the choir invisible-第40节

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pearance　of　the　fifth　female　infant；　one　morning　he　preached　the　words：　〃No　man　knoweth　what　manner　of　creature　he　is〃；　and　was　unaware　that　a　sudden　smile　rippled　over　the　faces　of　his　hearers。　But　it　was　not　until　later　on　when　mother　and　six　were　packed　into　one　short　pew　at　morning　service；　that　they　became　known　in　a　body　as　the　parson's　Collect　for　all　Sundays。

Sometimes　the　little　ones　were　divided　and　part　of　them　sat　in　another　pew　where　there　was　a　single　occupanta　womanchildless。

〃Yes〃；〃　she　had　said；　〃I　shall　go　softly　all　my　years。〃

The　plants　she　had　brought　that　summer　from　Virginia　had　long　since　become　old　bushes。　The　Virginia　Creeper　had　climbed　to　the　tops　of　the　trees。　The　garden；　though　in　the　same　spot；　was　another　place　now；　with　vine…heavy　arbours　and　sodden　walks　running　between　borders　of　flowers　and　vegetablesdaffodils　and　thymein　the　quaint　Virginia　fashion。　There　was　a　lawn　covered　as　the　ancestral　one　had　been　with　the　feathery　grass　of　England。　There　was　a　park　where　the　deer　remained　at　home　in　their　wilderness。

Crowning　this　landscape　of　comfort　and　good　taste；　stood　the　house。　Often　of　nights　when　its　roof　lay　deep　under　snow　and　the　eaves　were　bearded　with　hoary　icicles；　there　were　candles　twinkling　at　every　window　and　the　sounds　of　music　and　dancing　in　the　parlours。　Once　a　year　there　was　a　great　venison　supper　in　the　dining…room；　draped　with　holly　and　mistletoe。　On　Christmas　eve　man　a　child's　sock　or　stocking　was　hungno　one　knew　when　or　by　whomaround　the　shadowy　chimney…seat　of　her　room；　and　every　Christmas　morning　the　little　negros　from　the　cabins　knew　to　whom　each　of　these　belonged。　In　spring；　parties　of　young　girls　and　youths　came　out　from　town　for　fishing　parties　and　picknicked　in　the　lawn　amid　the　dandelions　and　under　the　song　of　the　blackbird；　during　the　summer；　for　days　at　a　time；　other　gay　company　filled　the　house；　of　autumns　there　were　nutting　parties　in　the　russet　woods。　Other　guests　also；　not　young；　not　gay。　Aaron　Burr　was　entertained　there；　there　met　for　counsel　the　foremost　Western　leaders　in　his　magnificent　conspiracy。　More　than　one　great　man　of　his　day；　middle…aged；　unmarried；　began　his　visits；　returned　oftener　for　awhilealways　aloneand　one　day　drove　away　disappointed。

Through　seasons　and　changes　she　had　gone　softly：　never　retreating　from　life　but　drawing　about　her　as　closely　as　she　could　its　ties；　its　sympathies；　it　duties：　in　all　things　a　character　of　the　finest　equipois；　the　truest　moderation。

But　these　are　women　of　the　worldsome　of　us　men　may　have　discerned　one　of　them　in　the　sweep　of　our　experiencesto　whom　the　joy　and　the　sorrow　come　alike　with　quietness。　For　them　there　is　neither　the　cry　of　sudden　delight　nor　the　cry　of　sudden　anguish。　Gazing　deep　into　their　eyes；　we　are　reminded　of　the　light　of　dim　churches；　hearing　their　voices；　we　dream　of　some　minstrel　whose　murmurs　reach　us　imperfectly　through　his　fortress　wall；　beholding　the　sweetness　of　their　faces；　we　are　touched　as　by　the　appeal　of　the　mute　flowers；　merely　meeting　them　in　the　street；　we　recall　the　long…vanished　image　of　the　Divine　Goodess。　They　are　the　women　who　have　missed　happiness　and　who　know　it；　but　having　failed　of　affection；　give　themselves　to　duty。　And　so　life　never　rises　high　and　close　about　them　as　about　one　who　stands　waist…deep　in　a　wheat…field；　gathering　at　will　either　its　poppies　or　its　sheaves；　it　flows　forever　away　as　from　one　who　pauses　waist…deep　in　a　stream　and　hearkens　rather　to　the　rush　of　all　things　toward　the　eternal　deeps。　It　was　into　the　company　of　theses　quieter　pilgrims　that　she　had　passed：　she　had　missed　happiness　twice。

Her　beauty　had　never　failed。　Nature　had　fought　hard　in　her　for　all　things；　and　to　the　last　youth　of　her　womanhood　it　burned　like　an　autumn　rose　which　some　morning　we　may　have　found　on　the　lawn　under　a　dew　that　is　turning　to　ice。　But　when　youth　was　gone；　in　the　following　years　her　face　began　to　reflect　the　freshness　of　Easter　lilies。　For　prayer　will　in　time　make　the　human　countenance　its　own　divinest　alter；　years　upon　years　of　true　thoughts；　like　ceaseless　music　shut　up　within；　will　vibrate　along　the　nerves　of　expression　until　the　lines　of　the　living　instrument　are　drawn　into　correspondence；　and　the　harmony　of　visible　form　matches　the　unheard　harmonies　of　the　mind。　It　was　about　this　time　also　that　there　fell　upon　her　hair　the　earliest　rays　of　the　light　which　is　the　dawn　of　Eternal　Morning。

She　had　never　ceased　to　watch　his　career　as　part　of　her　very　life。　Time　was　powerless　to　remove　him　farther　from　her　than　destiny　had　removed　him　long　before：　it　was　always　yesterday；　the　whole　past　with　him　seemed　caught　upon　the　clearest　mirror　just　at　her　back。　Once　or　twice　a　year　she　received　a　letter；　books；　papers；　something；　she　had　been　kept　informed　of　the　birth　of　his　children。　From　other　sourceshis　letters　to　the　parson；　traders　between　Philadelphia　and　the　Westshe　knew　other　things：　he　had　risen　in　the　world；　was　a　judge；　often　leading　counsel　in　great　cases；　was　almost　a　great　man。　She　planted　her　pride；　her　gratitude；　her　happiness；　on　this　new　soil：　they　were　the　few　seed　that　a　woman　in　the　final　years　will　sow　in　a　window…box　and　cover　the　window…pane　and　watch　and　water　and　wake　and　think　of　in　the　nightshe　who　was　used　once　to　range　the　fields。

But　never　from　the　first　to　last　had　she　received　a　letter　from　him　that　was　transparent；　the　mystery　stayed　unlifted；　she　had　to　accept　the　constancy　of　his　friendship　without　its　confidence。　Question　or　chiding　of　course　there　never　was　from　her；　inborn　refinement　alone　would　have　kept　her　from　curiosity　or　prying；　but　she　could　not　put　away　the　conviction　that　the　concealment　which　he　steadily　adhered　to　was　either　delicately　connected　with　his　marriage　or　registered　but　too　plainly　some　downward　change　in　himself。　Which　was　it；　or　was　it　both？　Had　he　too　missed　happiness？　Missed　it　as　she　hadby　a　union　with　a　perfectly　commonplace；　plodding；　unimaginative；　unsympathetic；　unrefined　nature？　And　was　it　a　mercy　to　be　able　to　remember　him；　not　to　know　him？

These　thoughts　filled　her　so　often；　so　often！　For　into　the　busiest　lifethe　life　that　toils　to　shut　out　thoughtthe　inevitable　leisure　will　come；　and　with　the　leisure　will　return　the　dreaded　emptiness；　the　loneliness；　the　never　stifled　need　of　sympathy；　affection；　companionshipfor　that　world　of　two　outside　of　which　every　other　human　being　is　a　stranger。　And　it　was　he　who　entered　into　all　these　hours　of　hers　as　by　a　right　that　she　had　neither　the　heart　nor　the　strength　to　question。

For　behind　everything　else　there　was　one　thing　moredeeper　than　anything　else；　dearer；　more　sacred；　the　feeling　she　would　never　surrender　that　for　a　while　at　least　he　had　cared　more　for　her　than　he　had　ever　realized。

One　mild　afternoon　of　autumn　she　was　walking　with　quiet　dignity　around　her　garden。　She　had　just　come　from　town　where　she　had　given　to　Jouett　the　last　sitting　of　her　portrait；　and　she　was　richly　dressed　in　the　satin　gown　and　cap　of　lace　which　those　who　see　the　picture　nowadays　will　remember。　The　finishing　of　it　had　saddened　her　a　little；　she　meant　to　leave　it　to　him；　and　she　wondered　whether；　when　he　looked　into　the　eyes　of　this　portrait；　he　would　at　last　understand〃：　she　had　tried　to　tell　him　the　truth；　it　was　the　truth　that　Jouett　painted。

Thus　she　was　thinking　of　the　past　as　usual；　and　once　she　paused　in　the　very　spot　where　one　sweet　afternoon　of　May　long　ago　he　had　leaned　over　the　fence；　holding　in　his　hand　his　big　black　had　decorated　with　a　Jacobin　cockade；　and　had　asked　her　consent　to　marry　Amy。　Was　not　yonder　the　very　maple；　in　the　shade　of　which　he　and　she　sat　some　weeks　later　while　she　had　talked　with　him　about　the　ideals　of　life？　She　laughed；　but　she　touched　her　handkerchief　to　her　eyes　as　she　turned　to　pass　on。　Then　she　stopped　abruptly。

Coming　down　the　garden　walk　toward　her　with　a　light　rapid　step；　his　head　in　the　air；　a　smile　on　his　fresh　noble　face；　an　earnest　look　in　his　gray　eyes；　was　a　tall　young　fellow　of　some　eighteen　years。　A　few　feet　off　he　lifted　his　hat　with　a　free；　gallant　air；　uncovering　a　head　of　dark…red　hair；　closely　curling。

〃I　beg　your　pardon；　madam；〃　he　said；　in　a　voice　that　fell　on　her　ears　like　music　long　remembered。　〃Is　this　Mrs。　Falconer？〃

〃Yes；〃　she　replied；　beginning　to　tremble；　〃I　am　Mrs。　Falconer。〃

〃Then　I　should　like　to　introduce　myself　to　you；　dearest　madam。　I　am　John　Gray；　the　son　of　your　old　friend；　and　my　father　sends　me　to　you　to　stay　with　you　if　you　will　let　me。　And　he　desires　me　to　deliver　this　letter。〃

〃John　Gray！〃　she　cried；　running　forward　and　searching　his　face。　〃You　John　Gray！　You！　Take　off　your　hat！〃　For　a　moment　she　looked　at　his　forehead　and　his　hair；　her　eyes　became　blinded　with　tears。　She　threw　her　arms　around　his　neck　with　a　sob　and　covered　his　face　with　kisses。

〃Madam；〃　said　the　young　fellow；　stooping　to　pick　up　his　hat；　and　laughing　outright　at　his　own　blushes　and　confusion；　〃I　don't　wonder　that　my　father　thinks　so　much　of　you！〃

〃I　never　did　that　to　your　father！〃　she　retorted。　Beneath　the　wrinkled　ivory　of　her　skin　a　tinge　of　faintest　pink　appeared　and　disappeared。

Half　and　hour　later　she　was　sitting　at　a　western　window。　Young　John　Gray　had　gone　to　the　library　to　write　to　his　f