a first family of tasajara-第43部分

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the　Grand　Duchess　of　Girolstein　did　Fritz。〃



〃For　Heaven's　sake；　Jack；　go　to　Clementina！　　You　may　not　be

successful；　but　there　at　least　the　perfect　gentlemanliness　and

good　taste　of　your　illustrations　will　not　be　thrown　away。〃



〃I　think　of　going　to　San　Francisco　tomorrow；　anyway；〃　returned　Jack

with　affected　carelessness。　　〃I'm　getting　rather　bored　with　this

wild　seaside　watering　place　and　its　glitter　of　ocean　and　hopeless

background　of　mountain。　　It's　nothing　to　me　that　'there's　no　land

nearer　than　Japan'　out　there。　　It　may　be　very　healthful　to　the

tissues；　but　it's　weariness　to　the　spirit；　and　I　don't　see　why　we

can't　wait　at　San　Francisco　till　the　rains　send　us　further　south；

as　well　as　here。〃



He　had　walked　to　the　balcony　of　their　sitting…room　in　the　little

seaside　hotel　where　this　conversation　took　place；　and　gazed

discontentedly　over　the　curving　bay　and　sandy　shore　before　him。

After　a　slight　pause　Mrs。　Ashwood　stepped　out　beside　him。



〃Very　likely　I　may　go　with　you；〃　she　said；　with　a　perceptible　tone

of　weariness。　　〃We　will　see　after　the　post　arrives。〃



〃By　the　way；　there　is　a　little　package　for　you　in　my　room；　that

came　this　morning。　　I　brought　it　up；　but　forgot　to　give　it　to　you。

You'll　find　it　on　my　table。〃



Mrs。　Ashwood　abstractedly　turned　away　and　entered　her　brother's

room　from　the　same　balcony。　　The　forgotten　parcel；　which　looked

like　a　roll　of　manuscript；　was　lying　on　his　dressing…table。　　She

gazed　attentively　at　the　handwriting　on　the　wrapper　and　then　gave　a

quick　glance　around　her。　　A　sudden　and　subtle　change　came　over　her。

She　neither　flushed　nor　paled；　nor　did　the　delicate　lines　of

expression　in　her　face　quiver　or　change。　　But　as　she　held　the

parcel　in　her　hand　her　whole　being　seemed　to　undergo　some　exquisite

suffusion。　　As　the　medicines　which　the　Arabian　physician　had

concealed　in　the　hollow　handle　of　the　mallet　permeated　the　languid

royal　blood　of　Persia；　so　some　volatile　balm　of　youth　seemed　to

flow　in　upon　her　with　the　contact　of　that　strange　missive　and

transform　her　weary　spirit。



〃Jack！〃　she　called；　in　a　high　clear　voice。　　But　Jack　had　already

gone　from　the　balcony　when　she　reached　it　with　an　elastic　step　and

a　quick　youthful　swirl　and　rustling　of　her　skirt。　　He　was　lighting

his　cigar　in　the　garden。



〃Jack；〃　she　said；　leaning　half　over　the　railing；　〃come　back　here　in

an　hour　and　we'll　talk　over　that　matter　of　yours　again。〃



Jack　looked　up　eagerly　and　as　if　he　might　even　come　up　then；　but

she　added　quickly；　〃In　about　an　hourI　must　think　it　over；〃　and

withdrew。



She　re…entered　the　sitting…room；　shut　the　door　carefully　and　locked

it；　half　pulled　down　the　blind；　walking　once　or　twice　around　the

table　on　which　the　parcel　lay；　with　one　eye　on　it　like　a　graceful

cat。　　Then　she　suddenly　sat　down；　took　it　up　with　a　grave　practical

face；　examined　the　postmark　curiously；　and　opened　it　with　severe

deliberation。　　It　contained　a　manuscript　and　a　letter　of　four

closely　written　pages。　　She　glanced　at　the　manuscript　with　bright

approving　eyes；　ran　her　fingers　through　its　leaves　and　then　laid　it

carefully　and　somewhat　ostentatiously　on　the　table　beside　her。

Then；　still　holding　the　letter　in　her　hand；　she　rose　and　glanced

out　of　the　window　at　her　bored　brother　lounging　towards　the　beach

and　at　the　heaving　billows　beyond；　and　returned　to　her　seat。　　This

apparently　important　preliminary　concluded；　she　began　to　read。



There　were；　as　already　stated；　four　blessed　pages　of　it！　　All

vital；　earnest；　palpitating　with　youthful　energy；　preposterous　in

premises；　precipitate　in　conclusions；yet　irresistible　and

convincing　to　every　woman　in　their　illogical　sincerity。　　There　was

not　a　word　of　love　in　it；　yet　every　page　breathed　a　wholesome

adoration；　there　was　not　an　epithet　or　expression　that　a　greater

prude　than　Mrs。　Ashwood　would　have　objected　to；　yet　every　sentence

seemed　to　end　in　a　caress。　　There　was　not　a　line　of　poetry　in　it；

and　scarcely　a　figure　or　simile；　and　yet　it　was　poetical。　　Boyishly

egotistic　as　it　was　in　attitude；　it　seemed　to　be　written　less　OF

himself　than　TO　her；　in　its　delicate　because　unconscious　flattery；

it　made　her　at　once　the　provocation　and　excuse。　　And　yet　so　potent

was　its　individuality　that　it　required　no　signature。　　No　one　but

John　Milton　Harcourt　could　have　written　it。　　His　personality　stood

out　of　it　so　strongly　that　once　or　twice　Mrs。　Ashwood　almost

unconsciously　put　up　her　little　hand　before　her　face　with　a　half

mischievous；　half…deprecating　smile；　as　if　the　big　honest　eyes　of

its　writer　were　upon　her。



It　began　by　an　elaborate　apology　for　declining　the　appointment

offered　him　by　one　of　her　friends；　which　he　was　bold　enough　to

think　had　been　prompted　by　her　kind　heart。　　That　was　like　her；　but

yet　what　she　might　do　to　any　one；　and　he　preferred　to　think　of　her

as　the　sweet　and　gentle　lady　who　had　recognized　his　merit　without

knowing　him；　rather　than　the　powerful　and　gracious　benefactress　who

wanted　to　reward　him　when　she　did　know　him。　　The　crown　that　she　had

all　unconsciously　placed　upon　his　head　that　afternoon　at　the　little

hotel　at　Crystal　Spring　was　more　to　him　than　the　Senator's

appointment；　perhaps　he　was　selfish；　but　he　could　not　bear　that　she

who　had　given　so　much　should　believe　that　he　could　accept　a　lesser

gift。　　All　this　and　much　more！　　Some　of　it　he　had　wanted　to　say　to

her　in　San　Francisco　at　times　when　they　had　met；　but　he　could　not

find　the　words。　　But　she　had　given　him　the　courage　to　go　on　and　do

the　only　thing　he　was　fit　for；　and　he　had　resolved　to　stick　to

that；　and　perhaps　do　something　once　more　that　might　make　him　hear

again　her　voice　as　he　had　heard　it　that　day；　and　again　see　the

light　that　had　shone　in　her　eyes　as　she　sat　there　and　read。　　And

this　was　why　he　was　sending　her　a　manuscript。　　She　might　have

forgotten　that　she　had　told　him　a　strange　story　of　her　cousin　who

had　disappearedwhich　she　thought　he　might　at　some　time　work　up。

Here　it　was。　　Perhaps　she　might　not　recognize　it　again；　in　the　way

he　had　written　it　here；　perhaps　she　did　not　really　mean　it　when　she

had　given　him　permission　to　use　it；　but　he　remembered　her　truthful

eyes　and　believed　herand　in　any　event　it　was　hers　to　do　with　what

she　liked。　　It　had　been　a　great　pleasure　for　him　to　write　it　and

think　that　she　would　see　it；　it　was　like　seeing　her　himselfthat

was　in　HIS　BETTER　SELFmore　worthy　the　companionship　of　a

beautiful　and　noble　woman　than　the　poor　young　man　she　would　have

helped。　　This　was　why　he　had　not　called　the　week　before　she　went

away。　　But　for　all　that；　she　had　made　his　life　less　lonely；　and　he

should　be　ever　grateful　to　her。　　He　could　never　forget　how　she

unconsciously　sympathized　with　him　that　day　over　the　loss　that　had

blighted　his　life　forever；yet　even　then　he　did　not　know　that　she；

herself；　had　passed　through　the　same　suffering。　　But　just　here　the

stricken　widow　of　thirty；　after　a　vain　attempt　to　keep　up　the

knitted　gravity　of　her　eyebrows；　bowe