a first family of tasajara-第44部分

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

knitted　gravity　of　her　eyebrows；　bowed　her　dimpling　face　over　the

letter　of　the　blighted　widower　of　twenty；　and　laughed　so　long　and

silently　that　the　tears　stood　out　like　dew　on　her　light…brown

eyelashes。



But　she　became　presently　severe　again；　and　finished　her　reading　of

the　letter　gravely。　　Then　she　folded　it　carefully；　deposited　it　in

a　box　on　her　table；　which　she　locked。　　After　a　few　minutes；

however；　she　unlocked　the　box　again　and　transferred　the　letter　to

her　pocket。　　The　serenity　of　her　features　did　not　relax　again；

although　her　previous　pretty　prepossession　of　youthful　spirit　was

still　indicated　in　her　movements。　　Going　into　her　bedroom；　she

reappeared　in　a　few　minutes　with　a　light　cloak　thrown　over　her

shoulders　and　a　white…trimmed　broad…brimmed　hat。　　Then　she　rolled

up　the　manuscript　in　a　paper；　and　called　her　French　maid。　　As　she

stood　there　awaiting　her　with　the　roll　in　her　hand；　she　might　have

been　some　young　girl　on　her　way　to　her　music　lesson。



〃If　my　brother　returns　before　I　do；　tell　him　to　wait。〃



〃Madame　is　going〃



〃Out；〃　said　Mrs。　Ashwood　blithely；　and　tripped　downstairs。



She　made　her　way　directly　to　the　shore　where　she　remembered　there

was　a　group　of　rocks　affording　a　shelter　from　the　northwest　trade

winds。　　It　was　reached　at　low　water　by　a　narrow　ridge　of　sand；　and

here　she　had　often　basked　in　the　sun　with　her　book。　　It　was　here

that　she　now　unrolled　John　Milton's　manuscript　and　read。



It　was　the　story　she　had　told　him；　but　interpreted　by　his　poetry

and　adorned　by　his　fancy　until　the　facts　as　she　remembered　them

seemed　to　be　no　longer　hers；　or　indeed　truths　at　all。　　She　had

always　believed　her　cousin's　unhappy　temperament　to　have　been　the

result　of　a　moral　and　physical　idiosyncrasy；she　found　it　here　to

be　the　effect　of　a　lifelong　and　hopeless　passion　for　herself！　　The

ingenious　John　Milton　had　given　a　poet's　precocity　to　the　youth

whom　she　had　only　known　as　a　suspicious；　moody　boy；　had　idealized

him　as　a　sensitive　but　songless　Byron；　had　given　him　the　added

infirmity　of　pulmonary　weakness；　and　a　handkerchief　that　in　moments

of　great　excitement；　after　having　been　hurriedly　pressed　to　his

pale　lips；　was　withdrawn　〃with　a　crimson　stain。〃　　Opposed　to　this

interesting　figurethe　more　striking　to　her　as　she　had　been

hitherto　haunted　by　the　impression　that　her　cousin　during　his

boyhood　had　been　subject　to　facial　eruption　and　boilswas　her　own

equally　idealized　self。　　Cruelly　kind　to　her　cousin　and　gentle　with

his　weaknesses　while　calmly　ignoring　their　cause；　leading　him

unconsciously　step　by　step　in　his　fatal　passion；　he　only　became

aware　by　accident　that　she　nourished　an　ideal　hero　in　the　person　of

a　hard；　proud；　middle…aged　practical　man　of　the　world；her　future

husband！　　At　this　picture　of　the　late　Mr。　Ashwood；　who　had　really

been　an　indistinctive　social　bon　vivant；　his　amiable　relict　grew

somewhat　hysterical。　　The　discovery　of　her　real　feelings　drove　the

consumptive　cousin　into　a　secret；　self…imposed　exile　on　the　shores

of　the　Pacific；　where　he　hoped　to　find　a　grave。　　But　the　complete

and　sudden　change　of　life　and　scene；　the　balm　of　the　wild　woods　and

the　wholesome　barbarism　of　nature；　wrought　a　magical　change　in　his

physical　health　and　a　philosophical　rest　in　his　mind。　　He　married

the　daughter　of　an　Indian　chief。　　Years　passed；　the　heroinea　rich

and　still　young　and　beautiful　widowunwittingly　sought　the　same

medicinal　solitude。　　Here　in　the　depth　of　the　forest　she　encountered

her　former　playmate；　the　passion　which　he　had　fondly　supposed　was

dead　revived　in　her　presence；　and　for　the　first　time　she　learned

from　his　bearded　lips　the　secret　of　his　passion。　　Alas！　not　SHE

alone！　　The　contiguous　forest　could　not　be　bolted　out；　and　the

Indian　wife　heard　all。　　Recognizing　the　situation　with　aboriginal

directness　of　purpose；　she　committed　suicide　in　the　fond　belief　that

it　would　reunite　the　survivors。　　But　in　vain；　the　cousins　parted　on

the　spot　to　meet　no　more。



Even　Mrs。　Ashwood's　predilection　for　the　youthful　writer　could　not

overlook　the　fact　that　the　denouement　was　by　no　means　novel　nor　the

situation　human；　but　yet　it　was　here　that　she　was　most　interested

and　fascinated。　　The　description　of　the　forest　was　a　description

of　the　wood　where　she　had　first　met　Harcourt；　the　charm　of　it

returned；　until　she　almost　seemed　to　again　inhale　its　balsamic

freshness　in　the　pages　before　her。　　Now；　as　then；　her　youth　came

back　with　the　same　longing　and　regret。　　But　more　bewildering　than

all；　it　was　herself　that　moved　there；　painted　with　the　loving　hand

of　the　narrator。　　For　the　first　time　she　experienced　the　delicious

flattery　of　seeing　herself　as　only　a　lover　could　see　her。　　The

smallest　detail　of　her　costume　was　suggested　with　an　accuracy　that

pleasantly　thrilled　her　feminine　sense。　　The　grace　of　her　figure

slowly　moving　through　the　shadow；　the　curves　of　her　arm　and　the

delicacy　of　her　hand　that　held　the　bridle　rein；　the　gentle　glow　of

her　softly　rounded　cheek；　the　sweet　mystery　of　her　veiled　eyes　and

forehead；　and　the　escaping　gold　of　her　lovely　hair　beneath　her　hat

were　all　in　turn　masterfully　touched　or　tenderly　suggested。　　And

when　to　this　was　added　the　faint　perfume　of　her　nearer　presence

the　scent　she　always　usedthe　delicate　revelations　of　her

withdrawn　gauntlet；　the　bracelet　clasping　her　white　wrist；　and　at

last　the　thrilling　contact　of　her　soft　hand　on　his　arm；she　put

down　the　manuscript　and　blushed　like　a　very　girl。　　Then　she

started。



A　shout！HIS　voice　surely！and　the　sound　of　oars　in　their

rowlocks。



An　instant　revulsion　of　feeling　overtook　her。　　With　a　quick

movement　she　instantly　hid　the　manuscript　beneath　her　cloak　and

stood　up　erect　and　indignant。　　Not　twenty　yards　away；　apparently

advancing　from　the　opposite　shore　of　the　bay；　was　a　boat。　　It

contained　only　John　Milton；　resting　on　his　oars　and　scanning　the

group　of　rocks　anxiously。　　His　face；　which　was　quite　strained　with

anxiety；　suddenly　flushed　when　he　saw　her；　and　then　recognizing　the

unmistakable　significance　of　her　look　and　attitude；　paled　once

more。　　He　bent　over　his　oars　again；　a　few　strokes　brought　him　close

to　the　rock。



〃I　beg　your　pardon；〃　he　said　hesitatingly；　as　he　turned　towards　her

and　laid　aside　his　oars；　〃butI　thoughtyou　werein　danger。〃



She　glanced　quickly　round　her。　　She　had　forgotten　the　tide！　　The

ledge　between　her　and　the　shore　was　already　a　foot　under　brown　sea…

water。　　Yet　if　she　had　not　thought　that　it　would　look　ridiculous；

she　would　have　leaped　down　even　then　and　waded　ashore。



〃It's　nothing；〃　she　said　coldly；　with　the　air　of　one　to　whom　the

situation　was　an　everyday　occurrence；　〃it's　only　a　few　steps　and　a

slight　wettingand　my　brother　would　have　been　here　in　a　moment

more。〃



John　Milton's　frank　eyes　made　no　secret　of　his　mortification。　　〃I

ought　not　to　have　disturbed　you；　I　know；〃　he　said　quickly；　〃I　had

no　rig