the secret places of the heart-第38节

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arknesses；　above　him　and　below。　He　was　going　along　this　path　without　looking　back；　without　a　thought　for　those　he　left　behind；　without　a　single　word　to　cheer　him　on　his　way；　walking　as　Dr。　Martineau　had　sometimes　watched　him　walking；　without　haste　or　avidity；　walking　as　a　man　might　along　some　great　picture　gallery　with　which　he　was　perhaps　even　over　familiar。　His　hands　would　be　in　his　pockets；　his　indifferent　eyes　upon　the　clouds　about　him。　And　as　he　strolled　along　that　path；　the　darkness　closed　in　upon　him。　His　figure　became　dim　and　dimmer。　Whither　did　that　figure　go？　Did　that　enveloping　darkness　hide　the　beginnings　of　some　strange　long　journey　or　would　it　just　dissolve　that　figure　into　itself？　Was　that　indeed　the　end？　Dr。　Martineau　was　one　of　that　large　class　of　people　who　can　neither　imagine　nor　disbelieve　in　immortality。　Dimmer　and　dimmer　grew　the　figure　but　still　it　remained　visible。　As　one　can　continue　to　see　a　star　at　dawn　until　one　turns　away。　Or　one　blinks　or　nods　and　it　is　gone。　Vanished　now　are　the　beliefs　that　held　our　race　for　countless　generations。　Where　now　was　that　Path　of　the　Dead；　mapped　so　clearly；　faced　with　such　certainty；　in　which　the　heliolithic　peoples　believed　from　Avebury　to　Polynesia？　Not　always　have　we　had　to　go　alone　and　unprepared　into　uncharted　darknesses。　For　a　time　the　dream　artist　used　a　palette　of　the　doctor's　vague　memories　of　things　Egyptian；　he　painted　a　new　roll　of　the　Book　of　the　Dead；　at　a　copy　of　which　the　doctor　had　been　looking　a　day　or　so　before。　Sir　Richmond　became　a　brown　naked　figure；　crossing　a　bridge　of　danger；　passing　between　terrific　monsters；　ferrying　a　dark　and　dreadful　stream。　He　came　to　the　scales　of　judgment　before　the　very　throne　of　Osiris　and　stood　waiting　while　dogheaded　Anubis　weighed　his　conscience　and　that　evil　monster；　the　Devourer　of　the　Dead；　crouched　ready　if　the　judgment　went　against　him。　The　doctor's　attention　concentrated　upon　the　scales。　A　memory　of　Swedengorg's　Heaven　and　Hell　mingled　with　the　Egyptian　fantasy。　Now　at　last　it　was　possible　to　know　something　real　about　this　man's　soul；　now　at　last　one　could　look　into　the　Secret　Places　of　his　Heart。　Anubis　and　Thoth；　the　god　with　the　ibis　head；　were　reading　the　heart　as　if　it　were　a　book；　reading　aloud　from　it　to　the　supreme　judge。　Suddenly　the　doctor　found　himself　in　his　own　dreams。　His　anxiety　to　plead　for　his　friend　had　brought　him　in。　He　too　had　become　a　little　painted　figure　and　he　was　bearing　a　book　in　his　hand。　He　wanted　to　show　that　the　laws　of　the　new　world　could　not　be　the　same　as　those　of　the　old；　and　the　book　he　was　bringing　as　evidence　was　his　own　Psychology　of　a　New　Age。　The　clear　thought　of　that　book　broke　up　his　dream　by　releasing　a　train　of　waking　troubles。　。　。　。　You　have　been　six　months　on　Chapter　Ten；　will　it　ever　be　ready　for　Osiris？　。　。　。　will　it　ever　be　ready　for　print？　。　。　。　Dream　and　waking　thoughts　were　mingled　like　sky　and　cloud　upon　a　windy　day　in　April。　Suddenly　he　saw　again　that　lonely　figure　on　the　narrow　way　with　darknesses　above　and　darknesses　below　and　darknesses　on　every　hand。　But　this　time　it　was　not　Sir　Richmond。　。　。　。　Who　was　it？　Surely　it　was　Everyman。　Everyman　had　to　travel　at　last　along　that　selfsame　road；　leaving　love；　leaving　every　task　and　every　desire。　But　was　it　Everyman？　。　。　。　A　great　fear　and　horror　came　upon　the　doctor。　That　little　figure　was　himself！　And　the　book　which　was　his　particular　task　in　life　was　still　undone。　He　himself　stood　in　his　turn　upon　that　lonely　path　with　the　engulfing　darknesses　about　him。　。　。　。　He　seemed　to　wrench　himself　awake。　He　lay　very　still　for　some　moments　and　then　he　sat　up　in　bed。　An　overwhelming　conviction　had　arisenin　his　mind　that　Sir　Richmond　was　dead。　He　felt　he　must　know　for　certain。　He　switched　on　his　electric　light；　mutely　interrogated　his　round　face　reflected　in　the　looking　glass；　got　out　of　bed；　shuffled　on　his　slippers　and　went　along　the　passage　to　the　telephone。　He　hesitated　for　some　seconds　and　then　lifted　the　receiver。　It　was　his　call　which　aroused　the　nurse　to　the　fact　of　Sir　Richmond's　death。　Section　6　Lady　Hardy　arrived　home　in　response　to　Dr。　Martineau's　telegram　late　on　the　following　evening。　He　was　with　her　next　morning；　comforting　and　sympathetic。　Her　big　blue　eyes；　bright　with　tears；　met　his　very　wistfully；　her　little　body　seemed　very　small　and　pathetic　in　its　simple　black　dress。　And　yet　there　was　a　sort　of　bravery　about　her。　When　he　came　into　the　drawing…room　she　was　in　one　of　the　window　recesses　talking　to　a　serious…looking　woman　of　the　dressmaker　type。　She　left　her　business　at　once　to　come　to　him。　〃Why　did　I　not　know　in　time？〃　she　cried。　〃No　one；　dear　lady；　had　any　idea　until　late　last　night；〃　he　said；　taking　both　her　hands　in　his　for　a　long　friendly　sympathetic　pressure。　〃I　might　have　known　that　if　it　had　been　possible　you　would　have　told　me；〃　she　said。　〃You　know；〃　she　added；　〃I　don't　believe　it　yet。　I　don't　realize　it。　I　go　about　these　formalities〃　〃I　think　I　can　understand　that。〃　〃He　was　always；　you　know；　not　quite　here　。　。　。　。　It　is　as　if　he　were　a　little　more　not　quite　here　。　。　。　。　I　can't　believe　it　is　over。　。　。　。　〃　She　asked　a　number　of　questions　and　took　the　doctor's　advice　upon　various　details　of　the　arrangements。　〃My　daughter　Helen　comes　home　to…morrow　afternoon；〃　she　explained。　〃She　is　in　Paris。　But　our　son　is　far；　far　away　in　the　Punjab。　I　have　sent　him　a　telegram。　。　。　。　It　is　so　kind　of　you　to　come　in　to　me。〃　Dr。　Martineau　went　more　than　half　way　to　meet　Lady　Hardy's　disposition　to　treat　him　as　a　friend　of　the　family。　He　had　conceived　a　curious；　half　maternal　affection　for　Sir　Richmond　that　had　survived　even　the　trying　incident　of　the　Salisbury　parting　and　revived　very　rapidly　during　the　last　few　weeks。　This　affection　extended　itself　now　to　Lady　Hardy。　Hers　was　a　type　that　had　always　appealed　to　him。　He　could　understand　so　well　the　perplexed　loyalty　with　which　she　was　now　setting　herself　to　gather　together　some　preservative　and　reassuring　evidences　of　this　man　who　had　always　been；　as　she　put　it；　〃never　quite　here。〃　It　was　as　if　she　felt　that　now　it　was　at　last　possible　to　make　a　definite　reality　of　him。　He　could　be　fixed。　And　as　he　was　fixed　he　would　stay。　Never　more　would　he　be　able　to　come　in　and　with　an　almost　expressionless　glance　wither　the　interpretation　she　had　imposed　upon　him。　She　was　finding　much　comfort　in　this　task　of　reconstruction。　She　had　gathered　together　in　the　drawingroom　every　presentable　portrait　she　had　been　able　to　find　of　him。　He　had　never；　she　said；　sat　to　a　painter；　but　there　was　an　early　pencil　sketch　done　within　a　couple　of　years　of　their　marriage；　there　was　a　number　of　photographs；　several　of　whichshe　wanted　the　doctor's　advice　upon　this　pointshe　thought　might　be　enlarged；　there　was　a　statuette　done　by　some　woman　artist　who　had　once　beguiled　him　into　a　sitting。　There　was　also　a　painting　she　had　had　worked　up　from　a　photograph　and　some　notes。　She　flitted　among　these　memorials；　going　from　one　to　the　other；　undecided　which　to　make　the　standard　portrait。　〃　That　painting；　I　think；　is　most　like；〃　she　said：　〃as　he　was　before　the　war。　But　the　war　and　the　Commission　changed　him；　worried　him　and　aged　him。　。　。　。　I　grudged　him　to　that　Commission。　He　let　it　worry　him　frightfully。〃　〃It　meant　very　much　to　him；〃　said　Dr。　Martineau。　〃It　meant　too　much　to　him。　But　of　course　his　ideas　were　splendid。　You　know　it　is　one　of　my　hopes　to　get　some　sort　of　book　done；　explaining　his　ideas。　He　would　never　write。　He　despised　itunreasonably。　A　real　thing　done；　he　said；　was　better　than　a　thousand　books。　Nobody　read　books；　he　said；　but　women；　parsons　and　idle　people。　But　there　must　be　books。　And　I　want　one。　Something　a　little　more　real　than　the　ordinary　official　biography。　。　。　。　I　have　thought　of　young　Leighton；　the　secretary　of　the　Commission。　He　seems　thoroughly　intelligent　and　sympathetic　and　really　anxious　to　reconcile　Richmond's　views　with　those　of　the　big　business　men　on　the　Committee。　He　might　do。　。　。　。　Or　perhaps　I　might　be　able　to　persuade　two　or　three　people　to　write　down　their　impressions　of　him。　A　sort　of　memorial　volume。　。　。　。　But　he　was　shy　of　friends。　There　was　no　man　he　talked　to　very　intimately　about　his　ideas　unless　it　was　to　you　。　。　。　I　wish　I　had　the　writer's　gift；　doctor。〃　Section　7　It　was　on　the　second　afternoon　that　Lady　Hardy　summoned　Dr。　Martineau　by　telephone。　〃Something　rather　disagreeable；〃　she　said。　〃If　you　could　spare　the　time。　If　you　could　come　round。　〃It　is　frightfully　distressing；〃　she　said　when　he　got　round　to　her；　and　for　a　time　she　could　tell　him　nothing　more。　She　was　having　tea　and　she　gave　him　some。　She　fussed　about　with　cream　and　cakes　and　biscuits。　He　noted　a　crumpled　letter　thrust　under　the　edge　of　the　silver　tray。　〃He　talked；　I　know；　very　intimately　with　you；〃　she　said；　coming　to　it　at　last。　〃He　probably　went　into　things　with　you　that　he　never　talked　about　with　anyone　else。　Usually　he　was　very　reserved；　Even　with　me　there　were　things　about　which　he　said　nothing。〃　〃We　did；〃　said　Dr。　Martineau　with　discretion；　〃deal　a　little　with　his　private　life。　〃There　was　someone〃　Dr。　Martineau　nodded　and　then；　not　to　be　too　portentous；　took　and　bit　a　biscuit。　〃Did　he　by　any　chance　ever　mention　someone　called　Martin　Leeds？〃　Dr。　Martineau　seemed　to　reflect。　Then　realizing　that　this　was