five tales-第30节

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〃Thank　you；　that'll　do。〃　　Then；　waiting　till　she　was　gone；　he　crossed　the　room；　fumbled　open　the　sideboard　door；　and　took　out　the　bottle。　Reaching　over　the　polished　oak；　he　grasped　a　sherry　glass；　and　holding　the　bottle　with　both　hands；　tipped　the　liquor　into　it；　put　it　to　his　lips　and　sucked。　　Drop　by　drop　it　passed　over　his　palate　mild；　very　old；　old　as　himself；　coloured　like　sunlight；　fragrant。　　To　the　last　drop　he　drank　it；　then　hugging　the　bottle　to　his　shirt…front；　he　moved　snail…like　to　his　chair；　and　fell　back　into　its　depths。　　For　some　minutes　he　remained　there　motionless；　the　bottle　clasped　to　his　chest；　thinking：　'This　is　not　the　attitude　of　a　gentleman。　　I　must　put　it　down　on　the　table…on　the　table；'　but　a　thick　cloud　was　between　him　and　everything。　　It　was　with　his　hands　he　would　have　to　put　the　bottle　on　the　table！　　But　he　could　not　find　his　hands；　could　not　feel　them。　　His　mind　see…sawed　in　strophe　and　antistrophe：　〃You　can't　move！〃〃I　will　move！〃　　〃You're　beaten〃〃I'm　not　beat。〃　　〃Give　up〃　〃I　won't。〃　　That　struggle　to　find　his　hands　seemed　to　last　for　ever　he　must　find　them！　　After　thatgo　downall　standingafter　that！　Everything　round　him　was　red。　　Then　the　red　cloud　cleared　just　a　little；　and　he　could　hear　the　clock〃tick…tick…tick〃；　a　faint　sensation　spread　from　his　shoulders　down　to　his　wrists；　down　his　palms；　and　yeshe　could　feel　the　bottle！　　He　redoubled　his　struggle　to　get　forward　in　his　chair；　to　get　forward　and　put　the　bottle　down。　It　was　not　dignified　like　this！　　One　arm　he　could　move　now；　but　he　could　not　grip　the　bottle　nearly　tight　enough　to　put　it　down。　Working　his　whole　body　forward；　inch　by　inch；　he　shifted　himself　up　in　the　chair　till　he　could　lean　sideways；　and　the　bottle；　slipping　down　his　chest；　dropped　slanting　to　the　edge　of　the　low　stool…table。　Then　with　all　his　might　he　screwed　his　trunk　and　arms　an　inch　further；　and　the　bottle　stood。　　He　had　done　itdone　it！　　His　lips　twitched　into　a　smile；　his　body　sagged　back　to　its　old　position。　　He　had　done　it！　　And　he　closed　his　eyes　。。。。

At　half…past　eleven　the　girl　Molly；　opening　the　door；　looked　at　him　and　said　softly：　〃Sirr！　there's　some　ladies；　and　a　gentleman！〃　　But　he　did　not　answer。　　And；　still　holding　the　door；　she　whispered　out　into　the　hall：

〃He's　asleep；　miss。〃

A　voice　whispered　back：

〃Oh！　　Just　let　me　go　in；　I　won't　wake　him　unless　he　does。　　But　I　do　want　to　show　him　my　dress。〃

The　girl　moved　aside；　and　on　tiptoe　Phyllis　passed　in。　　She　walked　to　where；　between　the　lamp…glow　and　the　fire…glow；　she　was　lighted　up。　White　satinher　first　low…cut　dressthe　flush　of　her　first　supper　partya　gardenia　at　her　breast；　another　in　her　fingers！　　Oh！　　what　a　pity　he　was　asleep！　　How　red　he　looked！　　How　funnily　old　men　breathed！　　And　mysteriously；　as　a　child　might；　she　whispered：

〃Guardy！〃

No　answer！　　And　pouting；　she　stood　twiddling　the　gardenia。　　Then　suddenly　she　thought：　'I'll　put　it　in　his　buttonhole！　　When　he　wakes　up　and　sees　it；　how　he'll　jump！'

And　stealing　close；　she　bent　and　slipped　it　in。　　Two　faces　looked　at　her　from　round　the　door；　she　heard　Bob　Pillin's　smothered　chuckle；　her　mother's　rich　and　feathery　laugh。　　Oh！　　How　red　his　forehead　was！　She　touched　it　with　her　lips；　skipped　back；　twirled　round；　danced　silently　a　second；　blew　a　kiss；　and　like　quicksilver　was　gone。

And　the　whispering；　the　chuckling；　and　one　little　out…pealing　laugh　rose　in　the　hall。

But　the　old　man　slept。　　Nor　until　Meller　came　at　his　usual　hour　of　half…past　twelve；　was　it　known　that　he　would　never　wake。







THE　APPLE　TREE


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃The　Apple…tree；　the　singing　and　the　gold。〃　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　MURRAY'S　〃HIPPOLYTUS　of　EURIPIDES。〃

In　their　silver…wedding　day　Ashurst　and　his　wife　were　motoring　along　the　outskirts　of　the　moor；　intending　to　crown　the　festival　by　stopping　the　night　at　Torquay；　where　they　had　first　met。　　This　was　the　idea　of　Stella　Ashurst；　whose　character　contained　a　streak　of　sentiment。　　If　she　had　long　lost　the　blue…eyed；　flower…like　charm；　the　cool　slim　purity　of　face　and　form；　the　apple…blossom　colouring；　which　had　so　swiftly　and　so　oddly　affected　Ashurst　twenty…six　years　ago；　she　was　still　at　forty…three　a　comely　and　faithful　companion；　whose　cheeks　were　faintly　mottled；　and　whose　grey…blue　eyes　had　acquired　a　certain　fullness。

It　was　she　who　had　stopped　the　car　where　the　common　rose　steeply　to　the　left；　and　a　narrow　strip　of　larch　and　beech；　with　here　and　there　a　pine；　stretched　out　towards　the　valley　between　the　road　and　the　first　long　high　hill　of　the　full　moor。　　She　was　looking　for　a　place　where　they　might　lunch；　for　Ashurst　never　looked　for　anything；　and　this；　between　the　golden　furze　and　the　feathery　green　larches　smelling　of　lemons　in　the　last　sun　of　Aprilthis；　with　a　view　into　the　deep　valley　and　up　to　the　long　moor　heights；　seemed　fitting　to　the　decisive　nature　of　one　who　sketched　in　water…colours；　and　loved　romantic　spots。　　Grasping　her　paint　box；　she　got　out。

〃Won't　this　do；　Frank？〃

Ashurst；　rather　like　a　bearded　Schiller；　grey　in　the　wings；　tall；　long…legged；　with　large　remote　grey　eyes　which　sometimes　filled　with　meaning　and　became　almost　beautiful；　with　nose　a　little　to　one　side；　and　bearded　lips　just　openAshurst；　forty…eight；　and　silent；　grasped　the　luncheon　basket；　and　got　out　too。

〃Oh！　Look；　Frank！　　A　grave！〃

By　the　side　of　the　road；　where　the　track　from　the　top　of　the　common　crossed　it　at　right　angles　and　ran　through　a　gate　past　the　narrow　wood；　was　a　thin　mound　of　turf；　six　feet　by　one；　with　a　moorstone　to　the　west；　and　on　it　someone　had　thrown　a　blackthorn　spray　and　a　handful　of　bluebells。　　Ashurst　looked；　and　the　poet　in　him　moved。　　At　cross…roadsa　suicide's　grave！　　Poor　mortals　with　their　superstitions！　　Whoever　lay　there；　though；　had　the　best　of　it；　no　clammy　sepulchre　among　other　hideous　graves　carved　with　futilities　just　a　rough　stone；　the　wide　sky；　and　wayside　blessings！　　And；　without　comment；　for　he　had　learned　not　to　be　a　philosopher　in　the　bosom　of　his　family；　he　strode　away　up　on　to　the　common；　dropped　the　luncheon　basket　under　a　wall；　spread　a　rug　for　his　wife　to　sit　on　she　would　turn　up　from　her　sketching　when　she　was　hungryand　took　from　his　pocket　Murray's　translation　of　the　〃Hippolytus。〃　　He　had　soon　finished　reading　of　〃The　Cyprian〃　and　her　revenge；　and　looked　at　the　sky　instead。　　And　watching　the　white　clouds　so　bright　against　the　intense　blue；　Ashurst；　on　his　silver…wedding　day；　longed　forhe　knew　not　what。　　Maladjusted　to　lifeman's　organism！　　One's　mode　of　life　might　be　high　and　scrupulous；　but　there　was　always　an；　undercurrent　of　greediness；　a　hankering；　and　sense　of　waste。　　Did　women　have　it　too？　　Who　could　tell？　　And　yet；　men　who　gave　vent　to　their　appetites　for　novelty；　their　riotous　longings　for　new　adventures；　new　risks；　new　pleasures；　these　suffered；　no　doubt；　from　the　reverse　side　of　starvation；　from　surfeit。　　No　getting　out　of　ita　maladjusted　animal；　civilised　man！　　There　could　be　no　garden　of　his　choosing；　of　〃the　Apple…tree；　the　singing；　and　the　gold；〃　in　the　words　of　that　lovely　Greek　chorus；　no　achievable　elysium　in　life；　or　lasting　haven　of　happiness　for　any　man　with　a　sense　of　beautynothing　which　could　compare　with　the　captured　loveliness　in　a　work　of　art；　set　down　for　ever；　so　that　to　look　on　it　or　read　was　always　to　have　the　same　precious　sense　of　exaltation　and　restful　inebriety。　　Life　no　doubt　had　moments　with　that　quality　of　beauty；　of　unbidden　flying　rapture；　but　the　trouble　was；　they　lasted　no　longer　than　the　span　of　a　cloud's　flight　over　the　sun；　impossible　to　keep　them　with　you；　as　Art　caught　beauty　and　held　it　fast。　　They　were　fleeting　as　one　of　the　glimmering　or　golden　visions　one　had　of　the　soul　in　nature；　glimpses　of　its　remote　and　brooding　spirit。　　Here；　with　the　sun　hot　on　his　face；　a　cuckoo　calling　from　a　thorn　tree；　and　in　the　air　the　honey　savour　of　gorsehere　among　the　little　fronds　of　the　young　fern；　the　starry　blackthorn；　while　the　bright　clouds　drifted　by　high　above　the　hills　and　dreamy　valleys　here　and　now　was　such　a　glimpse。　　But　in　a　moment　it　would　passas　the　face　of　Pan；　which　looks　round　the　corner　of　a　rock；　vanishes　at　your　stare。　　And　suddenly　he　sat　up。　　Surely　there　was　something　familiar　about　this　view；　this　bit　of　common；　that　ribbon　of　road；　the　old　wall　behind　him。　　While　they　were　driving　he　had　not　been　taking　noticenever　did；　thinking　of　far　things　or　of　nothingbut　now　he　saw！　　Twenty…six　years　ago；　just　at　this　time　of　year；　from　the　farmhouse　within　half　a　mile　of　this　very　spot　he　had　started　for　that　day　in　Torquay　whence　it　might　be　said　he　had　never　returned。　　And　a　sudden　ache　beset　his　heart；　he　had　stumbled　on　just　one　of　those　past　moments　in　his　life；　whose　beauty　and　rapture　he　had　failed　to　arrest；　whose　wings　had　fluttered　away　into　the　unknown；　he　had　stumbled　on　a　buried　memory；　a　wild　sweet　time；　swiftly　choked　and　ended。　　And；　turning　on　his　face；　he　rested　his　chin　on　his　hands；　and　stared　at　the　short　grass　where　the　little　blue　milkwort　was　growing。。。。




I

And　this　is　what　he　remembered。

On　the　first　of　May；　after　their　last　year　together　at　college；　Frank　Ashurst　and　his　friend　Robert　Garton　were　on　a　tramp。　　They　had　walked　that　day　from　Brent；　intending　to　make　Chagford；　but　Ashu