How-ha looked up and down the woman who stood before her. Through the heavy veil she could barely distinguish the flash of the eyes, while the hood9 of the parka effectually concealed10 the hair, and the parka proper the particular outlines of the body. But How-ha paused and looked again. There was something familiar in the vague general outline. She quested back to the shrouded11 head again, and knew the unmistakable poise12. Then How-ha's eyes went blear as she traversed the simple windings13 of her own brain, inspecting the bare shelves taciturnly stored with the impressions of a meagre life. No disorder14; no confused mingling15 of records; no devious16 and interminable impress of complex emotions, tangled17 theories, and bewildering abstractions—nothing but simple facts, neatly18 classified and conveniently collated19. Unerringly from the stores of the past she picked and chose and put together in the instant present, till obscurity dropped from the woman before her, and she knew her, word and deed and look and history.
"Much better you go 'way quickety-quick," How-ha informed her.
"Miss Welse. I wish to see her."
The strange woman spoke20 in firm, even tones which betokened21 the will behind, but which failed to move How-ha.
"Here, take this to Frona Welse, and—ah! would you!" (thrusting her knee between the door and jamb) "and leave the door open."
How-ha scowled23, but took the note; for she could not shake off the grip of the ten years of servitude to the superior race.
May I see you?
LUCILE.
So the note ran. Frona glanced up expectantly at the Indian woman.
"Um kick toes outside," How-ha explained. "Me tell um go 'way quickety-quick? Eh? You t'ink yes? Um no good. Um—"
"No. Take her,"—Frona was thinking quickly,—"no; bring her up here."
"Much better—"
"Go!"
How-ha grunted, and yielded up the obedience24 she could not withhold25; though, as she went down the stairs to the door, in a tenebrous, glimmering26 way she wondered that the accident of white skin or swart made master or servant as the case might be.
In the one sweep of vision, Lucile took in Frona smiling with extended hand in the foreground, the dainty dressing-table, the simple finery, the thousand girlish evidences; and with the sweet wholesomeness27 of it pervading28 her nostrils29, her own girlhood rose up and smote30 her. Then she turned a bleak31 eye and cold ear on outward things.
"I am glad you came," Frona was saying. "I have so wanted to see you again, and—but do get that heavy parka off, please. How thick it is, and what splendid fur and workmanship!"
"Yes, from Siberia." A present from St. Vincent, Lucile felt like adding, but said instead, "The Siberians have not yet learned to scamp their work, you know."
She sank down into the low-seated rocker with a native grace which could not escape the beauty-loving eye of the girl, and with proud-poised head and silent tongue listened to Frona as the minutes ticked away, and observed with impersonal32 amusement Frona's painful toil33 at making conversation.
"What has she come for?" Frona asked herself, as she talked on furs and weather and indifferent things.
"If you do not say something, Lucile, I shall get nervous, soon," she ventured at last in desperation. "Has anything happened?"
Lucile went over to the mirror and picked up, from among the trinkets beneath, a tiny open-work miniature of Frona. "This is you? How old were you?"
"Sixteen."
"A sylph, but a cold northern one."
"The blood warms late with us," Frona reproved; "but is—"
"None the less warm for that," Lucile laughed. "And how old are you now?"
"Twenty."
"Twenty," Lucile repeated, slowly. "Twenty," and resumed her seat.
"You are twenty. And I am twenty-four."
"So little difference as that!"
"But our blood warms early." Lucile voiced her reproach across the unfathomable gulf34 which four years could not plumb35.
Frona could hardly hide her vexation. Lucile went over and looked at the miniature again and returned.
"Love?" the girl quavered.
"Yes, love. What do you know about it? What do you think of it?"
Frona swept them aside and answered, "Love is immolation39."
"Very good—sacrifice. And, now, does it pay?"
"Yes, it pays. Of course it pays. Who can doubt it?"
Lucile's eyes twinkled amusedly.
"Why do you smile?" Frona asked.
"Look at me, Frona." Lucile stood up and her face blazed. "I am twenty-four. Not altogether a fright; not altogether a dunce. I have a heart. I have good red blood and warm. And I have loved. I do not remember the pay. I know only that I have paid."
"And in the paying were paid," Frona took up warmly. "The price was the reward. If love be fallible, yet you have loved; you have done, you have served. What more would you?"
"Oh! You are unfair."
"I do you justice," Lucile insisted firmly. "You would tell me that you know; that you have gone unveiled and seen clear-eyed; that without placing more than lips to the brim you have divined the taste of the dregs, and that the taste is good. Bah! The whelpage love! And, oh, Frona, I know; you are full womanly and broad, and lend no ear to little things, but"—she tapped a slender finger to forehead—"it is all here. It is a heady brew42, and you have smelled the fumes43 overmuch. But drain the dregs, turn down the glass, and say that it is good. No, God forbid!" she cried, passionately44. "There are good loves. You should find no masquerade, but one fair and shining."
Frona was up to her old trick,—their common one,—and her hand slid down Lucile's arm till hand clasped in hand. "You say things which I feel are wrong, yet may not answer. I can, but how dare I? I dare not put mere45 thoughts against your facts. I, who have lived so little, cannot in theory give the lie to you who have lived so much—"
"'For he who lives more lives than one, more lives than one must die.'"
From out of her pain, Lucile spoke the words of her pain, and Frona, throwing arms about her, sobbed46 on her breast in understanding. As for Lucile, the slight nervous ingathering of the brows above her eyes smoothed out, and she pressed the kiss of motherhood, lightly and secretly, on the other's hair. For a space,—then the brows ingathered, the lips drew firm, and she put Frona from her.
"You are going to marry Gregory St. Vincent?"
Frona was startled. It was only a fortnight old, and not a word had been breathed. "How do you know?"
"You have answered." Lucile watched Frona's open face and the bold running advertisement, and felt as the skilled fencer who fronts a tyro47, weak of wrist, each opening naked to his hand. "How do I know?" She laughed harshly. "When a man leaves one's arms suddenly, lips wet with last kisses and mouth areek with last lies!"
"And—?"
"Forgets the way back to those arms."
"So?" The blood of the Welse pounded up, and like a hot sun dried the mists from her eyes and left them flashing. "Then that is why you came. I could have guessed it had I given second thought to Dawson's gossip."
"It is not too late." Lucile's lip curled. "And it is your way."
"And I am mindful. What is it? Do you intend telling me what he has done, what he has been to you. Let me say that it is useless. He is a man, as you and I are women."
"No," Lucile lied, swallowing her astonishment48.
"I had not thought that any action of his would affect you. I knew you were too great for that. But—have you considered me?"
Frona caught her breath for a moment. Then she straightened out her arms to hold the man in challenge to the arms of Lucile.
"Your father over again," Lucile exclaimed. "Oh, you impossible
Welses!"
"But he is not worthy49 of you, Frona Welse," she continued; "of me, yes. He is not a nice man, a great man, nor a good. His love cannot match with yours. Bah! He does not possess love; passion, of one sort and another, is the best he may lay claim to. That you do not want. It is all, at the best, he can give you. And you, pray what may you give him? Yourself? A prodigious50 waste! But your father's yellow—"
"Don't go on, or I shall refuse to listen. It is wrong of you." So Frona made her cease, and then, with bold inconsistency, "And what may the woman Lucile give him?"
"Some few wild moments," was the prompt response; "a burning burst of happiness, and the regrets of hell—which latter he deserves, as do I. So the balance is maintained, and all is well."
"But—but—"
"For there is a devil in him," she held on, "a most alluring51 devil, which delights me, on my soul it does, and which, pray God, Frona, you may never know. For you have no devil; mine matches his and mates. I am free to confess that the whole thing is only an attraction. There is nothing permanent about him, nor about me. And there's the beauty, the balance is preserved."
Frona lay back in her chair and lazily regarded her visitor, Lucile waited for her to speak. It was very quiet.
"Well?" Lucile at last demanded, in a low, curious tone, at the same time rising to slip into her parka.
"Nothing. I was only waiting."
"I am done."
"Then let me say that I do not understand you," Frona summed up, coldly. "I cannot somehow just catch your motive52. There is a flat ring to what you have said. However, of this I am sure: for some unaccountable reason you have been untrue to yourself to-day. Do not ask me, for, as I said before, I do not know where or how; yet I am none the less convinced. This I do know, you are not the Lucile I met by the wood trail across the river. That was the true Lucile, little though I saw of her. The woman who is here to-day is a strange woman. I do not know her. Sometimes it has seemed she was Lucile, but rarely. This woman has lied, lied to me, and lied to me about herself. As to what she said of the man, at the worst that is merely an opinion. It may be she has lied about him likewise. The chance is large that she has. What do you think about it?"
"That you are a very clever girl, Frona. That you speak sometimes more truly than you know, and that at others you are blinder than you dream."
"There is something I could love in you, but you have hidden it away so that I cannot find it."
Lucile's lips trembled on the verge53 of speech. But she settled her parka about her and turned to go.
Frona saw her to the door herself, and How-ha pondered over the white who made the law and was greater than the law.
When the door had closed, Lucile spat54 into the street. "Faugh! St. Vincent! I have defiled55 my mouth with your name!" And she spat again.
"Come in."
At the summons Matt McCarthy pulled the latch-string, pushed the door open, and closed it carefully behind him.
"Oh, it is you!" St. Vincent regarded his visitor with dark abstraction, then, recollecting56 himself, held out his hand. "Why, hello, Matt, old man. My mind was a thousand miles away when you entered. Take a stool and make yourself comfortable. There's the tobacco by your hand. Take a try at it and give us your verdict."
"An' well may his mind be a thousand miles away," Matt assured himself; for in the dark he had passed a woman on the trail who looked suspiciously like Lucile. But aloud, "Sure, an' it's day-dramin' ye mane. An' small wondher."
"How's that?" the correspondent asked, cheerily.
"By the same token that I met Lucile down the trail a piece, an' the heels iv her moccasins pointing to yer shack57. It's a bitter tongue the jade58 slings59 on occasion," Matt chuckled60.
"That's the worst of it." St. Vincent met him frankly61. "A man looks sidewise at them for a passing moment, and they demand that the moment be eternal."
Off with the old love's a stiff proposition, eh?"
"I should say so. And you understand. It's easy to see, Matt, you've had some experience in your time."
"In me time? I'll have ye know I'm not too old to still enjoy a bit iv a fling."
"Certainly, certainly. One can read it in your eyes. The warm heart and the roving eye, Matt!" He slapped his visitor on the shoulder with a hearty62 laugh.
"An' I've none the best iv ye, Vincent. 'Tis a wicked lad ye are,
with a takin' way with the ladies—as plain as the nose on yer face.
Manny's the idle kiss ye've given, an' manny's the heart ye've broke.
But, Vincent, bye, did ye iver know the rale thing?"
"How do you mean?"
"The rale thing, the rale thing—that is—well, have ye been iver a father?"
St. Vincent shook his head.
"And niver have I. But have ye felt the love iv a father, thin?"
"I hardly know. I don't think so."
"Well, I have. An' it's the rale thing, I'll tell ye. If iver a man suckled a child, I did, or the next door to it. A girl child at that, an' she's woman grown, now, an' if the thing is possible, I love her more than her own blood-father. Bad luck, exciptin' her, there was niver but one woman I loved, an' that woman had mated beforetime. Not a soul did I brathe a word to, trust me, nor even herself. But she died. God's love be with her."
His chin went down upon his chest and he quested back to a flaxen-haired Saxon woman, strayed like a bit of sunshine into the log store by the Dyea River. He looked up suddenly, and caught St. Vincent's stare bent63 blankly to the floor as he mused40 on other things.
The correspondent returned to himself with an effort and found the
Irishman's small blue eyes boring into him.
"Are ye a brave man, Vincent?"
For a second's space they searched each other's souls. And in that space Matt could have sworn he saw the faintest possible flicker65 or flutter in the man's eyes.
He brought his fist down on the table with a triumphant66 crash. "By
God, yer not!"
The correspondent pulled the tobacco jug67 over to him and rolled a cigarette. He rolled it carefully, the delicate rice paper crisping in his hand without a tremor68; but all the while a red tide mounting up from beneath the collar of his shirt, deepening in the hollows of the cheeks and thinning against the cheekbones above, creeping, spreading, till all his face was aflame.
"'Tis good. An' likely it saves me fingers a dirty job. Vincent, man, the girl child which is woman grown slapes in Dawson this night. God help us, you an' me, but we'll niver hit again the pillow as clane an' pure as she! Vincent, a word to the wise: ye'll niver lay holy hand or otherwise upon her."
The devil, which Lucile had proclaimed, began to quicken,—a fuming69, fretting70, irrational71 devil.
"I do not like ye. I kape me raysons to meself. It is sufficient. But take this to heart, an' take it well: should ye be mad enough to make her yer wife, iv that damned day ye'll niver see the inding, nor lay eye upon the bridal bed. Why, man, I cud bate72 ye to death with me two fists if need be. But it's to be hoped I'll do a nater job. Rest aisy. I promise ye."
"You Irish pig!"
So the devil burst forth73, and all unaware74, for McCarthy found himself eye-high with the muzzle75 of a Colt's revolver.
"Is it loaded?" he asked. "I belave ye. But why are ye lingerin'?
Lift the hammer, will ye?"
The correspondent's trigger-finger moved and there was a warning click.
"Now pull it. Pull it, I say. As though ye cud, with that flutter to yer eye."
St. Vincent attempted to turn his head aside.
"Look at me, man!" McCarthy commanded. "Kape yer eyes on me when ye do it."
Unwillingly76 the sideward movement was arrested, and his eyes returned and met the Irishman's.
"Now!"
St. Vincent ground his teeth and pulled the trigger—at least he thought he did, as men think they do things in dreams. He willed the deed, flashed the order forth; but the flutter of his soul stopped it.
"'Tis paralyzed, is it, that shaky little finger?" Matt grinned into the face of the tortured man. "Now turn it aside, so, an' drop it, gently . . . gently . . . gently." His voice crooned away in soothing77 diminuendo.
When the trigger was safely down, St. Vincent let the revolver fall from his hand, and with a slight audible sigh sank nervelessly upon a stool. He tried to straighten himself, but instead dropped down upon the table and buried his face in his palsied hands. Matt drew on his mittens78, looking down upon him pityingly the while, and went out, closing the door softly behind him.
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收听单词发音
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1
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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7
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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collated
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| v.校对( collate的过去式和过去分词 )；整理；核对；整理（文件或书等） | |
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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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betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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withhold
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| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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wholesomeness
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| 卫生性 | |
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pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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immolation
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| n.牺牲品 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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tyro
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| n.初学者；生手 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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53
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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54
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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55
defiled
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| v.玷污( defile的过去式和过去分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
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56
recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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57
shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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58
jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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slings
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| 抛( sling的第三人称单数 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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60
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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62
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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63
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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64
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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66
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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68
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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69
fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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70
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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72
bate
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| v.压制；减弱；n.（制革用的）软化剂 | |
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73
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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74
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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75
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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76
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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77
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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78
mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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