the white people-第4节

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r　enough　to　be　able　to　touch　it　with　my　hand；　and　often　I　sat　by　the　fire　in　the　library　holding　one　open　on　my　lap　for　an　hour　or　more；　only　because　it　meant　a　warm；　close　companionship。　　It　seemed　at　those　times　as　if　he　sat　near　me　in　the　dim　glow　and　we　understood　each　other's　thoughts　without　using　words；　as　Wee　Brown　Elspeth　and　I　had　understood　only　this　was　a　deeper　thing。

I　had　felt　near　him　in　this　way　for　several　years；　and　every　year　he　had　grown　more　famous；　when　it　happened　that　one　June　my　guardian；　Sir　Ian；　required　me　to　go　to　London　to　see　my　lawyers　and　sign　some　important　documents　connected　with　the　management　of　the　estate。　　I　was　to　go　to　his　house　to　spend　a　week　or　more；　attend　a　Drawing…Room；　and　show　myself　at　a　few　great　parties　in　a　proper　manner；　this　being　considered　my　duty　toward　my　relatives。　　These；　I　believe；　were　secretly　afraid　that　if　I　were　never　seen　their　world　would　condemn　my　guardian　for　neglect　of　his　charge；　or　would　decide　that　I　was　of　unsound　mind　and　intentionally　kept　hidden　away　at　Muircarrie。　　He　was　an　honorable　man；　and　his　wife　was　a　well…meaning　woman。　　I　did　not　wish　to　do　them　an　injustice；　so　I　paid　them　yearly　visits　and　tried　to　behave　as　they　wished；　much　as　I　disliked　to　be　dressed　in　fine　frocks　and　to　wear　diamonds　on　my　little　head　and　round　my　thin　neck。

It　was　an　odd　thing　that　this　time　I　found　I　did　not　dread　the　visit　to　London　as　much　as　I　usually　did。　　For　some　unknown　reason　I　became　conscious　that　I　was　not　really　reluctant　to　go。　　Usually　the　thought　of　the　days　before　me　made　me　restless　and　low…spirited。　　London　always　seemed　so　confused　and　crowded；　and　made　me　feel　as　if　I　were　being　pushed　and　jostled　by　a　mob　always　making　a　tiresome　noise。　　But　this　time　I　felt　as　if　I　should　somehow　find　a　clear　place　to　stand　in；　where　I　could　look　on　and　listen　without　being　bewildered。　　It　was　a　curious　feeling；　I　could　not　help　noticing　and　wondering　about　it。

I　knew　afterward　that　it　came　to　me　because　a　change　was　drawing　near。　　I　wish　so　much　that　I　could　tell　about　it　in　a　better　way。　　But　I　have　only　my　own　way；　which　I　am　afraid　seems　very　like　a　school…girl's。

Jean　Braidfute　made　the　journey　with　me；　as　she　always　did；　and　it　was　like　every　other　journey。　　Only　one　incident　made　it　different；　and　when　it　occurred　there　seemed　nothing　unusual　in　it。　　It　was　only　a　bit　of　sad；　everyday　life　which　touched　me。　　There　is　nothing　new　in　seeing　a　poor　woman　in　deep　mourning。

Jean　and　I　had　been　alone　in　our　railway　carriage　for　a　great　part　of　the　journey；　but　an　hour　or　two　before　we　reached　London　a　man　got　in　and　took　a　seat　in　a　corner。　　The　train　had　stopped　at　a　place　where　there　is　a　beautiful　and　well…known　cemetery。　　People　bring　their　friends　from　long　distances　to　lay　them　there。　　When　one　passes　the　station；　one　nearly　always　sees　sad　faces　and　people　in　mourning　on　the　platform。

There　was　more　than　one　group　there　that　day；　and　the　man　who　sat　in　the　corner　looked　out　at　them　with　gentle　eyes。　　He　had　fine；　deep　eyes　and　a　handsome　mouth。　　When　the　poor　woman　in　mourning　almost　stumbled　into　the　carriage；　followed　by　her　child；　he　put　out　his　hand　to　help　her　and　gave　her　his　seat。　　She　had　stumbled　because　her　eyes　were　dim　with　dreadful　crying；　and　she　could　scarcely　see。　　It　made　one's　heart　stand　still　to　see　the　wild　grief　of　her；　and　her　unconsciousness　of　the　world　about　her。　　The　world　did　not　matter。　　There　was　no　world。　　I　think　there　was　nothing　left　anywhere　but　the　grave　she　had　just　staggered　blindly　away　from。　　I　felt　as　if　she　had　been　lying　sobbing　and　writhing　and　beating　the　new　turf　on　it　with　her　poor　hands；　and　I　somehow　knew　that　it　had　been　a　child's　grave　she　had　been　to　visit　and　had　felt　she　left　to　utter　loneliness　when　she　turned　away。

It　was　because　I　thought　this　that　I　wished　she　had　not　seemed　so　unconscious　of　and　indifferent　to　the　child　who　was　with　her　and　clung　to　her　black　dress　as　if　it　could　not　bear　to　let　her　go。　　This　one　was　alive　at　least；　even　if　she　had　lost　the　other　one；　and　its　little　face　was　so　wistful！　　It　did　not　seem　fair　to　forget　and　ignore　it；　as　if　it　were　not　there。　　I　felt　as　if　she　might　have　left　it　behind　on　the　platform　if　it　had　not　so　clung　to　her　skirt　that　it　was　almost　dragged　into　the　railway　carriage　with　her。　　When　she　sank　into　her　seat　she　did　not　even　lift　the　poor　little　thing　into　the　place　beside　her；　but　left　it　to　scramble　up　as　best　it　could。　　She　buried　her　swollen　face　in　her　handkerchief　and　sobbed　in　a　smothered　way　as　if　she　neither　saw；　heard；　nor　felt　any　living　thing　near　her。

How　I　wished　she　would　remember　the　poor　child　and　let　it　comfort　her！　　It　really　was　trying　to　do　it　in　its　innocent　way。　　It　pressed　close　to　her　side；　it　looked　up　imploringly；　it　kissed　her　arm　and　her　crape　veil　over　and　over　again；　and　tried　to　attract　her　attention。　　It　was　a　little；　lily…fair　creature　not　more　than　five　or　six　years　old　and　perhaps　too　young　to　express　what　it　wanted　to　say。　　It　could　only　cling　to　her　and　kiss　her　black　dress；　and　seem　to　beg　her　to　remember　that　it；　at　least；　was　a　living　thing。　　But　she　was　too　absorbed　in　her　anguish　to　know　that　it　was　in　the　world。　　She　neither　looked　at　nor　touched　it；　and　at　last　it　sat　with　its　cheek　against　her　sleeve；　softly　stroking　her　arm；　and　now　and　then　kissing　it　longingly。　　I　was　obliged　to　turn　my　face　away　and　look　out　of　the　window；　because　I　knew　the　man　with　the　kind　face　saw　the　tears　well　up　into　my　eyes。

The　poor　woman　did　not　travel　far　with　us。　　She　left　the　train　after　a　few　stations　were　passed。　　Our　fellow…traveler　got　out　before　her　to　help　her　on　to　the　platform。　　He　stood　with　bared　head　while　he　assisted　her；　but　she　scarcely　saw　him。　　And　even　then　she　seemed　to　forget　the　child。　　The　poor　thing　was　dragged　out　by　her　dress　as　it　had　been　dragged　in。　　I　put　out　my　hand　involuntarily　as　it　went　through　the　door；　because　I　was　afraid　it　might　fall。　　But　it　did　not。　　It　turned　its　fair　little　face　and　smiled　at　me。　　When　the　kind　traveler　returned　to　his　place　in　the　carriage　again；　and　the　train　left　the　station；　the　black…　draped　woman　was　walking　slowly　down　the　platform　and　the　child　was　still　clinging　to　her　skirt。



CHAPTER　IV

My　guardian　was　a　man　whose　custom　it　was　to　give　large　and　dignified　parties。　　Among　his　grand　and　fashionable　guests　there　was　nearly　always　a　sprinkling　of　the　more　important　members　of　the　literary　world。　　The　night　after　I　arrived　there　was　to　be　a　particularly　notable　dinner。　　I　had　come　prepared　to　appear　at　it。　　Jean　had　brought　fine　array　for　me　and　a　case　of　jewels。　　I　knew　I　must　be　〃dressed　up〃　and　look　as　important　as　I　could。　　When　I　went　up…stairs　after　tea；　Jean　was　in　my　room　laying　things　out　on　the　bed。

〃The　man　you　like　so　much　is　to　dine　here　to…night；　Ysobel；〃　she　said。　　〃Mr。　Hector　MacNairn。〃

I　believe　I　even　put　my　hand　suddenly　to　my　heart　as　I　stood　and　looked　at　her；　I　was　so　startled　and　so　glad。

〃You　must　tell　him　how　much　you　love　his　books；〃　she　said。　　She　had　a　quiet；　motherly　way。

〃There　will　be　so　many　other　people　who　will　want　to　talk　to　him；〃　I　answered；　and　I　felt　a　little　breathless　with　excitement　as　I　said　it。

〃And　I　should　be　too　shy　to　know　how　to　say　such　things　properly。〃

〃Don't　be　afraid　of　him；〃　was　her　advice。　　〃The　man　will　be　like　his　books；　and　they're　the　joy　of　your　life。〃

She　made　me　look　as　nice　as　she　could　in　the　new　dress　she　had　brought；　she　made　me　wear　the　Muircarrie　diamonds　and　sent　me　downstairs。　　It　does　not　matter　who　the　guests　were；　I　scarcely　remember。　　I　was　taken　in　to　dinner　by　a　stately　elderly　man　who　tried　to　make　me　talk；　and　at　last　was　absorbed　by　the　clever　woman　on　his　other　side。

I　found　myself　looking　between　the　flowers　for　a　man's　face　I　could　imagine　was　Hector　MacNairn's。　　I　looked　up　and　down　and　saw　none　I　could　believe　belonged　to　him。　　There　were　handsome　faces　and　individual　ones；　but　at　first　I　saw　no　Hector　MacNairn。　　Then；　on　bending　forward　a　little　to　glance　behind　an　epergne；　I　found　a　face　which　it　surprised　and　pleased　me　to　see。　　It　was　the　face　of　the　traveler　who　had　helped　the　woman　in　mourning　out　of　the　railway　carriage；　baring　his　head　before　her　grief。　　I　could　not　help　turning　and　speaking　to　my　stately　elderly　partner。

〃Do　you　know　who　that　isthe　man　at　the　other　side　of　the　table？〃　I　asked。

Old　Lord　Armour　looked　across　and　answered　with　an　amiable　smile。　　〃It　is　the　author　the　world　is　talking　of　most　in　these　days；　and　the　talking　is　no　new　thing。　　It's　Mr。　Hector　MacNairn。〃

No　one　but　myself　could　tell　how　glad　I　was。　　It　seemed　so　right　that　he　should　be　the　man　who　had　understood　the　deeps　of　a　poor；　passing　stranger　woman's　woe。　　I　had　so　loved　that　quiet　baring　of　his　head！　　All　at　once　I　knew　I　should　not　be　afraid　of　him。　　He　would　understand　that　I　could　not　help　being　shy；　that　it　was　only　my　nature；　and　that　if　I　said　things　awkwardly　my　meanings　were　better　than　my　words。　　Perhaps　I　should　be　able　to　tell　him　something　of　what　his　books　had　been　to　me。　　I　glanced　through　the　flowers　againand　he　was　looking　at　me！　I　could　scarcely　believe　it　for　a　second。　　But　he　was。　　His　eyeshis　wonde