. Yet this was lost in her sudden alarm as her companion, looking up, uttered an exclamation35, and placed his hand upon his revolver. With a sinking conviction that the climax36 had come, Teresa turned her eyes. From the dim aisles beyond, Low was approaching. The catastrophe37 seemed complete.
She had barely time to utter an imploring whisper: “In the name of God, not a word to him.” But a change had already come over her companion. It was no longer a parley38 with a foolish woman; he had to deal with a man like himself. As Low's dark face and picturesque39 figure came nearer, Mr. Curson's proposed method of dealing40 with him was made audible.
Low's Indian phlegm was impervious41 to such assault. He turned to Teresa, without apparently noticing her companion. “I turned back,” he said quietly, “as soon as I knew there were strangers here; I thought you might need me.” She noticed for the first time that, in addition to his rifle, he carried a revolver and hunting knife in his belt.
“Yeth,” returned Curson, with an ineffectual attempt to imitate Low's phlegm; “but ath I didn't happen to be a sthranger to this lady, perhaps it wathn't nethethary, particularly ath I had two friends—”
“Waiting at the edge of the wood with a led horse,” interrupted Low, without addressing him, but apparently continuing his explanation to Teresa. But she turned to Low with feverish42 anxiety.
“That's so—he is an old friend—” she gave a quick, imploring glance at Curson—“an old friend who came to help me away—he is very kind,” she stammered43, turning alternately from the one to the other; “but I told him there was no hurry—at least to-day—that you—were—very good—too, and would hide me a little longer, until your plan—you know YOUR plan,” she added, with a look of beseeching45 significance to Low—“could be tried.” And then, with a helpless conviction that her excuses, motives46, and emotions were equally and perfectly47 transparent48 to both men, she stopped in a tremble.
“Perhapth it 'th jutht ath well, then, that the gentleman came thtraight here, and didn't tackle my two friendth when he pathed them,” observed Curson, half sarcastically49.
“I have not passed your friends, nor have I been near them,” said Low, looking at him for the first time, with the same exasperating50 calm, “or perhaps I should not be HERE or they THERE. I knew that one man entered the wood a few moments ago, and that two men and four horses remained outside.”
“That's true,” said Teresa to Curson excitedly—“that's true. He knows all. He can see without looking, hear without listening. He—he—” she stammered, colored, and stopped.
The two men had faced each other. Curson, after his first good-natured impulse, had retained no wish to regain51 Teresa, whom he felt he no longer loved, and yet who, for that very reason perhaps, had awakened his chivalrous instincts. Low, equally on his side, was altogether unconscious of any feeling which might grow into a passion, and prevent him from letting her go with another if for her own safety. They were both men of a certain taste and refinement52. Yet, in spite of all this, some vague instinct of the baser male animal remained with them, and they were moved to a mutually aggressive attitude in the presence of the female.
One word more, and the opening chapter of a sylvan53 Iliad might have begun. But this modern Helen saw it coming, and arrested it with an inspiration of feminine genius. Without being observed, she disengaged her knife from her bosom54 and let it fall as if by accident. It struck the ground with the point of its keen blade, bounded and rolled between them. The two men started and looked at each other with a foolish air. Curson laughed.
“I reckon she can take care of herthelf,” he said, extending his hand to Low. “I'm off. But if I'm wanted SHE'LL know where to find me.” Low took the proffered55 hand, but neither of the two men looked at Teresa. The reserve of antagonism56 once broken, a few words of caution, advice, and encouragement passed between them, in apparent obliviousness57 of her presence or her personal responsibility. As Curson at last nodded a farewell to her, Low insisted upon accompanying him as far as the horses, and in another moment she was again alone.
She had saved a quarrel between them at the sacrifice of herself, for her vanity was still keen enough to feel that this exhibition of her old weakness had degraded her in their eyes, and, worse, had lost the respect her late restraint had won from Low. They had treated her like a child or a crazy woman, perhaps even now were exchanging criticisms upon her—perhaps pitying her! Yet she had prevented a quarrel, a fight; possibly the death of either one or the other of these men who despised her, for none better knew than she the trivial beginning and desperate end of these encounters. Would they—would Low ever realize it, and forgive her? Her small, dark hands went up to her eyes and she sank upon the ground. She looked through tear-veiled lashes58 upon the mute and giant witnesses of her deceit and passion, and tried to draw, from their immovable calm, strength and consolation59 as before. But even they seemed to stand apart, reserved and forbidding.
When Low returned she hoped to gather from his eyes and manner what had passed between him and her former lover. But beyond a mere44 gentle abstraction at times he retained his usual calm. She was at last forced to allude60 to it herself with simulated recklessness.
“I suppose I didn't get a very good character from my last place?” she said, with a laugh.
She bit her lip and was silent. But as they were returning home, she said gently, “I hope you were not angry with me for the lie I told when I spoke22 of 'your plan.' I could not give the real reason for not returning with—with—that man. But it's not all a lie. I have a plan—if you haven't. When you are ready to go to Sacramento to take your place, dress me as an Indian boy, paint my face, and let me go with you. You can leave me—there—you know.”
“It's not a bad idea,” he responded gravely. “We will see.”
On the next day, and the next, the rencontre seemed to be forgotten. The herbarium was already filled with rare specimens62. Teresa had even overcome her feminine repugnance63 to “bugs” and creeping things so far as to assist in his entomological collection. He had drawn from a sacred cache in the hollow of a tree the few worn text-books from which he had studied.
“They seem very precious,” she said, with a smile.
“Very,” he replied gravely. “There was one with plates that the ants ate up, and it will be six months before I can afford to buy another.”
Teresa glanced hurriedly over his well-worn buckskin suit, at his calico shirt with its pattern almost obliterated64 by countless65 washings, and became thoughtful.
“I suppose you couldn't buy one at Indian Spring?” she said innocently.
For once Low was startled out of his phlegm. “Indian Spring!” he ejaculated; “perhaps not even in San Francisco. These came from the States.”
“How did you get them?” persisted Teresa.
“I didn't mean that—but no matter. Then you mean to sell that bearskin, don't you?” she added.
Low had, in fact, already sold it, the proceeds having been invested in a gold ring for Miss Nellie, which she scrupulously67 did not wear except in his presence. In his singular truthfulness68 he would have frankly confessed it to Teresa, but the secret was not his own. He contented69 himself with saying that he had disposed of it at Indian Spring.
Teresa started, and communicated unconsciously some of her nervousness to her companion. They gazed in each other's eyes with a troubled expression.
“Do you think it was wise to sell that particular skin, which might be identified?” she asked timidly.
Low knitted his arched brows, but felt a strange sense of relief. “Perhaps not,” he said carelessly; “but it's too late now to mend matters.”
That afternoon she wrote several letters, and tore them up. One, however, she retained, and handed it to Low to post at Indian Spring, whither he was going. She called his attention to the superscription, being the same as the previous letter, and added, with affected gayety, “But if the answer isn't as prompt, perhaps it will be pleasanter than the last.” Her quick feminine eye noticed a little excitement in his manner and a more studious attention to his dress. Only a few days before she would not have allowed this to pass without some mischievous70 allusion71 to his mysterious sweetheart; it troubled her greatly now to find that she could not bring herself to this household pleasantry, and that her lip trembled and her eye grew moist as he parted from her.
The afternoon passed slowly; he had said he might not return to supper until late, nevertheless a strange restlessness took possession of her as the day wore on. She put aside her work, the darning of his stockings, and rambled72 aimlessly through the woods. She had wandered she knew not how far, when she was suddenly seized with the same vague sense of a foreign presence which she had felt before. Could it be Curson again, with a word of warning? No! she knew it was not he; so subtle had her sense become that she even fancied that she detected in the invisible aura projected by the unknown no significance or relation to herself or Low, and felt no fear. Nevertheless she deemed it wisest to seek the protection of her sylvan bower73, and hurried swiftly thither74.
But not so quickly nor directly that she did not once or twice pause in her flight to examine the new-comer from behind a friendly trunk. He was a stranger—a young fellow with a brown mustache, wearing heavy Mexican spurs in his riding-boots, whose tinkling75 he apparently did not care to conceal76. He had perceived her, and was evidently pursuing her, but so awkwardly and timidly that she eluded77 him with ease. When she had reached the security of the hollow tree and pulled the curtain of bark before the narrow opening, with her eye to the interstices, she waited his coming. He arrived breathlessly in the open space before the tree where the bear once lay; the dazed, bewildered, and half-awed expression of his face, as he glanced around him and through the openings of the forest aisles, brought a faint smile to her saddened face. At last he called in a half-embarrassed voice:—
“Miss Nellie!”
The smile faded from Teresa's cheek. Who was “Miss Nellie?” She pressed her ear to the opening. “Miss Wynn!” the voice again called, but was lost in the echoless woods. Devoured78 with a new gratuitous curiosity, in another moment Teresa felt she would have disclosed herself at any risk, but the stranger rose and began to retrace79 his steps. Long after his tinkling spurs were lost in the distance, Teresa remained like a statue, staring at the place where he had stood. Then she suddenly turned like a mad woman, glanced down at the gown she was wearing, tore it from her back as if it had been a polluted garment, and stamped upon it in a convulsion of rage. And then, with her beautiful bare arms clasped together over her head, she threw herself upon her couch in a tempest of tears.
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1
impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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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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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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6
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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7
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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8
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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cavorting
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| v.跳跃( cavort的现在分词 ) | |
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philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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11
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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12
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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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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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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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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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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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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23
gratuitous
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| adj.无偿的，免费的；无缘无故的，不必要的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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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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chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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41
impervious
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| adj.不能渗透的，不能穿过的，不易伤害的 | |
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42
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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43
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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45
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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46
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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47
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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48
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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49
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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50
exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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51
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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52
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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53
sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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54
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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55
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
antagonism
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| n.对抗，敌对，对立 | |
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57
obliviousness
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58
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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59
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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60
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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62
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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64
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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66
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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67
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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68
truthfulness
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| n. 符合实际 | |
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69
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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70
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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72
rambled
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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73
bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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74
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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75
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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76
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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77
eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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78
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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79
retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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