Jacob Welse put both hands on Frona's shoulders, and his eyes spoke1 the love his stiff tongue could not compass. The tree and the excitement and the pleasure were over with, a score or so of children had gone home frostily happy across the snow, the last guest had departed, and Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were blending into one.
She returned his fondness with glad-eyed interest, and they dropped into huge comfortable chairs on either side the fireplace, in which the back-log was falling to ruddy ruin.
"And this time next year?" He put the question seemingly to the glowing log, and, as if in ominous2 foreshadow, it flared3 brightly and crumbled4 away in a burst of sparks.
"It is marvellous," he went on, dismissing the future in an effort to shake himself into a wholesomer frame of mind. "It has been one long continuous miracle, the last few months, since you have been with me. We have seen very little of each other, you know, since your childhood, and when I think upon it soberly it is hard to realize that you are really mine, sprung from me, bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. As the tangle-haired wild young creature of Dyea,—a healthy, little, natural animal and nothing more,—it required no imagination to accept you as one of the breed of Welse. But as Frona, the woman, as you were to-night, as you are now as I look at you, as you have been since you came down the Yukon, it is hard . . . I cannot realize . . . I . . ." He faltered6 and threw up his hands helplessly. "I almost wish that I had given you no education, that I had kept you with me, faring with me, adventuring with me, achieving with me, and failing with me. I would have known you, now, as we sit by the fire. As it is, I do not. To that which I did know there has been added, somehow (what shall I call it?), a subtlety7; complexity,—favorite words of yours,—which is beyond me.
"No." He waved the speech abruptly8 from her lips. She came over and knelt at his feet, resting her head on his knee and clasping his hand in firm sympathy. "No, that is not true. Those are not the words. I cannot find them. I fail to say what I feel. Let me try again. Underneath9 all you do carry the stamp of the breed. I knew I risked the loss of that when I sent you away, but I had faith in the persistence10 of the blood and I took the chance; doubted and feared when you were gone; waited and prayed dumbly, and hoped oftentimes hopelessly; and then the day dawned, the day of days! When they said your boat was coming, death rose and walked on the one hand of me, and on the other life everlasting11. Made or marred12; made or marred,—the words rang through my brain till they maddened me. Would the Welse remain the Welse? Would the blood persist? Would the young shoot rise straight and tall and strong, green with sap and fresh and vigorous? Or would it droop13 limp and lifeless, withered14 by the heats of the world other than the little simple, natural Dyea world?
"It was the day of days, and yet it was a lingering, watching, waiting tragedy. You know I had lived the years lonely, fought the lone15 fight, and you, away, the only kin17. If it had failed . . . But your boat shot from the bluffs18 into the open, and I was half-afraid to look. Men have never called me coward, but I was nearer the coward then than ever and all before. Ay, that moment I had faced death easier. And it was foolish, absurd. How could I know whether it was for good or ill when you drifted a distant speck19 on the river? Still, I looked, and the miracle began, for I did know. You stood at the steering-sweep. You were a Welse. It seems so little; in truth it meant so much. It was not to be expected of a mere20 woman, but of a Welse, yes. And when Bishop21 went over the side, and you gripped the situation as imperatively22 as the sweep, and your voice rang out, and the Siwashes bent23 their backs to your will,—then was it the day of days."
"I tried always, and remembered," Frona whispered. She crept up softly till her arm was about his neck and her head against his breast. He rested one arm lightly on her body, and poured her bright hair again and again from his hand in glistening24 waves.
"As I said, the stamp of the breed was unmarred, but there was yet a difference. There is a difference. I have watched it, studied it, tried to make it out. I have sat at table, proud by the side of you, but dwarfed25. When you talked of little things I was large enough to follow; when of big things, too small. I knew you, had my hand on you, when presto26! and you were away, gone—I was lost. He is a fool who knows not his own ignorance; I was wise enough to know mine. Art, poetry, music,—what do I know of them? And they were the great things, are the great things to you, mean more to you than the little things I may comprehend. And I had hoped, blindly, foolishly, that we might be one in the spirit as well as the one flesh. It has been bitter, but I have faced it, and understand. But to see my own red blood get away from me, elude27 me, rise above me! It stuns28. God! I have heard you read from your Browning—no, no; do not speak—and watched the play of your face, the uplift and the passion of it, and all the while the words droning in upon me, meaningless, musical, maddening. And Mrs. Schoville sitting there, nursing an expression of idiotic29 ecstasy30, and understanding no more than I. I could have strangled her.
"Why, I have stolen away, at night, with your Browning, and locked myself in like a thief in fear. The text was senseless, I have beaten my head with my fist like a wild man, to try and knock some comprehension into it. For my life had worked itself out along one set groove31, deep and narrow. I was in the rut. I had done those things which came to my hand and done them well; but the time was past; I could not turn my hand anew. I, who am strong and dominant32, who have played large with destiny, who could buy body and soul a thousand painters and versifiers, was baffled by a few paltry33 cents' worth of printed paper!"
He spilled her hair for a moment's silence.
"To come back. I had attempted the impossible, gambled against the inevitable34. I had sent you from me to get that which I had not, dreaming that we would still be one. As though two could be added to two and still remain two. So, to sum up, the breed still holds, but you have learned an alien tongue. When you speak it I am deaf. And bitterest of all, I know that the new tongue is the greater. I do not know why I have said all this, made my confession35 of weakness—"
"Oh, father mine, greatest of men!" She raised her head and laughed into his eyes, the while brushing back the thick iron-gray hair which thatched the dome36 of his forehead. "You, who have wrestled37 more mightily38, done greater things than these painters and versifiers. You who know so well the law of change. Might not the same plaint fall from your father's lips were he to sit now beside you and look upon your work and you?"
"Yes, yes. I have said that I understand. Do not let us discuss it . . . a moment's weakness. My father was a great man."
"And so mine."
"A struggler to the end of his days. He fought the great lone fight—"
"And so mine."
"And died fighting."
"And so shall mine. So shall we all, we Welses."
He shook her playfully, in token of returning spirits. "But I intend to sell out,—mines, Company, everything,—and study Browning."
"Still the fight. You can't discount the blood, father."
"Why were you not a boy?" he demanded, abruptly. "You would have been a splendid one. As it is, a woman, made to be the delight of some man, you must pass from me—to-morrow, next day, this time next year, who knows how soon? Ah? now I know the direction my thought has been trending. Just as I know you do, so do I recognize the inevitableness of it and the justness. But the man, Frona, the man?"
"Don't," she demurred39. "Tell me of your father's fight, the last fight, the great lone fight at Treasure City. Ten to one it was, and well fought. Tell me."
"No, Frona. Do you realize that for the first time in our lives we talk together seriously, as father and daughter,—for the first time? You have had no mother to advise; no father, for I trusted the blood, and wisely, and let you go. But there comes a time when the mother's counsel is needed, and you, you who never knew one?"
Frona yielded, in instant recognition, and waiting, snuggled more closely to him.
"This man, St. Vincent—how is it between you?"
"I . . . I do not know. How do you mean?"
"Remember always, Frona, that you have free choice, yours is the last word. Still, I would like to understand. I could . . . perhaps . . . I might be able to suggest. But nothing more. Still, a suggestion . . ."
There was something inexpressibly sacred about it, yet she found herself tongue-tied. Instead of the one definite thing to say, a muddle40 of ideas fluttered in her brain. After all, could he understand? Was there not a difference which prevented him from comprehending the motives41 which, for her, were impelling42? For all her harking back to the primitive43 and stout44 defence of its sanity45 and truth, did his native philosophy give him the same code which she drew from her acquired philosophy? Then she stood aside and regarded herself and the queries46 she put, and drew apart from them, for they breathed of treason.
"There is nothing between us, father," she spoke up resolutely47. "Mr. St. Vincent has said nothing, nothing. We are good friends, we like each other, we are very good friends. I think that is all."
"But you like each other; you like him. Is it in the way a woman must like a man before she can honestly share her life with him, lose herself in him? Do you feel with Ruth, so that when the time comes you can say, 'Thy people are my people, and thy God my God'?"
"N—-o. It may be; but I cannot, dare not face it, say it or not say it, think it or not think it—now. It is the great affirmation. When it comes it must come, no one may know how or why, in a great white flash, like a revelation, hiding nothing, revealing everything in dazzling, blinding truth. At least I so imagine."
Jacob Welse nodded his head with the slow meditation48 of one who understands, yet stops to ponder and weigh again.
"But why have you asked, father? Why has Mr. St. Vincent been raised?
I have been friends with other men."
"But I have not felt about other men as I do of St. Vincent. We may be truthful49, you and I, and forgive the pain we give each other. My opinion counts for no more than another's. Fallibility is the commonest of curses. Nor can I explain why I feel as I do—I oppose much in the way you expect to when your great white flash sears your eyes. But, in a word, I do not like St. Vincent."
"A very common judgment50 of him among the men," Frona interposed, driven irresistibly51 to the defensive52.
"Such consensus53 of opinion only makes my position stronger," he returned, but not disputatively. "Yet I must remember that I look upon him as men look. His popularity with women must proceed from the fact that women look differently than men, just as women do differ physically54 and spiritually from men. It is deep, too deep for me to explain. I but follow my nature and try to be just."
"But have you nothing more definite?" she asked, groping for better comprehension of his attitude. "Can you not put into some sort of coherence55 some one certain thing of the things you feel?"
"I hardly dare. Intuitions can rarely be expressed in terms of thought. But let me try. We Welses have never known a coward. And where cowardice56 is, nothing can endure. It is like building on sand, or like a vile57 disease which rots and rots and we know not when it may break forth58."
"But it seems to me that Mr. St. Vincent is the last man in the world with whom cowardice may be associated. I cannot conceive of him in that light."
The distress59 in her face hurt him. "I know nothing against St. Vincent. There is no evidence to show that he is anything but what he appears. Still, I cannot help feeling it, in my fallible human way. Yet there is one thing I have heard, a sordid60 pot-house brawl61 in the Opera House. Mind you, Frona, I say nothing against the brawl or the place,—men are men, but it is said that he did not act as a man ought that night."
"But as you say, father, men are men. We would like to have them other than they are, for the world surely would be better; but we must take them as they are. Lucile—"
"No, no; you misunderstand. I did not refer to her, but to the fight.
He did not . . . he was cowardly."
"But as you say, it is said. He told me about it, not long afterwards, and I do not think he would have dared had there been anything—"
"But I do not make it as a charge," Jacob Welse hastily broke in. "Merely hearsay62, and the prejudice of the men would be sufficient to account for the tale. And it has no bearing, anyway. I should not have brought it up, for I have known good men funk in my time—buck fever, as it were. And now let us dismiss it all from our minds. I merely wished to suggest, and I suppose I have bungled63. But understand this, Frona," turning her face up to his, "understand above all things and in spite of them, first, last, and always, that you are my daughter, and that I believe your life is sacredly yours, not mine, yours to deal with and to make or mar5. Your life is yours to live, and in so far that I influence it you will not have lived your life, nor would your life have been yours. Nor would you have been a Welse, for there was never a Welse yet who suffered dictation. They died first, or went away to pioneer on the edge of things.
"Why, if you thought the dance house the proper or natural medium for self-expression, I might be sad, but to-morrow I would sanction your going down to the Opera House. It would be unwise to stop you, and, further, it is not our way. The Welses have ever stood by, in many a lost cause and forlorn hope, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder. Conventions are worthless for such as we. They are for the swine who without them would wallow deeper. The weak must obey or be crushed; not so with the strong. The mass is nothing; the individual everything; and it is the individual, always, that rules the mass and gives the law. A fig16 for what the world says! If the Welse should procreate a bastard64 line this day, it would be the way of the Welse, and you would be a daughter of the Welse, and in the face of hell and heaven, of God himself, we would stand together, we of the one blood, Frona, you and I."
"You are larger than I," she whispered, kissing his forehead, and the caress65 of her lips seemed to him the soft impact of a leaf falling through the still autumn air.
And as the heat of the room ebbed66 away, he told of her foremother and of his, and of the sturdy Welse who fought the great lone fight, and died, fighting, at Treasure City.
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1
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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2
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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3
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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4
crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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7
subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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12
marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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13
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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14
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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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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18
bluffs
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| 恐吓( bluff的名词复数 )； 悬崖； 峭壁 | |
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19
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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imperatively
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| adv.命令式地 | |
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23
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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24
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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25
dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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26
presto
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| adv.急速地；n.急板乐段；adj.急板的 | |
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27
elude
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| v.躲避，困惑 | |
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28
stuns
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| v.击晕( stun的第三人称单数 )；使大吃一惊；给（某人）以深刻印象；使深深感动 | |
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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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30
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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31
groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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32
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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33
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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34
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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35
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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37
wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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38
mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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39
demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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41
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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42
impelling
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| adj.迫使性的，强有力的v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的现在分词 ) | |
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43
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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45
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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46
queries
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| n.问题( query的名词复数 )；疑问；询问；问号v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 )；询问 | |
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47
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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48
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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49
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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50
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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51
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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52
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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53
consensus
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| n.(意见等的)一致，一致同意，共识 | |
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54
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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55
coherence
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| n.紧凑；连贯；一致性 | |
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56
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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57
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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58
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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59
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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60
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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61
brawl
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| n.大声争吵，喧嚷；v.吵架，对骂 | |
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62
hearsay
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| n.谣传，风闻 | |
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63
bungled
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| v.搞糟，完不成( bungle的过去式和过去分词 )；笨手笨脚地做；失败；完不成 | |
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64
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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65
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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66
ebbed
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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