the white people-第4章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


ry　friendly。　　I　was　more　at　home　with　Feargus；　the　piper；　and　with　some　of　the　gardeners　than　I　was　with　any　one　else。　　I　think　I　was　lonely　without　knowing；　but　I　was　never　unhappy。　　Jean　and　Angus　were　my　nearest　and　dearest。　　Jean　was　of　good　blood　and　a　stanch　gentlewoman；　quite　sufficiently　educated　to　be　my　companion　as　she　had　been　my　early　governess。

It　was　Jean　who　told　Angus　that　I　was　giving　myself　too　entirely　to　the　study　of　ancient　books　and　the　history　of　centuries　gone　by。

〃She　is　living　to…day；　and　she　must　not　pass　through　this　life　without　gathering　anything　from　it。〃

〃This　life；〃　she　put　it；　as　if　I　had　passed　through　others　before；　and　might　pass　through　others　again。　　That　was　always　her　way　of　speaking；　and　she　seemed　quite　unconscious　of　any　unusualness　in　it。

〃You　are　a　wise　woman；　Jean；〃　Angus　said；　looking　long　at　her　grave　face。　　〃A　wise　woman。〃

He　wrote　to　the　London　book…shops　for　the　best　modern　books；　and　I　began　to　read　them。　　I　felt　at　first　as　if　they　plunged　me　into　a　world　I　did　not　understand；　and　many　of　them　I　could　not　endure。　　But　I　persevered；　and　studied　them　as　I　had　studied　the　old　ones；　and　in　time　I　began　to　feel　as　if　perhaps　they　were　true。　　My　chief　weariness　with　them　came　from　the　way　they　had　of　referring　to　the　things　I　was　so　intimate　with　as　though　they　were　only　the　unauthenticated　history　of　a　life　so　long　passed　by　that　it　could　no　longer　matter　to　any　one。　　So　often　the　greatest　hours　of　great　lives　were　treated　as　possible　legends。　　I　knew　why　men　had　died　or　were　killed　or　had　borne　black　horror。　　I　knew　because　I　had　read　old　books　and　manuscripts　and　had　heard　the　stories　which　had　come　down　through　centuries　by　word　of　mouth；　passed　from　father　to　son。

But　there　was　one　man　who　did　not　write　as　if　he　believed　the　world　had　begun　and　would　end　with　him。　　He　knew　he　was　only　one；　and　part　of　all　the　rest。　　The　name　I　shall　give　him　is　Hector　MacNairn。　　He　was　a　Scotchman；　but　he　had　lived　in　many　a　land。　　The　first　time　I　read　a　book　he　had　written　I　caught　my　breath　with　joy；　again　and　again。　　I　knew　I　had　found　a　friend；　even　though　there　was　no　likelihood　that　I　should　ever　see　his　face。　　He　was　a　great　and　famous　writer；　and　all　the　world　honored　him；　while　I；　hidden　away　in　my　castle　on　a　rock　on　the　edge　of　Muircarrie；　was　so　far　from　being　interesting　or　clever　that　even　in　my　grandest　evening　dress　and　tiara　of　jewels　I　was　as　insignificant　as　a　mouse。　　In　fact；　I　always　felt　rather　silly　when　I　was　obliged　to　wear　my　diamonds　on　state　occasions　as　custom　sometimes　demanded。

Mr。　MacNairn　wrote　essays　and　poems；　and　marvelous　stories　which　were　always　real　though　they　were　called　fiction。　　Wheresoever　his　story　was　placedhowsoever　remote　and　unknown　the　sceneit　was　a　real　place；　and　the　people　who　lived　in　it　were　real；　as　if　he　had　some　magic　power　to　call　up　human　things　to　breathe　and　live　and　set　one's　heart　beating。　　I　read　everything　he　wrote。　　I　read　every　word　of　his　again　and　again。　　I　always　kept　some　book　of　his　near　enough　to　be　able　to　touch　it　with　my　hand；　and　often　I　sat　by　the　fire　in　the　library　holding　one　open　on　my　lap　for　an　hour　or　more；　only　because　it　meant　a　warm；　close　companionship。　　It　seemed　at　those　times　as　if　he　sat　near　me　in　the　dim　glow　and　we　understood　each　other's　thoughts　without　using　words；　as　Wee　Brown　Elspeth　and　I　had　understood　only　this　was　a　deeper　thing。

I　had　felt　near　him　in　this　way　for　several　years；　and　every　year　he　had　grown　more　famous；　when　it　happened　that　one　June　my　guardian；　Sir　Ian；　required　me　to　go　to　London　to　see　my　lawyers　and　sign　some　important　documents　connected　with　the　management　of　the　estate。　　I　was　to　go　to　his　house　to　spend　a　week　or　more；　attend　a　Drawing…Room；　and　show　myself　at　a　few　great　parties　in　a　proper　manner；　this　being　considered　my　duty　toward　my　relatives。　　These；　I　believe；　were　secretly　afraid　that　if　I　were　never　seen　their　world　would　condemn　my　guardian　for　neglect　of　his　charge；　or　would　decide　that　I　was　of　unsound　mind　and　intentionally　kept　hidden　away　at　Muircarrie。　　He　was　an　honorable　man；　and　his　wife　was　a　well…meaning　woman。　　I　did　not　wish　to　do　them　an　injustice；　so　I　paid　them　yearly　visits　and　tried　to　behave　as　they　wished；　much　as　I　disliked　to　be　dressed　in　fine　frocks　and　to　wear　diamonds　on　my　little　head　and　round　my　thin　neck。

It　was　an　odd　thing　that　this　time　I　found　I　did　not　dread　the　visit　to　London　as　much　as　I　usually　did。　　For　some　unknown　reason　I　became　conscious　that　I　was　not　really　reluctant　to　go。　　Usually　the　thought　of　the　days　before　me　made　me　restless　and　low…spirited。　　London　always　seemed　so　confused　and　crowded；　and　made　me　feel　as　if　I　were　being　pushed　and　jostled　by　a　mob　always　making　a　tiresome　noise。　　But　this　time　I　felt　as　if　I　should　somehow　find　a　clear　place　to　stand　in；　where　I　could　look　on　and　listen　without　being　bewildered。　　It　was　a　curious　feeling；　I　could　not　help　noticing　and　wondering　about　it。

I　knew　afterward　that　it　came　to　me　because　a　change　was　drawing　near。　　I　wish　so　much　that　I　could　tell　about　it　in　a　better　way。　　But　I　have　only　my　own　way；　which　I　am　afraid　seems　very　like　a　school…girl's。

Jean　Braidfute　made　the　journey　with　me；　as　she　always　did；　and　it　was　like　every　other　journey。　　Only　one　incident　made　it　different；　and　when　it　occurred　there　seemed　nothing　unusual　in　it。　　It　was　only　a　bit　of　sad；　everyday　life　which　touched　me。　　There　is　nothing　new　in　seeing　a　poor　woman　in　deep　mourning。

Jean　and　I　had　been　alone　in　our　railway　carriage　for　a　great　part　of　the　journey；　but　an　hour　or　two　before　we　reached　London　a　man　got　in　and　took　a　seat　in　a　corner。　　The　train　had　stopped　at　a　place　where　there　is　a　beautiful　and　well…known　cemetery。　　People　bring　their　friends　from　long　distances　to　lay　them　there。　　When　one　passes　the　station；　one　nearly　always　sees　sad　faces　and　people　in　mourning　on　the　platform。

There　was　more　than　one　group　there　that　day；　and　the　man　who　sat　in　the　corner　looked　out　at　them　with　gentle　eyes。　　He　had　fine；　deep　eyes　and　a　handsome　mouth。　　When　the　poor　woman　in　mourning　almost　stumbled　into　the　carriage；　followed　by　her　child；　he　put　out　his　hand　to　help　her　and　gave　her　his　seat。　　She　had　stumbled　because　her　eyes　were　dim　with　dreadful　crying；　and　she　could　scarcely　see。　　It　made　one's　heart　stand　still　to　see　the　wild　grief　of　her；　and　her　unconsciousness　of　the　world　about　her。　　The　world　did　not　matter。　　There　was　no　world。　　I　think　there　was　nothing　left　anywhere　but　the　grave　she　had　just　staggered　blindly　away　from。　　I　felt　as　if　she　had　been　lying　sobbing　and　writhing　and　beating　the　new　turf　on　it　with　her　poor　hands；　and　I　somehow　knew　that　it　had　been　a　child's　grave　she　had　been　to　visit　and　had　felt　she　left　to　utter　loneliness　when　she　turned　away。

It　was　because　I　thought　this　that　I　wished　she　had　not　seemed　so　unconscious　of　and　indifferent　to　the　child　who　was　with　her　and　clung　to　her　black　dress　as　if　it　could　not　bear　to　let　her　go。　　This　one　was　alive　at　least；　even　if　she　had　lost　the　other　one；　and　its　little　face　was　so　wistful！　　It　did　not　seem　fair　to　forget　and　ignore　it；　as　if　it　were　not　there。　　I　felt　as　if　she　might　have　left　it　behind　on　the　platform　if　it　had　not　so　clung　to　her　skirt　that　it　was　almost　dragged　into　the　railway　carriage　with　her。　　When　she　sank　into　her　seat　she　did　not　even　lift　the　poor　little　thing　into　the　place　beside　her；　but　left　it　to　scramble　up　as　best　it　could。　　She　buried　her　swollen　face　in　her　handkerchief　and　sobbed　in　a　smothered　way　as　if　she　neither　saw；　heard；　nor　felt　any　living　thing　near　her。

How　I　wished　she　would　remember　the　poor　child　and　let　it　comfort　her！　　It　really　was　trying　to　do　it　in　its　innocent　way。　　It　pressed　close　to　her　side；　it　looked　up　imploringly；　it　kissed　her　arm　and　her　crape　veil　over　and　over　again；　and　tried　to　attract　her　attention。　　It　was　a　little；　lily…fair　creature　not　more　than　five　or　six　years　old　and　perhaps　too　young　to　express　what　it　wanted　to　say。　　It　could　only　cling　to　her　and　kiss　her　black　dress；　and　seem　to　beg　her　to　remember　that　it；　at　least；　was　a　living　thing。　　But　she　was　too　absorbed　in　he