the dwelling place of ligh-第67章

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Janet　drew　in　a　great　breath；　involuntarily。　　These　were　moments　when　it
seemed　that　she　could　scarcely　contain　what　she　felt　of　beauty　and
significance；　when　the　ecstasy　and　pain　were　not　to　be　borne。　　And
sometimes；　as　she　listened　to　Mrs。　Maturin's　voice；　she　wept　in　silence。
Again　a　strange　peace　descended　on　her；　the　peace　of　an　exile　come　home；
if　not　to　remain；　at　least　to　know　her　own　land　and　people　before　faring
forth。　　She　would　not　think　of　that　faring　yet　awhile；　but　strive　to　live
and　taste　the　presentand　yet　as　life　flowed　back　into　her　veins　that
past　arose　to　haunt　her；　she　yearned　to　pour　it　out　to　her　new　friend；　to
confess　all　that　had　happened　to　her。　　Why　couldn't　she？　　But　she　was
grateful　because　Mrs。　Maturin　betrayed　no　curiosity。　　Janet　often　lay
watching　her；　puzzled；　under　the　spell　of　a　frankness；　an　ingenuousness；
a　simplicity　she　had　least　expected　to　find　in　one　who　belonged　to　such　a
learned　place　as　that　of　Silliston。　　But　even　learning；　she　was
discovering；　could　be　amazingly　simple。　　Freely　and　naturally　Mrs。
Maturin　dwelt　on　her　own　past；　on　the　little　girl　of　six　taken　from　her
the　year　after　her　husband　died；　on　her　husband　himself；　once　a　professor
here；　and　who；　just　before　his　last　illness；　had　published　a　brilliant
book　on　Russian　literature　which　resulted　in　his　being　called　to　Harvard。
They　had　gone　to　Switzerland　instead；　and　Augusta　Maturin　had　come　back
to　Silliston。　　She　told　Janet　of　the　loon…haunted　lake；　hemmed　in　by　the
Laurentian　hills；　besieged　by　forests；　where　she　had　spent　her　girlhood
summers　with　her　father；　Professor　Wishart；　of　the　University　of　Toronto。
There；　in　search　of　health；　Gifford　Maturin　had　come　at　her　father's
suggestion　to　camp。

Janet；　of　course；　could　not　know　all　of　that　romance；　though　she　tried　to
picture　it　from　what　her　friend　told　her。　　Augusta　Wishart；　at　six　and
twenty；　had　been　one　of　those　magnificent　Canadian　women　who　are　most　at
home　in　the　open；　she　could　have　carried　Gifford　Maturinout　of　the
wilderness　on　her　back。　　She　was　five　feet　seven；　modelled　in　proportion；
endowed　by　some　Celtic　ancestor　with　that　dark　chestnut　hair　which；
because　of　its　abundance；　she　wore　braided　and　caught　up　in　a　heavy　knot
behind　her　head。　　Tanned　by　the　northern　sun；　kneeling　upright　in　a
canoe；　she　might　at　a　little　distance　have　been　mistaken　for　one　of　the
race　to　which　the　forests　and　waters　had　once　belonged。　　The　instinct　of
mothering　was　strong　in　her；　and　from　the　beginning　she　had　taken　the　shy
and　delicate　student　under　her　wing；　recognizing　in　him　one　of　the
physically　helpless　dedicated　to　a　supreme　function。　　He　was　forever
catching　colds；　his　food　disagreed　with　him；　and　on　her　own　initiative
she　discharged　his　habitant　cook　and　supplied　him　with　one　of　her　own
choosing。　　When　overtaken　by　one　of　his　indispositions　she　paddled　him
about　the　lake　with　lusty　strokes；　first　placing　a　blanket　over　his
knees；　and　he　submitted：　he　had　no　pride　of　that　sort；　he　was　utterly
indifferent　to　the　figure　he　cut　beside　his　Amazon。　　His　gentleness　of
disposition；　his　brilliant　conversations　with　those　whom；　like　her
father；　he　knew　and　trusted；　captivated　Augusta。　　At　this　period　of　her
life　she　was　awakening　to　the　glories　of　literature　and　taking　a　special
course　in　that　branch。　　He　talked　to　her　of　Gogol；　Turgenief；　and
Dostoievsky；　and　seated　on　the　log　piazza　read　in　excellent　French　〃Dead
Souls；〃　〃Peres　et　Enfants；〃　and　〃The　Brothers　Karamazoff。〃　　At　the　end　of
August　he　went　homeward　almost　gaily；　quite　ignorant　of　the　arrow　in　his
heart；　until　he　began　to　miss　Augusta　Wishart's　ministrationsand
Augusta　Wishart　herself。。。。　　Then　had　followed　that　too　brief　period　of
intensive　happiness。。。。

The　idea　of　remarriage　had　never　occurred　to　her。　　At　eight　and　thirty；
though　tragedy　had　left　its　mark；　it　had　been　powerless　to　destroy　the
sweetness　of　a　nature　of　such　vitality　as　hers。　　The　innate　necessity　of
loving　remained；　and　as　time　went　on　had　grown　more　wistful　and
insistent。　　Insall　and　her　Silliston　neighbours　were　wont；　indeed；　gently
to　rally　her　on　her　enthusiams；　while　understanding　and　sympathizing　with
this　need　in　her。　　A　creature　of　intuition；　Janet　had　appealed　to　her
from　the　beginning；　arousing　first　her　curiosity；　and　then　the　maternal
instinct　that　craved　a　mind　to　mould；　a　soul　to　respond　to　her　touch。。。。

Mrs。　Maturin　often　talked　to　Janet　of　Insall；　who　had；　in　a　way；　long
been　connected　with　Silliston。　　In　his　early　wandering　days；　when
tramping　over　New　England；　he　used　unexpectedly　to　turn　up　at　Dr。
Ledyard's；　the　principal's；　remain　for　several　weeks　and　disappear　again。
Even　then　he；　had　been　a　sort　of　institution；　a　professor　emeritus　in
botany；　bird　lore；　and　woodcraft；　taking　the　boys　on　long　walks　through
the　neighbouring　hills；　and　suddenly　he　had　surprised　everybody　by
fancying　the　tumble…down　farmhouse　in　Judith's　Lane；　which　he　had
restored　with　his　own　hands　into　the　quaintest　of　old　world　dwellings。
Behind　it　he　had　made　a　dam　in　the　brook；　and　put　in　a　water　wheel　that
ran　his　workshop。　　In　play　hours　the　place　was　usually　overrun　by
boys。。。。　　But　sometimes　the　old　craving　for　tramping　would　overtake　him；
one　day　his　friends　would　find　the　house　shut　up；　and　he　would　be　absent
for　a　fortnight；　perhaps　for　a　monthone　never　knew　when　he　was　going；
or　when　he　would　return。　　He　went；　like　his　hero；　Silas　Simpkins；　through
the　byways　of　New　England；　stopping　at　night　at　the　farm…houses；　or　often
sleeping　out　under　the　stars。　　And　then；　perhaps；　he　would　write　another
book。　　He　wrote　only　when　he　felt　like　writing。

It　was　this　book　of　Insall's；　〃The　Travels　of　Silas　Simpkins；〃rather　than
his　〃Epworth　Green〃　or　〃The　Hermit　of　Blue　Mountain；〃　that　Mrs。　Maturin
chose　to　read　to　Janet。　　Unlike　the　sage　of　Walden；　than　whom　he　was　more
gregarious；　instead　of　a　log　house　for　his　castle　Silas　Simpkins　chose　a
cart；　which　he　drove　in　a　most　leisurely　manner　from　the　sea　to　the
mountains；　penetrating　even　to　hamlets　beside　the　silent　lakes　on　the
Canadian　border；　and　then　went　back　to　the　sea　again。　　Two　chunky　grey
horses　with　wide　foreheads　and　sagacious　eyes　propelled　him　at　the　rate
of　three　miles　an　hour；　for　these；　as　their　master；　had　learned　the
lesson　that　if　life　is　to　be　fully　savoured　it　is　not　to　be　bolted。
Silas　cooked　and　ate；　and　sometimes　read　under　the　maples　beside　the
stone　walls：　usually　he　slept　in　the　cart　in　the　midst　of　the　assortment
of　goods　that　proclaimed　him；　to　the　astute；　an　expert　in　applied
psychology。　　At　first　you　might　have　thought　Silos　merely　a　peddler；　but
if　you　knew　your　Thoreau　you　would　presently　begin　to　perceive　that
peddling　was　the　paltry　price　he　paid　for　liberty。　　Silos　was　in　a　way　a
sagebut　such　a　human　sage！　　He　never　intruded　with　theories；　he　never
even　hinted　at　the　folly　of　the　mortals　who　bought　or　despised　his　goods；
or　with　whom　he　chatted　by　the　wayside；　though　he　may　have　had　his　ideas
on　the　subject：　it　is　certain　that　presently　one　began　to　have　one's　own：
nor　did　he　exclaim　with　George　Sand；　〃　Il　n'y　a　rien　de　plus　betement
mechant　que　l'habitant　des　petites　villes！〃　　Somehow　the　meannesses　and
jealousies　were　accounted　for；　if　not　excused。　　To　understand　is　to
pardon。

It　was　so　like　Insall；　this　book；　in　its　whimsicality；　in　its　feeling　of
space　and　freedom；　in　its　hidden　wisdom　that　gradually　revealed　itself　as
one　thought　it　over　before　falling　off　to　sleep！　　New　England　in　the
early　summer！　　Here；　beside　the　tender　greens　of　the　Ipswich　downs　was
the　sparkling　cobalt　of　the　sea；　and　she　could　almost　smell　its　cool　salt
breath　mingling　with　the　warm　odours　of　hay　and　the　pungent　scents　of
roadside　flowers。　　Weathered　grey　cottages　were　scattered　over　the
landscape；　and　dark　copses　of　cedars；　while　oceanward　the　eye　was　caught
by　the　gleam　of　a　lighthouse　or　a　lonely　sail。

Even　in　that　sandy　plain；　covered　with　sickly；　stunted　pines　and　burned
patches；　stretching　westward　from　the　Merrimac；　Silas　saw　beauty　and
colour；　life　in　the　once　prosperous　houses　not　yet　abandoned。。。。
Presently；　the　hills；　all　hyacinth　blue；　rise　up　against　the　sunset；　and
the　horses'　feet　are　on　the　〃Boston　Road〃or　rud；　according　to　the
authorized　pronunciation　of　that　land。　　Hardly；　indeed；　in　many　places；　a
〃rud〃　to…day；　reverting　picturesquely　into　the　forest　trail　over　which
the　early　inland　settlers　rode　their　horses　or　drove　their　oxen　with
upcountry　produce　to　the　sea。　　They　were　not　a　people　who　sought　the
easiest　way；　and　the　Boston　Road　reflects　their　characters：　few　valleys
are　deep　enough　to　turn　it　aside；　few　mountains　can　appal　it：　railroads
have　given　it　a　wide　berth。　　Here　and　there　the　forest　opens　out　to
reveal；　on　a　knoll　or　〃flat；〃　a　forgotten　village　or　tavern…stand。　　Over
the　high　shelf　of　Washington　Town　it　runs　where　the　air　is　keen　and　the
lakes　are　blue；　where　long…stemmed　wild　flowers　nod　on　its　sunny　banks；
to　reach　at　length　the　rounded；　classic　hills　and　sentinel　mountain　that
mark　the　sheep　country　of　the　Connecticut。。。。

It　was　before　Janet's　convalescence　began　that　Mrs。　Maturin　had　consulted
Insall　concerning　her　proposed　experiment　in　literature。　　Afterwards　he
had　left　Silliston　for　a　lumber　camp　on　a　remote　river　in　northern　Maine；
abruptly　to　reappear；　on　a　mild　afternoon　late　in　April；　in　Augusta
Maturin's　garden。　　The　crocuses　and　tulips　were　in　bloom；　and　his　friend；
in　a　gardening　apron；　was　on　her　knees；　trowel　in　hand；　assisting　a　hired
man　to　set　out　marigolds　and　snapdragons。

〃Well；　it's　time　you　were　home　again；〃　she　exclaimed；　as　she　rose　to
greet　him　and　led　him　to　a　chair　on　the　little　flagged　terrace　beside　the
windows　of　her　library。　　〃I've　got　so　much　to　tell　you　about　our
invalid。〃

〃Our　invalid！〃　Insall　retorted。

〃Of　course。　　I　look　to　you　to　divide　the　responsibility　with　me；　and
you've　shirked　by　running　off　to　Maine。　　You　found　her；　you　knowand
she's　really　remarkable。〃

〃Now　see　here；　Augusta；　you　can't　expect　me　to　share　the　guardianship　of
an　attractive　andwell；　a　dynamic　young　woman。　　If　she　affects　you　this
way；　what　will　she　do　to　me？　　I'm　much　too　susceptible。〃

〃Susceptible〃　she　scoffed。　　〃But　you　can't　get　out　of　it。　　I　need　you。
I've　never　been　so　interested　and　so　perplexed　in　my　life。〃

〃How　is　she？〃　Insall　asked。

〃Frankly；　I'm　worried；〃　said　Mrs。　Maturin。　　〃At　first　she　seemed　to　be
getting　along　beautifully。　　I　read　to　her；　a　little　every　day；　and　it　was
wonderful　how　she　responded　to　it。　　I'll　tell　you　about　that　I've　got　so
much　to　tell　you！　　Young　Dr。　Trent　is　puzzled；　too；　it　seems　there　are
symptoms　in　the　case　for　which　he　cannot　account。　　Some　three　weeks　ago
he　asked　me　what　I　made　out　of　her；　and　I　can't　make　anythingthat's　the
trouble；　except　that　she　seems　pathetically　grateful；　and　that　I've　grown
absurdly　fond　of　her。　　But　she　isn't　improving　as　fast　as　she　should；　and
Dr。　Trent　doesn't　know　whether　or　not　to　suspect　functional
complications。　　Her　constitution　seems　excellent；　her　vitality　unusual。
Trent's　impressed　by　her；　he　inclines　to　the　theory　that　she　has
something　on　her　mind；　and　if　this　is　so　she　should　get　rid　of　it；　tell
it　to　someb