tales and fantasies-第12节

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heaven　and　shed　gloom　upon　the　earth。　　He　scrambled　up　among

the　hazelled　rubbish　heaps　that　surround　the　caldron　of　the

quarry；　and　lay　flat　upon　the　stones。　　The　wind　searched

close　along　the　earth；　the　stones　were　cutting　and　icy；　the

bare　hazels　wailed　about　him；　and　soon　the　air　of　the

afternoon　began　to　be　vocal　with　those　strange　and　dismal

harpings　that　herald　snow。　　Pain　and　misery　turned　in　John's

limbs　to　a　harrowing　impatience　and　blind　desire　of　change；

now　he　would　roll　in　his　harsh　lair；　and　when　the　flints

abraded　him；　was　almost　pleased；　now　he　would　crawl　to　the

edge　of　the　huge　pit　and　look　dizzily　down。　　He　saw　the

spiral　of　the　descending　roadway；　the　steep　crags；　the

clinging　bushes；　the　peppering　of　snow…wreaths；　and　far　down

in　the　bottom；　the　diminished　crane。　　Here；　no　doubt；　was　a

way　to　end　it。　　But　it　somehow　did　not　take　his　fancy。



And　suddenly　he　was　aware　that　he　was　hungry；　ay；　even

through　the　tortures　of　the　cold；　even　through　the　frosts　of

despair；　a　gross；　desperate　longing　after　food；　no　matter

what；　no　matter　how；　began　to　wake　and　spur　him。　　Suppose　he

pawned　his　watch？　　But　no；　on　Christmas…day　…　this　was

Christmas…day！　…　the　pawnshop　would　be　closed。　　Suppose　he

went　to　the　public…house　close　by　at　Blackhall；　and　offered

the　watch；　which　was　worth　ten　pounds；　in　payment　for　a　meal

of　bread　and　cheese？　　The　incongruity　was　too　remarkable；　the

good　folks　would　either　put　him　to　the　door；　or　only　let　him

in　to　send　for　the　police。　　He　turned　his　pockets　out　one

after　another；　some　San　Francisco　tram…car　checks；　one　cigar；

no　lights；　the　pass…key　to　his　father's　house；　a　pocket…

handkerchief；　with　just　a　touch　of　scent：　no；　money　could　be

raised　on　none　of　these。　　There　was　nothing　for　it　but　to

starve；　and　after　all；　what　mattered　it？　　That　also　was　a

door　of　exit。



He　crept　close　among　the　bushes；　the　wind　playing　round　him

like　a　lash；　his　clothes　seemed　thin　as　paper；　his　joints

burned；　his　skin　curdled　on　his　bones。　　He　had　a　vision　of　a

high…lying　cattle…drive　in　California；　and　the　bed　of　a　dried

stream　with　one　muddy　pool；　by　which　the　vaqueros　had

encamped：　splendid　sun　over　all；　the　big　bonfire　blazing；　the

strips　of　cow　browning　and　smoking　on　a　skewer　of　wood；　how

warm　it　was；　how　savoury　the　steam　of　scorching　meat！　　And

then　again　he　remembered　his　manifold　calamities；　and

burrowed　and　wallowed　in　the　sense　of　his　disgrace　and　shame。

And　next　he　was　entering　Frank's　restaurant　in　Montgomery

Street；　San　Francisco；　he　had　ordered　a　pan…stew　and　venison

chops；　of　which　he　was　immoderately　fond；　and　as　he　sat

waiting；　Munroe；　the　good　attendant；　brought　him　a　whisky

punch；　he　saw　the　strawberries　float　on　the　delectable　cup；

he　heard　the　ice　chink　about　the　straws。　　And　then　he　woke

again　to　his　detested　fate；　and　found　himself　sitting；　humped

together；　in　a　windy　combe　of　quarry　refuse　…　darkness　thick

about　him；　thin　flakes　of　snow　flying　here　and　there　like

rags　of　paper；　and　the　strong　shuddering　of　his　body　clashing

his　teeth　like　a　hiccough。



We　have　seen　John　in　nothing　but　the　stormiest　condition；　we

have　seen　him　reckless；　desperate；　tried　beyond　his　moderate

powers；　of　his　daily　self；　cheerful；　regular；　not　unthrifty；

we　have　seen　nothing；　and　it　may　thus　be　a　surprise　to　the

reader　to　learn　that　he　was　studiously　careful　of　his　health。

This　favourite　preoccupation　now　awoke。　　If　he　were　to　sit

there　and　die　of　cold；　there　would　be　mighty　little　gained；

better　the　police　cell　and　the　chances　of　a　jury　trial；　than

the　miserable　certainty　of　death　at　a　dyke…side　before　the

next　winter's　dawn；　or　death　a　little　later　in　the　gas…

lighted　wards　of　an　infirmary。



He　rose　on　aching　legs；　and　stumbled　here　and　there　among　the

rubbish　heaps；　still　circumvented　by　the　yawning　crater　of

the　quarry；　or　perhaps　he　only　thought　so；　for　the　darkness

was　already　dense；　the　snow　was　growing　thicker；　and　he　moved

like　a　blind　man；　and　with　a　blind　man's　terrors。　　At　last　he

climbed　a　fence；　thinking　to　drop　into　the　road；　and　found

himself　staggering；　instead；　among　the　iron　furrows　of　a

ploughland；　endless；　it　seemed；　as　a　whole　county。　　And　next

he　was　in　a　wood；　beating　among　young　trees；　and　then　he　was

aware　of　a　house　with　many　lighted　windows；　Christmas

carriages　waiting　at　the　doors；　and　Christmas　drivers　（for

Christmas　has　a　double　edge）　becoming　swiftly　hooded　with

snow。　　From　this　glimpse　of　human　cheerfulness；　he　fled　like

Cain；　wandered　in　the　night；　unpiloted；　careless　of　whither

he　went；　fell；　and　lay；　and　then　rose　again　and　wandered

further；　and　at　last；　like　a　transformation　scene；　behold　him

in　the　lighted　jaws　of　the　city；　staring　at　a　lamp　which　had

already　donned　the　tilted　night…cap　of　the　snow。　　It　came

thickly　now；　a　'Feeding　Storm'；　and　while　he　yet　stood

blinking　at　the　lamp；　his　feet　were　buried。　　He　remembered

something　like　it　in　the　past；　a　street…lamp　crowned　and

caked　upon　the　windward　side　with　snow；　the　wind　uttering　its

mournful　hoot；　himself　looking　on；　even　as　now；　but　the　cold

had　struck　too　sharply　on　his　wits；　and　memory　failed　him　as

to　the　date　and　sequel　of　the　reminiscence。



His　next　conscious　moment　was　on　the　Dean　Bridge；　but　whether

he　was　John　Nicholson　of　a　bank　in　a　California　street；　or

some　former　John；　a　clerk　in　his　father's　office；　he　had　now

clean　forgotten。　　Another　blank；　and　he　was　thrusting　his

pass…key　into　the　door…lock　of　his　father's　house。



Hours　must　have　passed。　　Whether　crouched　on　the　cold　stones

or　wandering　in　the　fields　among　the　snow；　was　more　than　he

could　tell；　but　hours　had　passed。　　The　finger　of　the　hall

clock　was　close　on　twelve；　a　narrow　peep　of　gas　in　the　hall…

lamp　shed　shadows；　and　the　door　of　the　back　room　…　his

father's　room　…　was　open　and　emitted　a　warm　light。　　At　so

late　an　hour；　all　this　was　strange；　the　lights　should　have

been　out；　the　doors　locked；　the　good　folk　safe　in　bed。　　He

marvelled　at　the　irregularity；　leaning　on　the　hall…table；　and

marvelled　to　himself　there；　and　thawed　and　grew　once　more

hungry；　in　the　warmer　air　of　the　house。



The　clock　uttered　its　premonitory　catch；　in　five　minutes

Christmas…day　would　be　among　the　days　of　the　past　…

Christmas！　…　what　a　Christmas！　　Well；　there　was　no　use

waiting；　he　had　come　into　that　house；　he　scarce　knew　how；　if

they　were　to　thrust　him　forth　again；　it　had　best　be　done　at

once；　and　he　moved　to　the　door　of　the　back　room　and　entered。



Oh；　well；　then　he　was　insane；　as　he　had　long　believed。



There；　in　his　father's　room；　at　midnight；　the　fire　was

roaring　and　the　gas　blazing；　the　papers；　the　sacred　papers　…

to　lay　a　hand　on　which　was　criminal　…　had　all　been　taken　off

and　piled　along　the　floor；　a　cloth　was　spread；　and　a　supper

laid；　upon　the　business　table；　and　in　his　father's　chair　a

woman；　habited　like　a　nun；　sat　eating。　　As　he　appeared　in　the

doorway；　the　nun　rose；　gave　a　low　cry；　and　stood　staring。

She　was　a　large　woman；　strong；　calm；　a　little　masculine；　her

features　marked　with　courage　and　good　sense；　and　as　John

blinked　back　at　her；　a　faint　resemblance　dodged　about　his

memory；　as　when　a　tune　haunts　us；　and　yet　will　not　be

recalled。



'Why；　it's　John！'　cried　the　nun。



'I　dare　say　I'm　mad；'　said　John；　unconsciously　following　King

Lear；　'but；　upon　my　word；　I　do　believe　you're　Flora。'



'Of　course　I　am；'　replied　she。



And　yet　it　is　not　Flora　at　all；　thought　John；　Flora　was

slender；　and　timid；　and　of　changing　colour；　and　dewy…eyed；

and　had　Flora　such　an　Edinburgh　accent？　　But　he　said　none　of

these　things；　which　was　perhaps　as　well。　　What　he　said　was；

'Then　why　are　you　a　nun？'



'Such　nonsense！'　said　Flora。　　'I'm　a　sick…nurse；　and　I　am

here　nursing　your　sister；　with　whom；　between　you　and　me；

there　is　precious　little　the　matter。　　But　that　is　not　the

question。　　The　point　is：　How　do　you　come　here？　and　are　you

not　ashamed　to　show　yourself？'



'Flora；'　said　John；　sepulchrally；　'I　haven't　eaten　anything

for　three　days。　　Or；　at　least；　I　don't　know　what　day　it　is；

but　I　guess　I'm　starving。'



'You　unhappy　man！'　she　cried。　　'Here；　sit　down　and　eat　my

supper；　and　I'll　just　run　upstairs　and　see　my　patient；　not

but　what　I　doubt　she's　fast　asleep；　for　Maria　is　a　MALADE

IMAGINAIRE。'



With　this　specimen　of　the　French；　not　of　Stratford…atte…Bowe；

but　of　a　finishing　establishment　in　Moray　Place；　she　left

John　alone　in　his　father's　sanctum。　　He　fell　at　once　upon　the

food；　and　it　is　to　be　supposed　that　Flora　had　found　her

patient　wakeful；　and　been　detained　with　some　details　of

nursing；　for　he　had　time　to　make　a　full　end　of　all　there　was

to　eat；　and　not　only　to　empty　the　teapot；　but　to　fill　it

again　from　a　kettle　that　was　fitfully　singing　on　his　father's

fire。　　Then　he　sat　torpid；　and　pleased；　and　bewildered；　his

misfortunes　were　then　half　forgotten；　his　mind　considering；

not　without　regre