stories by modern american authors-第9节

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something　had　broken　and　that　the　thing　was　running　itself　down。



Suddenly　there　was　a　crack　as　of　breaking　wood；　a　cry　and　a　heavy

splash；　and　I　was　alone；　clinging　to　the　broken　end　of　the　rail　of

the　rustic　bridge。



I　do　not　think　I　hesitated　while　my　pulse　beat　twice。　　I　sprang

clear　of　the　bridge　into　the　black　rushing　water；　dived　to　the

bottom；　came　up　again　with　empty　hands；　turned　and　swam　downward

through　the　grotto　in　the　thick　darkness；　plunging　and　diving　at

every　stroke；　striking　my　head　and　hands　against　jagged　stones　and

sharp　corners；　clutching　at　last　something　in　my　fingers　and

dragging　it　up　with　all　my　might。　　I　spoke；　I　cried　aloud；　but

there　was　no　answer。　　I　was　alone　in　the　pitchy　darkness　with　my

burden；　and　the　house　was　five　hundred　yards　away。　　Struggling

still；　I　felt　the　ground　beneath　my　feet；　I　saw　a　ray　of　moonlight…

…the　grotto　widened；　and　the　deep　water　became　a　broad　and　shallow

brook　as　I　stumbled　over　the　stones　and　at　last　laid　Margaret's

body　on　the　bank　in　the　park　beyond。



〃Aye；　Willie；　as　the　clock　struck！〃　said　the　voice　of　Judith；　the

Welsh　nurse；　as　she　bent　down　and　looked　at　the　white　face。　　The

old　woman　must　have　turned　back　and　followed　us；　seen　the　accident；

and　slipped　out　by　the　lower　gate　of　the　garden。　　〃Aye；〃　she

groaned；　〃you　have　fed　the　Woman　of　the　Water　this　night；　Willie；

while　the　clock　was　striking。〃



I　scarcely　heard　her　as　I　knelt　beside　the　lifeless　body　of　the

woman　I　loved；　chafing　the　wet　white　temples　and　gazing　wildly　into

the　wide…staring　eyes。　　I　remember　only　the　first　returning　look　of

consciousness；　the　first　heaving　breath；　the　first　movement　of

those　dear　hands　stretching　out　toward　me。





That　is　not　much　of　a　story；　you　say。　　It　is　the　story　of　my　life。

That　is　all。　　It　does　not　pretend　to　be　anything　else。　　Old　Judith

says　my　luck　turned　on　that　summer's　night　when　I　was　struggling　in

the　water　to　save　all　that　was　worth　living　for。　　A　month　later

there　was　a　stone　bridge　above　the　grotto；　and　Margaret　and　I　stood

on　it　and　looked　up　at　the　moonlit　Castle；　as　we　had　done　once

before；　and　as　we　have　done　many　times　since。　　For　all　those　things

happened　ten　years　ago　last　summer；　and　this　is　the　tenth　Christmas

Eve　we　have　spent　together　by　the　roaring　logs　in　the　old　hall；

talking　of　old　times；　and　every　year　there　are　more　old　times　to

talk　of。　　There　are　curly…headed　boys；　too；　with　red…gold　hair　and

dark…brown　eyes　like　their　mother's；　and　a　little　Margaret；　with

solemn　black　eyes　like　mine。　　Why　could　not　she　look　like　her

mother；　too；　as　well　as　the　rest　of　them？



The　world　is　very　bright　at　this　glorious　Christmas　time；　and

perhaps　there　is　little　use　in　calling　up　the　sadness　of　long　ago；

unless　it　be　to　make　the　jolly　firelight　seem　more　cheerful；　the

good　wife's　face　look　gladder；　and　to　give　the　children's　laughter

a　merrier　ring；　by　contrast　with　all　that　is　gone。　　Perhaps；　too；

some　sad…faced；　listless；　melancholy　youth；　who　feels　that　the

world　is　very　hollow；　and　that　life　is　like　a　perpetual　funeral

service；　just　as　I　used　to　feel　myself；　may　take　courage　from　my

example；　and　having　found　the　woman　of　his　heart；　ask　her　to　marry

him　after　half　an　hour's　acquaintance。　　But；　on　the　whole；　I　would

not　advise　any　man　to　marry；　for　the　simple　reason　that　no　man　will

ever　find　a　wife　like　mine；　and　being　obliged　to　go　farther；　he

will　necessarily　fare　worse。　　My　wife　has　done　miracles；　but　I　will

not　assert　that　any　other　woman　is　able　to　follow　her　example。



Margaret　always　said　that　the　old　place　was　beautiful；　and　that　I

ought　to　be　proud　of　it。　　I　dare　say　she　is　right。　　She　has　even

more　imagination　than　I。　　But　I　have　a　good　answer　and　a　plain　one；

which　is　this；that　all　the　beauty　of　the　Castle　comes　from　her。

She　has　breathed　upon　it　all；　as　the　children　blow　upon　the　cold

glass　window　panes　in　winter；　and　as　their　warm　breath　crystallizes

into　landscapes　from　fairyland；　full　of　exquisite　shapes　and

traceries　upon　the　blank　surface；　so　her　spirit　has　transformed

every　gray　stone　of　the　old　towers；　every　ancient　tree　and　hedge　in

the　gardens；　every　thought　in　my　once　melancholy　self。　　All　that

was　old　is　young；　and　all　that　was　sad　is　glad；　and　I　am　the

gladdest　of　all。　　Whatever　heaven　may　be；　there　is　no　earthly

paradise　without　woman；　nor　is　there　anywhere　a　place　so　desolate；

so　dreary；　so　unutterably　miserable　that　a　woman　cannot　make　it

seem　heaven　to　the　man　she　loves　and　who　loves　her。



I　hear　certain　cynics　laugh；　and　cry　that　all　that　has　been　said

before。　　Do　not　laugh；　my　good　cynic。　　You　are　too　small　a　man　to

laugh　at　such　a　great　thing　as　love。　　Prayers　have　been　said　before

now　by　many；　and　perhaps　you　say　yours；　too。　　I　do　not　think　they

lose　anything　by　being　repeated；　nor　you　by　repeating　them。　　You

say　that　the　world　is　bitter；　and　full　of　the　Waters　of　Bitterness。

Love；　and　so　live　that　you　may　be　lovedthe　world　will　turn　sweet

for　you；　and　you　shall　rest　like　me　by　the　Waters　of　Paradise。





From　〃The　Play…Actress　and　the　Upper　Berth；〃　by　F。　Marion　Crawford。

Copyright；　1896；　by　G。　P。　Putnam's　Sons。







Mary　E。　Wilkins　Freeman



The　Shadows　on　the　Wall





〃Henry　had　words　with　Edward　in　the　study　the　night　before　Edward

died；〃　said　Caroline　Glynn。



She　was　elderly；　tall；　and　harshly　thin；　with　a　hard　colourlessness

of　face。　　She　spoke　not　with　acrimony；　but　with　grave　severity。

Rebecca　Ann　Glynn；　younger；　stouter　and　rosy　of　face　between　her

crinkling　puffs　of　gray　hair；　gasped；　by　way　of　assent。　　She　sat　in

a　wide　flounce　of　black　silk　in　the　corner　of　the　sofa；　and　rolled

terrified　eyes　from　her　sister　Caroline　to　her　sister　Mrs。　Stephen

Brigham；　who　had　been　Emma　Glynn；　the　one　beauty　of　the　family。　She

was　beautiful　still；　with　a　large；　splendid；　full…blown　beauty；　she

filled　a　great　rocking…chair　with　her　superb　bulk　of　femininity；

and　swayed　gently　back　and　forth；　her　black　silks　whispering　and

her　black　frills　fluttering。　　Even　the　shock　of　death　（for　her

brother　Edward　lay　dead　in　the　house；）　could　not　disturb　her

outward　serenity　of　demeanor。　　She　was　grieved　over　the　loss　of　her

brother：　he　had　been　the　youngest；　and　she　had　been　fond　of　him；

but　never　had　Emma　Brigham　lost　sight　of　her　own　importance　amidst

the　waters　of　tribulation。　　She　was　always　awake　to　the

consciousness　of　her　own　stability　in　the　midst　of　vicissitudes　and

the　splendor　of　her　permanent　bearing。



But　even　her　expression　of　masterly　placidity　changed　before　her

sister　Caroline's　announcement　and　her　sister　Rebecca　Ann's　gasp　of

terror　and　distress　in　response。



〃I　think　Henry　might　have　controlled　his　temper；　when　poor　Edward

was　so　near　his　end；〃　said　she　with　an　asperity　which　disturbed

slightly　the　roseate　curves　of　her　beautiful　mouth。



〃Of　course　he　did　not　KNOW；〃　murmured　Rebecca　Ann　in　a　faint　tone

strangely　out　of　keeping　with　her　appearance。



One　involuntarily　looked　again　to　be　sure　that　such　a　feeble　pipe

came　from　that　full…swelling　chest。



〃Of　course　he　did　not　know　it；〃　said　Caroline　quickly。　　She　turned

on　her　sister　with　a　strange　sharp　look　of　suspicion。　　〃How　could

he　have　known　it？〃　said　she。　　Then　she　shrank　as　if　from　the

other's　possible　answer。　　〃Of　course　you　and　I　both　know　he　could

not；〃　said　she　conclusively；　but　her　pale　face　was　paler　than　it

had　been　before。



Rebecca　gasped　again。　　The　married　sister；　Mrs。　Emma　Brigham；　was

now　sitting　up　straight　in　her　chair；　she　had　ceased　rocking；　and

was　eyeing　them　both　intently　with　a　sudden　accentuation　of　family

likeness　in　her　face。　　Given　one　common　intensity　of　emotion　and

similar　lines　showed　forth；　and　the　three　sisters　of　one　race　were

evident。



〃What　do　you　mean？〃　said　she　impartially　to　them　both。　　Then　she；

too；　seemed　to　shrink　before　a　possible　answer。　　She　even　laughed

an　evasive　sort　of　laugh。　　〃I　guess　you　don't　mean　anything；〃　said

she；　but　her　face　wore　still　the　expression　of　shrinking　horror。



〃Nobody　means　anything；〃　said　Caroline　firmly。　　She　rose　and

crossed　the　room　toward　the　door　with　grim　decisiveness。



〃Where　are　you　going？〃　asked　Mrs。　Brigham。



〃I　have　something　to　see　to；〃　replied　Caroline；　and　the　others　at

once　knew　by　her　tone　that　she　had　some　solemn　and　sad　duty　to

perform　in　the　chamber　of　death。



〃Oh；〃　said　Mrs。　Brigham。



After　the　door　had　closed　behind　Caroline；　she　turned　to　Rebecca。



〃Did　Henry　have　many　words　with　him？〃　she　asked。



〃They　were　talking　very　loud；〃　replied　Rebecca　evasively；　yet　with

an　answering　gleam　of　ready　response　to　the　other's　curiosity　in

the　quick　lift　of　her　soft　blue　eyes。



Mrs。　Brigham　looked　at　her。　　She　had　not　resumed　rocking。　　She

still　sat　up　straight　with　a　slight　knitting　of　intensity　on　her

fair　forehead；　between　the　pretty　rippling　curves　of　her　auburn

hair。



〃Did　youh