the red cross girl(红十字姑娘)-第33节
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windows。 Wherever she turned Fair Harbor spoke of him。 The golf…links；
the bathing beach； the ugly corner in the main street where he always
reminded her that it was better to go slow for ten seconds than to remain a
long time dead； the old house on the stone wharf where the schooners
made fast； which he intended to borrow for his honeymoon； the wooden
trough where they always drew rein to water the ponies； the pond into
which he had waded to bring her lilies。
On the second day of her stay she found she was passing these places
purposely； that to do so she was going out of her way。 They no longer
distressed her； but gave her a strange comfort。 They were old friends； who
had known her in the days when she was rich in happiness。
But the secret hiding…placetheir very own hiding…place； the opening
among the pines that overhung the jumble of rocks and the seashe could
not bring herself to visit。 And then； on the afternoon of the third day when
she was driving alone toward the lighthouse； her pony； of his own accord；
from force of habit； turned smartly into the wood road。 And again from
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force of habit； before he reached the spot that overlooked the sea； he came
to a full stop。 There was no need to make him fast。 For hours； stretching
over many summer days； he had stood under those same branches
patiently waiting。
On foot； her heart beating tremulously； stepping reverently； as one
enters the aisle of some dim cathedral； Helen advanced into the sacred
circle。 And then she stood quite still。 What she had expected to find there
she could not have told； but it was gone。 The place was unknown to her。
She saw an opening among gloomy pines； empty； silent； unreal。 No
haunted house； no barren moor； no neglected graveyard ever spoke more
poignantly； more mournfully； with such utter hopelessness。 There was no
sign of his or of her former presence。 Across the open space something
had passed its hand； and it had changed。 What had been a trysting…place； a
bower； a nest； had become a tomb。 A tomb； she felt； for something that
once had been brave； fine； and beautiful； but which now was dead。 She
had but one desire； to escape from the place； to put it away from her
forever； to remember it； not as she now found it； but as first she had
remembered it； and as now she must always remember It。 She turned
softly on tiptoe as one who has intruded on a shrine。
But before she could escape there came from the sea a sudden gust of
wind that caught her by the skirts and drew her back； that set the branches
tossing and swept the dead leaves racing about her ankles。 And at the same
instant from just above her head there beat upon the air a violent； joyous
tattooa sound that was neither of the sea nor of the woods； a creaking；
swiftly repeated sound； like the flutter of caged wings。
Helen turned in alarm and raised her eyesand beheld the sailorman。
Tossing his arms in a delirious welcome； waltzing in a frenzy of joy；
calling her back to him with wild beckonings； she saw him smiling down
at her with the same radiant； beseeching； worshipping smile。 In Helen's
ears Latimer's commands to the sailorman rang as clearly as though
Latimer stood before her and had just spoken。 Only now they were no
longer a jest； they were a vow； a promise； an oath of allegiance that
brought to her peace； and pride； and happiness。
〃So long as I love this beautiful lady；〃 had been his foolish words；
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〃you will guard this place。 It is a life sentence！〃
With one hand Helen Page dragged down the branch on which the
sailorman stood； with the other she snatched him from his post of duty。
With a joyous laugh that was a sob； she clutched the sailorman in both her
hands and kissed the beseeching； worshipping smile。
An hour later her car； on its way to Boston； passed through Fair
Harbor at a rate of speed that caused her chauffeur to pray between his
chattering teeth that the first policeman would save their lives by landing
them in jail。
At the wheel； her shoulders thrown forward； her eyes searching the
dark places beyond the reach of the leaping head…lights Helen Page raced
against time； against the minions of the law； against sudden death； to beat
the midnight train out of Boston； to assure the man she loved of the one
thing that could make his life worth living。
And close against her heart； buttoned tight beneath her great…coat； the
sailorman smiled in the darkness； his long watch over； his soul at peace；
his duty well performed。
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CHAPTER 6。 THE MIND
READER
When Philip Endicott was at Harvard； he wrote stories of
undergraduate life suggested by things that had happened to himself and to
men he knew。 Under the title of 〃Tales of the Yard〃 they were collected in
book form； and sold surprisingly well。 After he was graduated and became
a reporter on the New York Republic； he wrote more stories； in each of
which a reporter was the hero； and in which his failure or success in
gathering news supplied the plot。 These appeared first in the magazines；
and later in a book under the title of 〃Tales of the Streets。〃 They also were
well received。
Then came to him the literary editor of the Republic； and said： 〃There
are two kinds of men who succeed in writing fictionmen of genius and
reporters。 A reporter can describe a thing he has seen in such a way that he
can make the reader see it； too。 A man of genius can describe something he
has never seen； or any one else for that matter； in such a way that the
reader will exclaim： 'I have never committed a murder； but if I had； that's
just the way I'd feel about it。' For instance； Kipling tells us how a Greek
pirate； chained to the oar of a trireme； suffers； how a mother rejoices when
her baby crawls across her breast。 Kipling has never been a mother or a
pirate； but he convinces you he knows how each of them feels。 He can do
that because he is a genius； you cannot do it because you are not。 At
college you wrote only of what you saw at college； and now that you are
in the newspaper business all your tales are only of newspaper work。 You
merely report what you see。 So； if you are doomed to write only of what
you see； then the best thing for you to do is to see as many things as
possible。 You must see all kinds of life。 You must progress。 You must leave
New York； and you had better go to London。〃
〃But on the Republic；〃 Endicott pointed out； 〃I get a salary。 And in
London I should have to sweep a crossing。〃
〃Then；〃 said the literary editor； 〃you could write a story about a man
who swept a crossing。〃
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It was not alone the literary editor's words of wisdom that had driven
Philip to London。 Helen Carey was in London； visiting the daughter of the
American Ambassador； and； though Philip had known her only one winter；
he loved her dearly。 The great trouble was that he had no money； and that
she possessed so much of it that； unless he could show some unusual
quality of mind or character； his asking her to marry him； from his own
point of view at least； was quite impossible。 Of course； he knew that no
one could love her as he did； that no one so truly wished for her happiness；
or would try so devotedly to make her happy。 But to him it did not seem
possible that a girl could be happy with a man who was not able to pay for
her home； or her clothes； or her food； who would have to borrow her purse
if he wanted a new pair of gloves or a hair…cut。 For Philip Endicott； while
rich in birth and
