the village watch-tower-第23章

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As　she　sat　on　the　bed　of　brown　pine　needles；　under　a　friendly　tree；

her　head　resting　against　its　trunk；　her　eyes　half　closed；　the　tone　of

Anthony's　violin　came　like　a　heavenly　message　to　a　tired；　despairing　soul。

Remember　that　in　her　secluded　life　she　had　heard　only　such　harmony　as　Elvira

Reynolds　evoked　from　her　piano　or　George　Reynolds　from　his　flute；

and　the　Reynolds　temperament　was　distinctly　inartistic。



Lyddy　lived　through　a　lifetime　of　emotion　in　these　twilight　concerts。

Sometimes　she　was　filled　with　an　exquisite　melancholy　from　which　there　was

no　escape；　at　others；　the　ethereal　purity　of　the　strain　stirred　her　heart　with

a　strange；　sweet　vision　of　mysterious　joy；　joy　that　she　had　never　possessed；

would　never　possess；　joy　whose　bare　existence　she　never　before　realized。

When　the　low　notes　sank　lower　and　lower　with　their　soft　wail　of　delicious　woe；

she　bent　forward　into　the　dark；　dreading　that　something　would　be　lost

in　the　very　struggle　of　listening；　then；　after　a；　pause；　a　pure　human　tone

would　break　the　stillness；　and　soaring；　bird…like；　higher　and　higher；

seem　to　mount　to　heaven　itself；　and；　〃piercing　its　starry　floors；〃

lift　poor　scarred　Lydia's　soul　to　the　very　grates　of　infinite　bliss。

In　the　gentle　moods　that　stole　upon　her　in　those　summer　twilights　she

became　a　different　woman；　softer　in　her　prosperity　than　she　had　ever

been　in　her　adversity；　for　some　plants　only　blossom　in　sunshine。

What　wonder　if　to　her　the　music　and　the　musician　became　one？

It　is　sometimes　a　dangerous　thing　to　fuse　the　man　and　his　talents

in　this　way；　but　it　did　no　harm　here；　for　Anthony　Croft　was　his　music；

and　the　music　was　Anthony　Croft。　　When　he　played　on　his　violin；　it　was

as　if　the　miracle　of　its　fashioning　were　again　enacted；　as　if　the　bird

on　the　quivering　bough；　the　mellow　sunshine　streaming　through　the　lattice

of　green　leaves；　the　tinkle　of　the　woodland　stream；　spoke　in　every　tone；

and　more　than　this；　the　hearth…glow　in　whose　light　the　patient　hands

had　worked；　the　breath　of　the　soul　bending　itself　in　passionate　prayer

for　perfection；　these；　too；　seemed　to　have　wrought　their　blessed　influence

on　the　willing　strings　until　the　tone　was　laden　with　spiritual　harmony。

One　might　indeed　have　sung　of　this　little　red　violinthat　looked　to　Lyddy；

in　the　sunset　glow；　as　if　it　were　veneered　with　rubiesall　that

Shelley　sang　of　another　perfect　instrument：





〃The　artist　who　this　viol　wrought

To　echo　all　harmonious　thought；

Fell'd　a　tree；　while　on　the　steep

The　woods　were　in　their　winter　sleep；

Rock'd　in　that　repose　divine

Of　the　wind…swept　Apennine；

And　dreaming；　some　of　Autumn　past；

And　some　of　Spring　approaching　fast；

And　some　of　April　buds　and　showers；

And　some　of　songs　in　July　bowers；

And　all　of　love；　and　so　this　tree

O　that　such　our　death　may　be！

Died　in　sleep；　and　felt　no　pain；

To　live　in　happier　form　again。〃



The　viol　〃whispers　in　enamoured　tone：〃





〃Sweet　oracles　of　woods　and　dells；

And　summer　windy　ill　sylvan　cells；　。　。

The　clearest　echoes　of　the　hills；

The　softest　notes　of　falling　rills；

The　melodies　of　birds　and　bees；

The　murmuring　of　summer　seas；

And　pattering　rain；　and　breathing　dew；

And　airs　of　evening；　all　it　knew。。。。

All　this　it　knows；　but　will　not　tell

　To　those　who　cannot　question　well

The　spirit　that　inhabits　it；　。。。

But；　sweetly　as　its　answers　will

Flatter　hands　of　perfect　skill；

It　keeps　its　highest；　holiest　tone

For　one　beloved　Friend　alone。〃





Lyddy　heard　the　violin　and　the　man's　voice　as　he　talked　to　the　child；

heard　them　night　after　night；　and　when　she　went　home　to　the　little

brown　house　to　light　the　fire　on　the　hearth　and　let　down　the　warm

red　curtains；　she　fell　into　sweet；　sad　reveries；　and　when　she　blew

out　her　candle　for　the　night；　she　fell　asleep　and　dreamed　new　dreams；

and　her　heart　was　stirred　with　the　rustling　of　new…born　hopes　that　rose

and　took　wing　like　birds　startled　from　their　nests。



V。





〃Nor　scour　the　seas；　nor　sift　mankind；

A　poet　or　a　friend　to　find：

Behold；　he　watches　at　the　door！

Behold　his　shadow　on　the　floor！〃



Emerson's　_Saadi。_





Lyddy　Butterfield's　hen　turkey　was　of　a　roving　disposition。

She　had　never　appreciated　her　luxurious　country　quarters　in　Edgewood；　and　was

seemingly　anxious　to　return　to　the　modest　back　yard　in　her　native　city。

At　any　rate；　she　was　in　the　habit　of　straying　far　from　home；　and　the　habit

was　growing　upon　her　to　such　an　extent　that　she　would　even　lead　her　docile

little　gobblers　down　to　visit　Anthony　Croft's　hens　and　share　their　corn。



Lyddy　had　caught　her　at　it　once；　and　was　now　pursuing　her　to　that

end　for　the　second　time。　　She　paused　in　front　of　the　house；

but　there　were　no　turkeys　to　be　seen。　　Could　they　have　wandered　up

the　hill　road；the　discontented；　〃traipsing；〃　exasperating　things？

She　started　in　that　direction；　when　she　heard　a　crash　in　the　Croft　kitchen；

and　then　the　sound　of　a　boy's　voice　coming　from　an　inner　room；

a　weak　and　querulous　voice；　as　if　the　child　were　ill。



She　drew　nearer；　in　spite　of　her　dread　of　meeting　people；

or　above　all　of　intruding；　and　saw　Anthony　Croft　standing　over　the　stove；

with　an　expression　of　utter　helplessness　on　his　usually　placid　face。

She　had　never　really　seen　him　before　in　the　daylight；

and　there　was　something　about　his　appearance　that　startled　her。

The　teakettle　was　on　the　floor；　and　a　sea　of　water　was　flooding

the　man's　feet；　yet　he　seemed　to　be　gazing　into　vacancy。

Presently　he　stooped；　and　fumbled　gropingly　for　the　kettle。

It　was　too　hot　to　be　touched　with　impunity；　and　he　finally　left　it

in　a　despairing　sort　of　way；　and　walked　in　the　direction　of　a　shelf；

from　under　which　a　row　of　coats　was　hanging。　　The　boy　called　again　in　a

louder　and　more　insistent　tone；　ending　in　a　whimper　of　restless　pain。

This　seemed　to　make　the　man　more　nervous　than　ever。

His　hands　went　patiently　over　and　over　the　shelf；　then　paused

at　each　separate　nail。



〃Bless　the　poor　dear！〃　thought　Lyddy。　　〃Is　he　trying　to　find

his　hat；　or　what　is　he　trying　to　do？　　I　wonder　if　he　is　music　mad？〃

and　she　drew　still　nearer　the　steps。



At　this　moment　he　turned　and　came　rapidly　toward　the　door。

She　looked　straight　in　his　face。　　There　was　no　mistaking　it：

he　was　blind。　　The　magician　who　had　told　her　through　his　violin

secrets　that　she　had　scarcely　dreamed　of；　the　wizard　who　had　set

her　heart　to　throbbing　and　aching　and　longing　as　it　had　never

throbbed　and　ached　and　longed　before；　the　being　who　had　worn　a　halo

of　romance　and　genius　to　her　simple　mind；　was　stone…blind！　A　wave

of　impetuous　anguish；　as　sharp　and　passionate　as　any　she　had　ever

felt　for　her　own　misfortunes；　swept　over　her　soul　at　the　spectacle

of　the　man's　helplessness。　　His　sightless　eyes　struck　her　like　a　blow。

But　there　was　no　time　to　lose。　　She　was　directly　in　his　path：

if　she　stood　still　he　would　certainly　walk　over　her；　and　if　she

moved　he　would　hear　her；　so；　on　the　spur　of　the　moment；　she　gave

a　nervous　cough　and　said；　〃Good…morning；　Mr。　Croft。〃



He　stopped　short。　　〃Who　is　it？〃　he　asked。



〃I　amit　isI　amyour　new　neighbor；〃　said　Lyddy；

with　a　trembling　attempt　at　cheerfulness。



〃Oh；　Miss　Butterfield！　　I　should　have　called　up　to　see

you　before　this　if　it　hadn't　been　for　the　boy's　sickness。

But　I　am　a　good…for…nothing　neighbor；　as　you　have　doubtless　heard。

Nobody　expects　anything　of　me。〃



（〃Nobody　expects　anything　of　me。〃　　Her　own　plaint；

uttered　in　her　own　tone！）



〃I　don't　know　about　that；〃　she　answered　swiftly。

〃You've　given　me；　for　one；　a　great　deal　of　pleasure　with　your

wonderful　music。　　I　often　hear　you　as　you　play　after　supper；

and　it　has　kept　me　from　being　lonesome。　　That　isn't　very　much；

to　be　sure。〃



〃You　are　fond　of　music；　then？〃



〃I　didn't　know　I　was；　I　never　heard　any　before；〃　said　Lyddy　simply；

〃but　it　seems　to　help　people　to　say　things　they　couldn't　say　for　themselves；

don't　you　think　so？　　It　comforts　me　even　to　hear　it；　an