within the tides-第6节
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〃I don't know。 Something reluctant in your manner when he's in
question。〃
〃Really。 My manner！ I don't think he's a great subject for
conversation； perhaps。 Why not drop him？〃
〃Of course！ You wouldn't confess to a mistake。 Not you。
Nevertheless I have my suspicions about it。〃
Renouard got up to go； but hesitated； looking down at the seated
Editor。
〃How funny；〃 he said at last with the utmost seriousness； and was
making for the door； when the voice of his friend stopped him。
〃You know what has been said of you？ That you couldn't get on with
anybody you couldn't kick。 Now； confess … is there any truth in
the soft impeachment？〃
〃No；〃 said Renouard。 〃Did you print that in your paper。〃
〃No。 I didn't quite believe it。 But I will tell you what I
believe。 I believe that when your heart is set on some object you
are a man that doesn't count the cost to yourself or others。 And
this shall get printed some day。〃
〃Obituary notice？〃 Renouard dropped negligently。
〃Certain … some day。〃
〃Do you then regard yourself as immortal？〃
〃No； my boy。 I am not immortal。 But the voice of the press goes
on for ever。 。 。 。 And it will say that this was the secret of your
great success in a task where better men than you … meaning no
offence … did fail repeatedly。〃
〃Success；〃 muttered Renouard； pulling…to the office door after him
with considerable energy。 And the letters of the word PRIVATE like
a row of white eyes seemed to stare after his back sinking down the
staircase of that temple of publicity。
Renouard had no doubt that all the means of publicity would be put
at the service of love and used for the discovery of the loved man。
He did not wish him dead。 He did not wish him any harm。 We are
all equipped with a fund of humanity which is not exhausted without
many and repeated provocations … and this man had done him no evil。
But before Renouard had left old Dunster's house； at the conclusion
of the call he made there that very afternoon； he had discovered in
himself the desire that the search might last long。 He never
really flattered himself that it might fail。 It seemed to him that
there was no other course in this world for himself； for all
mankind； but resignation。 And he could not help thinking that
Professor Moorsom had arrived at the same conclusion too。
Professor Moorsom； slight frame of middle height； a thoughtful keen
head under the thick wavy hair； veiled dark eyes under straight
eyebrows； and with an inward gaze which when disengaged and
arriving at one seemed to issue from an obscure dream of books；
from the limbo of meditation； showed himself extremely gracious to
him。 Renouard guessed in him a man whom an incurable habit of
investigation and analysis had made gentle and indulgent； inapt for
action； and more sensitive to the thoughts than to the events of
existence。 Withal not crushed； sub…ironic without a trace of
acidity； and with a simple manner which put people at ease quickly。
They had a long conversation on the terrace commanding an extended
view of the town and the harbour。
The splendid immobility of the bay resting under his gaze； with its
grey spurs and shining indentations； helped Renouard to regain his
self…possession； which he had felt shaken； in coming out on the
terrace； into the setting of the most powerful emotion of his life；
when he had sat within a foot of Miss Moorsom with fire in his
breast； a humming in his ears； and in a complete disorder of his
mind。 There was the very garden seat on which he had been
enveloped in the radiant spell。 And presently he was sitting on it
again with the professor talking of her。 Near by the patriarchal
Dunster leaned forward in a wicker arm…chair； benign and a little
deaf； his big hand to his ear with the innocent eagerness of his
advanced age remembering the fires of life。
It was with a sort of apprehension that Renouard looked forward to
seeing Miss Moorsom。 And strangely enough it resembled the state
of mind of a man who fears disenchantment more than sortilege。 But
he need not have been afraid。 Directly he saw her in a distance at
the other end of the terrace he shuddered to the roots of his hair。
With her approach the power of speech left him for a time。 Mrs。
Dunster and her aunt were accompanying her。 All these people sat
down； it was an intimate circle into which Renouard felt himself
cordially admitted； and the talk was of the great search which
occupied all their minds。 Discretion was expected by these people；
but of reticence as to the object of the journey there could be no
question。 Nothing but ways and means and arrangements could be
talked about。
By fixing his eyes obstinately on the ground； which gave him an air
of reflective sadness； Renouard managed to recover his self…
possession。 He used it to keep his voice in a low key and to
measure his words on the great subject。 And he took care with a
great inward effort to make them reasonable without giving them a
discouraging complexion。 For he did not want the quest to be given
up； since it would mean her going away with her two attendant grey…
heads to the other side of the world。
He was asked to come again； to come often and take part in the
counsels of all these people captivated by the sentimental
enterprise of a declared love。 On taking Miss Moorsom's hand he
looked up； would have liked to say something； but found himself
voiceless； with his lips suddenly sealed。 She returned the
pressure of his fingers； and he left her with her eyes vaguely
staring beyond him； an air of listening for an expected sound； and
the faintest possible smile on her lips。 A smile not for him；
evidently； but the reflection of some deep and inscrutable thought。
CHAPTER IV
He went on board his schooner。 She lay white； and as if suspended；
in the crepuscular atmosphere of sunset mingling with the ashy
gleam of the vast anchorage。 He tried to keep his thoughts as
sober； as reasonable； as measured as his words had been； lest they
should get away from him and cause some sort of moral disaster。
What he was afraid of in the coming night was sleeplessness and the
endless strain of that wearisome task。 It had to be faced however。
He lay on his back； sighing profoundly in the dark； and suddenly
beheld his very own self； carrying a small bizarre lamp； reflected
in a long mirror inside a room in an empty and unfurnished palace。
In this startling image of himself he recognised somebody he had to
follow … the frightened guide of his dream。 He traversed endless
galleries； no end of lofty halls； innumerable doors。 He lost
himself utterly … he found his way again。 Room succeeded room。 At
last the lamp went out； and he stumbled against some object which；
when he stooped for it； he found to be very cold and heavy to lift。
The sickly white light of dawn showed him the head of a statue。
Its marble hair was done in the bold lines of a helmet； on its lips
the chisel had left a faint smile； and it resembled Miss Moorsom。
While he was staring at it fixedly； the head began to grow light in
his fingers； to diminish and crumble to pieces； and at last turned
into a handful of dust； which was blown away by a puff of wind so
chilly that he woke up with a desperate shiver and leaped headlong
out of his bed…place。 The day had really come。 He sat down by the
cabin table； and taking his head between his hands； did not stir
for a very long time。
Very quiet； he set himself to review this dream。 The lamp； of
course； he connected with the search for a man。 But on closer
examination he perceived that the reflection of himself in the
mirror was not really the true Renouard； but somebody else whose
face he could not remember。 In the deserted palace he recognised a
sinister adaptation by his brain of the long corridors with many
doors； in the great building in which his friend's newspaper was
lodged on the first floor。 The marble head with Miss Moorsom's
face！ Well！ What other face could he have dreamed of？ And her
complexion was fairer than Parian marble； than the heads of angels。
The wind at the end was the morning breeze entering through the
open porthole and touching his face before the schooner could swing
to the chilly gust。
Yes！ And all this rational explanation of the fantastic made it
only more mysterious and weird。 There was something daemonic in
that dream。 It was one of those experiences which throw a man out
of conformity with the established order of his kind and make him a
creature of ob
