the lost road-第51节

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So；　for　two　months　before　the　transport　was　to　sail；　they　ordered
him　to　Cape　Cod　to　fill　his　lungs　with　the　bracing　air　of　a　New
England　autumn。

He　selected　Agawamsett；　because；　when　at　Harvard；　it　was　there　he
had　spent　his　summer　vacations；　and　he　knew　he　would　find
sailboats　and　tennis　and；　through　the　pine　woods　back　of　the
little　whaling　village；　many　miles　of　untravelled　roads。　　He
promised　himself　that　over　these　he　would　gallop　an　imaginary
troop　in　route　marches；　would　manoeuvre　it　against　possible
ambush；　and；　in　combat　patrols；　ground　scouts；　and　cossack
outposts；　charge　with　it　〃as　foragers。〃　　But　he　did　none　of　these
things。　　For　at　Agawamsett　he　met　Frances　Gardner；　and　his
experience　with　her　was　so　disastrous　that；　in　his　determination
to　avoid　all　women；　he　was　convinced　he　was　right。

When　later　he　reached　Manila　he　vowed　no　other　woman　would
ever　again　find　a　place　in　his　thoughts。　　No　other　woman　did。
Not　because　he　had　the　strength　to　keep　his　vow；　but　because　he
so　continually　thought　of　Frances　Gardner　that　no　other　woman
had　a　chance。

Miss　Gardner　was　a　remarkable　girl。　　Her　charm　appealed　to　all
kinds　of　men；　and；　unfortunately　for　Lee；　several　kinds　of　men
appealed　to　her。　　Her　fortune　and　her　relations　were　bound　up　in
the　person　of　a　rich　aunt　with　whom　she　lived；　and　who；　it　was
understood；　some　day　would　leave　her　all　the　money　in　the　world。
But；　in　spite　of　her　charm；　certainly　in　spite　of　the　rich　aunt；
Lee；　true　to　his　determination；　might　not　have　noticed　the　girl
had　not　she　ridden　so　extremely　well。

It　was　to　the　captain　of　cavalry　she　first　appealed。　　But　even　a
cavalry　captain；　whose　duty　in　life　is　to　instruct　sixty　men　in
the　art　of　taking　the　life　of　as　many　other　men　as　possible；　may
turn　his　head　in　the　direction　of　a　good…looking　girl。　　And　when
for　weeks　a　man　rides　at　the　side　of　one　through　pine　forests　as
dim　and　mysterious　as　the　aisles　of　a　great　cathedral；　when　he
guides　her　across　the　wet　marshes　when　the　sun　is　setting　crimson
in　the　pools　and　the　wind　blows　salt　from　the　sea；　when　he　loses
them　both　by　moonlight　in　wood…roads　where　the　hoofs　of　the
horses　sink　silently　into　dusty　pine　needles；　he　thinks　more
frequently　of　the　girl　at　his　side　than　of　the　faithful　troopers
waiting　for　him　in　San　Francisco。　　The　girl　at　his　side　thought
frequently　of　him。

With　the　〃surface　indications〃　of　a　young　man　about　to　ask　her
to　marry　him　she　was　painfully　familiar；　but　this　time　the　possibility
was　the　reverse　of　painful。　　What　she　meant　to　do　about　it　she　did
not　know；　but　she　did　know　that　she　was　strangely　happy。　　Between
living　on　as　the　dependent　of　a　somewhat　exacting　relative　and
becoming　the　full　partner　of　this　young　stranger；　who　with　men
had　proved　himself　so　masterful；　and　who　with　her　was　so　gentle；
there　seemed　but　little　choice。　　But　she　did　not　as　yet　wish　to　make
the　choice。　　She　preferred　to　believe　she　was　not　certain。　　She　assured
him　that　before　his　leave　of　absence　was　over　she　would　tell　him
whether　she　would　remain　on　duty　with　the　querulous　aunt；　who　had
befriended　her；　or　as　his　wife　accompany　him　to　the　Philippines。

It　was　not　the　answer　he　wanted；　but　in　her　happiness；　which　was
evident　to　every　one；　he　could　not　help　but　take　hope。　　And　in　the
questions　she　put　to　him　of　life　in　the　tropics；　of　the　life　of
the　〃officers'　ladies；〃　he　saw　that　what　was　in　her　mind　was　a
possible　life　with　him；　and　he　was　content。

She　became　to　him　a　wonderful；　glorious　person；　and　each　day　she
grew　in　loveliness。　　It　had　been　five　years　of　soldiering　in　Cuba；
China；　and　on　the　Mexican　border　since　he　had　talked　to　a　woman
with　interest；　and　now　in　all　she　said；　in　all　her　thoughts　and
words　and　delights；　he　found　fresher　and　stronger　reasons　for
discarding　his　determination　to　remain　wedded　only　to　the　United
States　Army。　　He　did　not　need　reasons。　　He　was　far　too　much　in　love
to　see　in　any　word　or　act　of　hers　anything　that　was　not　fine　and
beautiful。

In　their　rides　they　had　one　day　stumbled　upon　a　long…lost　and
long…forgotten　road　through　the　woods；　which　she　had　claimed　as
their　own　by　right　of　discovery；　and；　no　matter　to　what　point
they　set　forth　each　day；　they　always　returned　by　it。　　Their　way
through　the　woods　stretched　for　miles。　　It　was　concealed　in　a
forest　of　stunted　oaks　and　black　pines；　with　no　sign　of　human
habitation；　save　here　and　there　a　clearing　now　long　neglected　and
alive　only　with　goldenrod。　　Trunks　of　trees；　moss…grown　and
crumbling　beneath　the　touch　of　the　ponies'　hoofs；　lay　in　their
path；　and　above　it　the　branches　of　a　younger　generation　had
clasped　hands。　　At　their　approach　squirrels　raced　for　shelter；
woodcock　and　partridge　shot　deeper　into　the　network　of　vines　and
saplings；　and　the　click　of　the　steel　as　the　ponies　tossed　their
bits；　and　their　own　whispers；　alone　disturbed　the　silence。

〃It　is　an　enchanted　road；〃　said　the　girl；　〃or　maybe　we　are
enchanted。〃

〃Not　I；〃　cried　the　young　man　loyally。　　〃I　was　never　so　sane；　never
so　sure；　never　so　happy　in　knowing　just　what　I　wanted！　If　only
you　could　be　as　sure！〃

One　day　she　came　to　him　in　high　excitement　with　a　book　of　verse。
〃He　has　written　a　poem；〃　she　cried；　〃about　our　own　woods；　about
our　lost　road！　Listen〃　she　commanded；　and　she　read　to　him：

〃'They　shut　the　road　through　the　woods
Seventy　years　ago。
Weather　and　rain　have　undone　it　again；
And　now　you　would　never　know
There　was　once　a　road　through　the　woods
Before　they　planted　the　trees。
It　is　underneath　the　coppice　and　heath；
And　the　thin　anemones。
Only　the　keeper　sees
That；　where　the　ringdove　broods；
And　the　badgers　roll　at　ease；
There　was　once　a　road　through　the　woods。

〃'Yet；　if　you　enter　the　woods
Of　a　summer　evening　late；
When　the　night　air　cools　on　the　trout…ringed　pools
Where　the　otter　whistles　his　mate
（They　fear　not　men　in　the　woods
Because　they　see　so　few）；
You　will　hear　the　beat　of　a　horse's　feet；
And　the　swish　of　a　skirt　in　the　dew；
Steadily　cantering　through
The　misty　solitudes；
As　though　they　perfectly　knew
The　old　lost　road　through　the　woods。　。　。　。
But　there　is　no　road　through　the　woods。'〃


〃I　don't　like　that　at　all；〃　cried　the　soldierman。　　〃It's　tootoo
sadit　doesn't　give　you　any　encouragement。　　The　way　it　ends；　I
mean：　'But　there　is　no　road　through　the　woods。'　　Of　course　there's
a　road！　For　us　there　always　will　be。　　I'm　going　to　make　sure。　　I'm
going　to　buy　those　woods；　and　keep　the　lost　road　where　we　can
always　find　it。〃

〃I　don't　think；〃　said　the　girl；　〃that　he　means　a　real　road。〃

〃I　know　what　he　means；〃　cried　the　lover；　〃and　he's　wrong！　There
is　a　road；　and　you　and　I　have　found　it；　and　we　are　going　to
follow　it　for　always。〃

The　girl　shook　her　head；　but　her　eyes　were　smiling　happily。

The　〃season〃　at　Agawamsett　closed　with　the　tennis　tournament；　and
it　was　generally　conceded　fit　and　proper；　from　every　point　of
view；　that　in　mixed　doubles　Lee　and　Miss　Gardner　should　be
partners。　　Young　Stedman；　the　Boston　artist；　was　the　only　one　who
made　objection。　　Up　in　the　sail…loft　that　he　had　turned　into　a
studio　he　was　painting　a　portrait　of　the　lovely　Miss　Gardner；　and
he　protested　that　the　three　days'　tournament　would　sadly
interrupt　his　work。　　And　Frances；　who　was　very　much　interested　in
the　portrait；　was　inclined　to　agree。

But　Lee　beat　down　her　objections。　　He　was　not　at　all　interested　in
the　portrait。　　He　disapproved　of　it　entirely。　　For　the　sittings
robbed　him　of　Frances　during　the　better　part　of　each　morning；　and
he　urged　that　when　he　must　so　soon　leave　her；　between　the　man　who
wanted　her　portrait　and　the　man　who　wanted　her；　it　would　be　kind
to　give　her　time　to　the　latter。

〃But　I　had　no　idea；〃　protested　Frances；　〃he　would　take　so　long。
He　told　me　he'd　finish　it　in　three　sittings。　　But　he's　so　critical
of　his　own　work　that　he　goes　over　it　again　and　again。　　He　says
that　I　am　a　most　difficult　subject；　but　that　I　inspire　him。　　And
he　says；　if　I　will　only　give　him　time；　he　believes　this　will　be
the　best　thing　he　has　done。〃

〃That's　an　awful　thought；〃　said　the　cavalry　officer。

〃You　don't　like　him；〃　reproved　Miss　Gardner。　　〃He　is　always　very
polite　to　you。〃

〃He's　polite　to　everybody；〃　said　Lee；　〃that's　why　I　don't　like
him。　　He's　not　a　real　artist。　　He's　a　courtier。　　God　gave　him　a
talent；　and　he　makes　a　mean　use　of　it。　　Uses　it　to　flatter　people。
He's　like　these　long…haired　violinists　who　play　anything　you　ask
them　to　in　the　lobster　palaces。〃

Miss　Gardner　looked　away　from　him。　　Her　color　was　high　and　her
eyes　very　bright。

〃I　think；〃　she　said　steadily；　〃that　Mr。　Stedman　is　a　great
artist；　and　some　day　all　the　world　will　think　so；　too！〃

Lee　made　no　answer。　　Not　because　he　disagreed　with　her　estimate　of
Mr。　Stedman's　genius…he　made　no　pretense　of　being　an　art
criticbut　because　her　vehement　admiration　had　filled　him　with
sudden　panic。　　He　was　not　jealous。　　For　that　he　was　far　too　humble。
Indeed；　he　thought　himself　so　utterly　unworthy　of　Frances　Gardner
that　the　fact　that　to　him　she　might　prefer　some　one　else　was　in
no　way　a　surprise。　　He　only　knew　that　if　she　should　prefer　some
one　else　not　all　his　troop　horses　nor　all　his　men　could　put
Humpty　Dumpty　b