第 33 节
作者:月寒      更新:2024-04-14 09:15      字数:9319
  windows。 Wherever she turned Fair Harbor spoke of him。 The golf…links;
  the   bathing   beach;   the   ugly   corner   in   the   main   street   where   he   always
  reminded her that it was better to go slow for ten seconds than to remain a
  long   time   dead;   the   old   house   on   the   stone   wharf   where   the   schooners
  made fast; which he intended to borrow for his honeymoon; the wooden
  trough   where   they   always   drew   rein   to   water   the   ponies;   the   pond   into
  which he had waded to bring her lilies。
  On the second day of her stay she found she was passing these places
  purposely;   that   to   do   so   she   was   going   out   of   her   way。   They   no   longer
  distressed her; but gave her a strange comfort。 They were old friends; who
  had known her in the days when she was rich in happiness。
  But the secret hiding…placetheir very own hiding…place; the opening
  among the pines that overhung the jumble of rocks and the seashe could
  not bring herself to visit。 And then; on the afternoon of the third day when
  she was driving alone toward the lighthouse; her pony; of his own accord;
  from  force   of habit;   turned   smartly  into the   wood   road。 And   again   from
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  force of habit; before he reached the spot that overlooked the sea; he came
  to a full stop。 There was no need to make him fast。 For hours; stretching
  over     many     summer      days;    he   had    stood    under    those    same    branches
  patiently waiting。
  On   foot;   her   heart   beating   tremulously;   stepping   reverently;   as   one
  enters   the   aisle   of   some   dim   cathedral;   Helen   advanced   into   the   sacred
  circle。 And then she stood quite still。 What she had expected to find there
  she could not have told; but it was gone。 The place was unknown to her。
  She     saw    an   opening     among     gloomy      pines;   empty;     silent;  unreal。    No
  haunted house; no barren moor; no neglected graveyard ever spoke more
  poignantly; more mournfully; with such utter hopelessness。 There was no
  sign   of   his   or   of   her   former   presence。 Across   the   open   space   something
  had passed its hand; and it had changed。 What had been a trysting…place; a
  bower;  a   nest;   had   become   a   tomb。 A  tomb;  she   felt;   for  something   that
  once   had   been   brave;  fine;   and   beautiful;  but   which   now  was   dead。   She
  had   but   one   desire;   to   escape   from   the   place;   to   put   it   away   from   her
  forever;   to   remember   it;   not   as   she   now   found   it;   but   as   first   she   had
  remembered   it;   and   as   now   she   must   always   remember   It。   She   turned
  softly on tiptoe as one who has intruded on a shrine。
  But before she could escape there came from the sea a sudden gust of
  wind that caught her by the skirts and drew her back; that set the branches
  tossing and swept the dead leaves racing about her ankles。 And at the same
  instant from just above her head there beat upon the air a violent; joyous
  tattooa sound that was neither of the sea nor of the woods; a creaking;
  swiftly repeated sound; like the flutter of caged wings。
  Helen turned in alarm and raised her eyesand beheld the sailorman。
  Tossing his arms in a delirious welcome; waltzing in a frenzy of joy;
  calling her back to him with wild beckonings; she saw him smiling down
  at   her   with   the   same   radiant;   beseeching;   worshipping   smile。   In   Helen's
  ears    Latimer's     commands        to  the   sailorman     rang   as   clearly   as   though
  Latimer   stood   before   her   and   had   just   spoken。   Only   now   they   were   no
  longer   a   jest;   they   were   a   vow;   a   promise;   an   oath   of   allegiance   that
  brought to her peace; and pride; and happiness。
  〃So   long   as   I   love   this   beautiful   lady;〃   had   been   his   foolish   words;
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  〃you will guard this place。 It is a life sentence!〃
  With   one   hand   Helen   Page   dragged   down   the   branch   on   which   the
  sailorman   stood;   with   the   other   she   snatched him  from   his   post   of   duty。
  With a joyous laugh that was a sob; she clutched the sailorman in both her
  hands and kissed the beseeching; worshipping smile。
  An    hour   later   her  car;   on  its  way   to   Boston;   passed    through     Fair
  Harbor   at   a   rate   of   speed   that   caused   her   chauffeur   to   pray  between   his
  chattering teeth that the first policeman would save their lives by landing
  them in jail。
  At   the   wheel;   her   shoulders   thrown   forward;   her   eyes   searching   the
  dark places beyond the reach of the leaping head…lights Helen Page raced
  against time; against the minions of the law; against sudden death; to beat
  the midnight train out of Boston; to assure the man she loved of the one
  thing that could make his life worth living。
  And close against her heart; buttoned tight beneath her great…coat; the
  sailorman smiled in the darkness; his long watch over; his soul at peace;
  his duty well performed。
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  CHAPTER 6。 THE MIND
  READER
  When       Philip   Endicott     was    at   Harvard;     he   wrote     stories   of
  undergraduate life suggested by things that had happened to himself and to
  men he knew。 Under the title of 〃Tales of the Yard〃 they were collected in
  book form; and sold surprisingly well。 After he was graduated and became
  a reporter  on   the  New York   Republic; he   wrote  more  stories;  in   each of
  which   a   reporter   was   the   hero;   and   in   which   his   failure   or   success   in
  gathering news supplied the plot。 These appeared first in the magazines;
  and later in a book under the title of 〃Tales of the Streets。〃 They also were
  well received。
  Then came to him the literary editor of the Republic; and said: 〃There
  are two kinds of men who succeed in writing fictionmen of genius and
  reporters。 A reporter can describe a thing he has seen in such a way that he
  can make the reader see it; too。 A man of genius can describe something he
  has   never   seen;   or   any   one   else   for   that   matter;   in   such   a   way   that   the
  reader will exclaim: 'I have never committed a murder; but if I had; that's
  just the way I'd feel about it。' For instance; Kipling tells us how a Greek
  pirate; chained to the oar of a trireme; suffers; how a mother rejoices when
  her baby crawls across her breast。 Kipling has never been a mother or a
  pirate; but he convinces you he knows how each of them feels。 He can do
  that   because   he   is   a   genius;   you   cannot   do   it   because   you   are   not。   At
  college you wrote only of what you saw at college; and now that you are
  in the newspaper business all your tales are only of newspaper work。 You
  merely report what you see。 So; if you are doomed to write only of what
  you   see;   then   the   best   thing   for   you   to   do   is   to   see   as   many   things   as
  possible。 You must see all kinds of life。 You must progress。 You must leave
  New York; and you had better go to London。〃
  〃But   on   the   Republic;〃   Endicott   pointed   out;   〃I   get   a   salary。 And   in
  London I should have to sweep a crossing。〃
  〃Then;〃 said the literary editor; 〃you could write a story about a man
  who swept a crossing。〃
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  It was not alone the literary editor's words of wisdom that had driven
  Philip to London。 Helen Carey was in London; visiting the daughter of the
  American Ambassador; and; though Philip had known her only one winter;
  he loved her dearly。 The great trouble was that he had no money; and that
  she   possessed   so   much   of   it   that;   unless   he   could   show   some   unusual
  quality of mind or character; his asking her to marry him; from his own
  point of view at least; was quite impossible。 Of course; he knew that no
  one could love her as he did; that no one so truly wished for her happiness;
  or would try so devotedly to make her happy。 But to him it did not seem
  possible that a girl could be happy with a man who was not able to pay for
  her home; or her clothes; or her food; who would have to borrow her purse
  if he wanted a new pair of gloves or a hair…cut。 For Philip Endicott; while
  rich   in   birth   and