There is one patience greater than the endurance of the cat at the hole of the mouse or the wolf which waits for the moose to drop, and that is the patience of the thinking man; the measure of the Hindoo's moveless contemplation of Nirvana is not in hours but in weeks or even in months. Randall Byrne sat at his sentinel post with his hands folded and his grave eyes steadily1 fixed2 before him, and for hour after hour he did not move. Though the wind rose, now and again, and whistled through the upper chambers3 or mourned down the empty halls, Randall Byrne did not stir so much as an eyelash in observance. Two things held him fascinated. One was the girl who had passed up yonder stairs so wearily without a single backward glance at him; the other was the silent battle which went on in the adjoining room. Now and then his imagination wandered away to secondary pictures. He would see Barry meeting Buck4 Daniels, at last, and striking him down as remorselessly as the hound strikes the hare; or he would see him riding back towards Elkhead and catch a bright, sad vision of Kate Cumberland waving a careless adieu to him, and then hear her singing carelessly as she turned away. Such pictures as these, however, came up but rarely in the mind of Byrne. Mostly he thought of the stranger leaning over the body of old Joe Cumberland, reviving him, storing him with electric energy, paying back, as it were, some ancient debt. And he thought of the girl as she had turned at the landing place of the stairs, her head fallen; and he thought of her lying in her bed, with her arm under the mass of bright hair, trying to sleep, very tired, but remorsely held awake by that same power which was bringing Joe Cumberland back from the verge5 of death.
It was all impossible. This thing could not be. It was really as bad as the yarn6 of the Frankenstein monster. He considered how it would seem in print, backed by his most solemn asseverations, and then he saw the faces of the men who associated with him, pale thoughtful faces striving to conceal7 their smiles and their contempt. But always he came back, like the desperate hare doubling on his course, upon the picture of Kate Cumberland there at the turning of the stairs, and that bent8, bright head which confessed defeat. The man had forgotten her. It made Byrne open his eyes in incredulity even to imagine such a thing. The man had forgotten her! She was no more to him than some withered9 hag he might ride past on the road.
His ear, subconsciously10 attentive11 to everything around him, caught a faint sound from the next room. It was a regular noise. It had the rhythm of a quick footfall, but in its nature it was more like the sound of a heavily beating pulse. Randall Byrne sat up in his chair. A faint creaking attested12 that it was, indeed, a footfall traversing the room to and fro, steadily.
The stranger, then, no longer leaned over the couch of the old cattleman. He was walking up and down the floor with that characteristic, softly padding step. Of what did he think as he walked? It carried Byrne automatically out into the darkest night, with a wind in his face, and the rhythm of a long striding horse carrying him on to a destination unknown.
Here he heard a soft scratching, repeated, at the door. When it came again he rose and opened the door—at once the tall, shaggy dog slipped through the opening and glided13 past him. It startled Byrne oddly to see the animal stealing away, as if Barry himself had been leaving. He called to the beast, but he was met by a silent baring of white fangs14 that stopped him in his tracks. The great dog was gone without a sound, and Byrne closed the door again without casting a look inside. He was stupidly, foolishly afraid to look within.
After that the silence had a more vital meaning. No pictures crowded his brain. He was simply keyed to a high point of expectancy15, and therefore, when the door was opened silently, he sprang up as if in acknowledgment of an alarm and faced Barry. The latter closed the door behind him and glided after the big dog. He had almost crossed the big room when Byrne was able to speak.
"Mr. Barry!" he called.
The man hesitated.
"Mr. Barry," he repeated.
And Dan Barry turned. It was something like the act of the wolf the moment before; a swift movement—a flash of the eyes in something like defiance16.
"Mr. Barry, are you leaving us?"
"I'm going outside."
"Are you coming back?"
"I dunno."
A great joy swelled17 in the throat of Doctor Byrne. He felt like shouting in triumph; yet he remembered once more how the girl had gone up the stairs, wearily, with fallen head. He decided18 that he would do what he could to keep the stranger with them, and though Randall Byrne lived to be a hundred he would never do a finer thing than what he attempted then. He stepped across the room and stood before Barry, blocking the way.
"Sir," he said gravely, "if you go now, you will work a great sorrow in this house."
A glint of anger rose in the eyes of Barry.
"Joe Cumberland is sleepin' soun'," he answered. "He'll be a pile rested when he wakes up. He don't need me no more."
"He's not the only one who needs you," said Byrne. "His daughter has been waiting impatiently for your coming, sir."
The sharp glance of Barry wavered away.
"I'd kind of like to stay," he murmured, "but I got to go."
A dull voice called from the next room.
"It's Joe Cumberland," said Byrne. "You see, he is not sleeping!"
The brow of Barry clouded, and he turned gloomily back.
"Maybe I better stay," he agreed.
Yet before he made a step Byrne heard a far-away honking19 of the wild geese, that musical discord20 carrying for uncounted miles through the windy air. The sound worked like magic on Barry. He whirled back.
"I got to go," he repeated.
And yet Byrne blocked the way. It required more courage to do that than to do anything he had ever attempted in his life. The sweat poured out from under his armpits as the stranger stepped near; the blood rushed from his face as he stared into the eyes of Barry—eyes which now held an uncanny glimmer21 of yellow light.
"Sir," said Byrne huskily, "you must not go! Listen! Old Cumberland is calling to you again! Does that mean nothing? If you have some errand out in the night, let me go for you."
"Partner," said the soft voice of Barry, "stand aside. I got no time,
I'm wanted!"
Every muscle of Randall Byrne's body was set to repulse22 the stranger in any effort to pass through that door, and yet, mysteriously, against his will, he found himself standing23 to one side, and saw the other slip through the open door.
"Dan! Are ye there?" called a louder voice from the room beyond.
There was no help for it. He, himself, must go back and face Joe Cumberland. With a lie, no doubt. He would say that Dan had stepped out for a moment and would be back again. That might put Cumberland safely to sleep. In the morning, to be sure, he would find out the deception—but let every day bury its dead. Here was enough trouble for one night. He went slowly, but steadily enough, towards the door of what had now become a fatal room to the doctor. In that room he had seen his dearest doctrines24 cremated25. Out of that room he had come bearing the ashes of his hopes in his hands. Now he must go back once more to try to fill, with science, a gap of which science could never take cognizance.
He lingered another instant with his hand on the door; then he cast it wide bravely enough and stepped in. Joe Cumberland was sitting up on the edge of his couch. There was colour in the old man's face. It almost seemed, to the incredulous eyes of Byrne, that the face was filled out a trifle. Certainly the fire of the old cattleman's glance was less unearthly.
"Where's Dan?" he called. "Where'd he go?"
It was no longer the deep, controlled voice of the stoic26; it was the almost whining27 complaint of vital weakness.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" parried Byrne. "Anything you need or wish?"
"Him!" answered the old man explosively. "Damn it, I need Dan! Where is he? He was here. I felt him here while I was sleepin'. where is he?"
"He—has—stepped—out?" echoed the old man slowly. Then he rose to the full of his gaunt height. His white hair, his triangle of beard and pointed29 moustache gave him a detached, a mediaeval significance; a portrait by Van Dyck had stepped from its frame.
"Doc, you're lyin' to me! Where has he gone?"
A sudden, almost hysterical30 burst of emotion swept Doctor Byrne.
"Gone to heaven or hell!" he cried with startling violence. "Gone to follow the wind and the wild geese—God knows where!"
Like a period to his sentence, a gun barked outside, there was a howl of demoniac pain and rage, and then a scream that would tingle31 in the ear of Doctor Randall Byrne till his dying day.
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1
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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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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3
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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4
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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6
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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7
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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8
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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9
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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10
subconsciously
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| ad.下意识地，潜意识地 | |
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11
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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12
attested
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| adj.经检验证明无病的，经检验证明无菌的v.证明( attest的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；声称…属实；使宣誓 | |
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13
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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14
fangs
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| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
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15
expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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16
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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17
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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18
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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19
honking
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| v.（使）发出雁叫似的声音，鸣（喇叭），按（喇叭）( honk的现在分词 ) | |
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20
discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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21
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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22
repulse
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| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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23
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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24
doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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25
cremated
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| v.火葬，火化（尸体）( cremate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
stoic
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| n.坚忍克己之人，禁欲主义者 | |
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27
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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28
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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29
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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30
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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31
tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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