tales and fantasies-第7章

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sitting　down；　for　there　was　no　chair；　and　that　in　his　own

cold　lobby　on　this　freezing　night！　　It　fully　explained　his

eccentricities；　John　reflected　sagely；　as　he　mixed　himself　a

grog。　　Poor　Alan！　　He　was　drunk；　and　what　a　dreadful　thing

was　drink；　and　what　a　slave　to　it　poor　Alan　was；　to　drink　in

this　unsociable；　uncomfortable　fashion！　　The　man　who　would

drink　alone；　except　for　health's　sake　…　as　John　was　now　doing

…　was　a　man　utterly　lost。　　He　took　the　grog　out；　and　felt

hazier；　but　warmer。　　It　was　hard　work　opening　the　portmanteau

and　finding　his　night　things；　and　before　he　was　undressed；

the　cold　had　struck　home　to　him　once　more。　　'Well；'　said　he；

'just　a　drop　more。　　There's　no　sense　in　getting　ill　with　all

this　other　trouble。'　　And　presently　dreamless　slumber　buried

him。



When　John　awoke　it　was　day。　　The　low　winter　sun　was　already

in　the　heavens；　but　his　watch　had　stopped；　and　it　was

impossible　to　tell　the　hour　exactly。　　Ten；　he　guessed　it；　and

made　haste　to　dress；　dismal　reflections　crowding　on　his　mind。

But　it　was　less　from　terror　than　from　regret　that　he　now

suffered；　and　with　his　regret　there　were　mingled　cutting

pangs　of　penitence。　　There　had　fallen　upon　him　a　blow；　cruel；

indeed；　but　yet　only　the　punishment　of　old　misdoing；　and　he

had　rebelled　and　plunged　into　fresh　sin。　　The　rod　had　been

used　to　chasten；　and　he　had　bit　the　chastening　fingers。　　His

father　was　right；　John　had　justified　him；　John　was　no　guest

for　decent　people's　houses；　and　no　fit　associate　for　decent

people's　children。　　And　had　a　broader　hint　been　needed；　there

was　the　case　of　his　old　friend。　　John　was　no　drunkard；　though

he　could　at　times　exceed；　and　the　picture　of　Houston　drinking

neat　spirits　at　his　hall…table　struck　him　with　something　like

disgust。　　He　hung　back　from　meeting　his　old　friend。　　He　could

have　wished　he　had　not　come　to　him；　and　yet；　even　now；　where

else　was　he　to　turn？



These　musings　occupied　him　while　he　dressed；　and　accompanied

him　into　the　lobby　of　the　house。　　The　door　stood　open　on　the

garden；　doubtless；　Alan　had　stepped　forth；　and　John　did　as　he

supposed　his　friend　had　done。　　The　ground　was　hard　as　iron；

the　frost　still　rigorous；　as　he　brushed　among　the　hollies；

icicles　jingled　and　glittered　in　their　fall；　and　wherever　he

went；　a　volley　of　eager　sparrows　followed　him。　　Here　were

Christmas　weather　and　Christmas　morning　duly　met；　to　the

delight　of　children。　　This　was　the　day　of　reunited　families；

the　day　to　which　he　had　so　long　looked　forward；　thinking　to

awake　in　his　own　bed　in　Randolph　Crescent；　reconciled　with

all　men　and　repeating　the　footprints　of　his　youth；　and　here

he　was　alone；　pacing　the　alleys　of　a　wintry　garden　and　filled

with　penitential　thoughts。



And　that　reminded　him：　why　was　he　alone？　and　where　was　Alan？

The　thought　of　the　festal　morning　and　the　due　salutations

reawakened　his　desire　for　his　friend；　and　he　began　to　call

for　him　by　name。　　As　the　sound　of　his　voice　died　away；　he　was

aware　of　the　greatness　of　the　silence　that　environed　him。

But　for　the　twittering　of　the　sparrows　and　the　crunching　of

his　own　feet　upon　the　frozen　snow；　the　whole　windless　world

of　air　hung　over　him　entranced；　and　the　stillness　weighed

upon　his　mind　with　a　horror　of　solitude。



Still　calling　at　intervals；　but　now　with　a　moderated　voice；

he　made　the　hasty　circuit　of　the　garden；　and　finding　neither

man　nor　trace　of　man　in　all　its　evergreen　coverts；　turned　at

last　to　the　house。　　About　the　house　the　silence　seemed　to

deepen　strangely。　　The　door；　indeed；　stood　open　as　before；

but　the　windows　were　still　shuttered；　the　chimneys　breathed

no　stain　into　the　bright　air；　there　sounded　abroad　none　of

that　low　stir　（perhaps　audible　rather　to　the　ear　of　the

spirit　than　to　the　ear　of　the　flesh）　by　which　a　house

announces　and　betrays　its　human　lodgers。　　And　yet　Alan　must

be　there　…　Alan　locked　in　drunken　slumbers；　forgetful　of　the

return　of　day；　of　the　holy　season；　and　of　the　friend　whom　he

had　so　coldly　received　and　was　now　so　churlishly　neglecting。

John's　disgust　redoubled　at　the　thought；　but　hunger　was

beginning　to　grow　stronger　than　repulsion；　and　as　a　step　to

breakfast；　if　nothing　else；　he　must　find　and　arouse　this

sleeper。



He　made　the　circuit　of　the　bedroom　quarters。　　All；　until　he

came　to　Alan's　chamber；　were　locked　from　without；　and　bore

the　marks　of　a　prolonged　disuse。　　But　Alan's　was　a　room　in

commission；　filled　with　clothes；　knickknacks；　letters；　books；

and　the　conveniences　of　a　solitary　man。　　The　fire　had　been

lighted；　but　it　had　long　ago　burned　out；　and　the　ashes　were

stone　cold。　　The　bed　had　been　made；　but　it　had　not　been　slept

in。



Worse　and　worse；　then；　Alan　must　have　fallen　where　he　sat；

and　now　sprawled　brutishly；　no　doubt；　upon　the　dining…room

floor。



The　dining…room　was　a　very　long　apartment；　and　was　reached

through　a　passage；　so　that　John；　upon　his　entrance；　brought

but　little　light　with　him；　and　must　move　toward　the　windows

with　spread　arms；　groping　and　knocking　on　the　furniture。

Suddenly　he　tripped　and　fell　his　length　over　a　prostrate

body。　　It　was　what　he　had　looked　for；　yet　it　shocked　him；　and

he　marvelled　that　so　rough　an　impact　should　not　have　kicked　a

groan　out　of　the　drunkard。　　Men　had　killed　themselves　ere　now

in　such　excesses；　a　dreary　and　degraded　end　that　made　John

shudder。　　What　if　Alan　were　dead？　　There　would　be　a

Christmas…day！



By　this；　John　had　his　hand　upon　the　shutters；　and　flinging

them　back；　beheld　once　again　the　blessed　face　of　the　day。

Even　by　that　light　the　room　had　a　discomfortable　air。　　The

chairs　were　scattered；　and　one　had　been　overthrown；　the

table…cloth；　laid　as　if　for　dinner；　was　twitched　upon　one

side；　and　some　of　the　dishes　had　fallen　to　the　floor。　　Behind

the　table　lay　the　drunkard；　still　unaroused；　only　one　foot

visible　to　John。



But　now　that　light　was　in　the　room；　the　worst　seemed　over；　it

was　a　disgusting　business；　but　not　more　than　disgusting；　and

it　was　with　no　great　apprehension　that　John　proceeded　to　make

the　circuit　of　the　table：　his　last　comparatively　tranquil

moment　for　that　day。　　No　sooner　had　he　turned　the　corner；　no

sooner　had　his　eyes　alighted　on　the　body；　than　he　gave　a

smothered；　breathless　cry；　and　fled　out　of　the　room　and　out

of　the　house。



It　was　not　Alan　who　lay　there；　but　a　man　well　up　in　years；　of

stern　countenance　and　iron…grey　locks；　and　it　was　no

drunkard；　for　the　body　lay　in　a　black　pool　of　blood；　and　the

open　eyes　stared　upon　the　ceiling。



To　and　fro　walked　John　before　the　door。　　The　extreme

sharpness　of　the　air　acted　on　his　nerves　like　an　astringent；

and　braced　them　swiftly。　　Presently；　he　not　relaxing　in　his

disordered　walk；　the　images　began　to　come　clearer　and　stay

longer　in　his　fancy；　and　next　the　power　of　thought　came　back

to　him；　and　the　horror　and　danger　of　his　situation　rooted　him

to　the　ground。



He　grasped　his　forehead；　and　staring　on　one　spot　of　gravel；

pieced　together　what　he　knew　and　what　he　suspected。　　Alan　had

murdered　some　one：　possibly　'that　man'　against　whom　the

butler　chained　the　door　in　Regent　Terrace；　possibly　another；

some　one　at　least：　a　human　soul；　whom　it　was　death　to　slay

and　whose　blood　lay　spilled　upon　the　floor。　　This　was　the

reason　of　the　whisky　drinking　in　the　passage；　of　his

unwillingness　to　welcome　John；　of　his　strange　behaviour　and

bewildered　words；　this　was　why　he　had　started　at　and　harped

upon　the　name　of　murder；　this　was　why　he　had　stood　and

hearkened；　or　sat　and　covered　his　eyes；　in　the　black　night。

And　now　he　was　gone；　now　he　had　basely　fled；　and　to　all　his

perplexities　and　dangers　John　stood　heir。



'Let　me　think　…　let　me　think；'　he　said；　aloud；　impatiently；

even　pleadingly；　as　if　to　some　merciless　interrupter。　　In　the

turmoil　of　his　wits；　a　thousand　hints　and　hopes　and　threats

and　terrors　dinning　continuously　in　his　ears；　he　was　like　one

plunged　in　the　hubbub　of　a　crowd。　　How　was　he　to　remember　…

he；　who　had　not　a　thought　to　spare　…　that　he　was　himself　the

author；　as　well　as　the　theatre；　of　so　much　confusion？　　But　in

hours　of　trial　the　junto　of　man's　nature　is　dissolved；　and

anarchy　succeeds。



It　was　plain　he　must　stay　no　longer　where　he　was；　for　here

was　a　new　Judicial　Error　in　the　very　making。　　It　was　not　so

plain　where　he　must　go；　for　the　old　Judicial　Error；　vague　as

a　cloud；　appeared　to　fill　the　habitable　world；　whatever　it

might　be；　it　watched　for　him；　full…grown；　in　Edinburgh；　it

must　have　had　its　birth　in　San　Francisco；　it　stood　guard；　no

doubt；　like　a　dragon；　at　the　bank　where　he　should　cash　his

credit；　and　though　there　were　doubtless　many　other　places；

who　should　say　in　which　of　them　it　was　not　ambushed？　　No；　he

could　not　tell　where　he　was　to　go；　he　must　not　lose　time　on

these　insolubilities。　　Let　him　go　back　to　the　beginning。　　It

was　plain　he　must　stay　no　longer　where　he　was。　　It　was　plain；

too；　that　he　must　not　flee　as　he　was；　for　he　could　not　carry

his　portmanteau；　and　to　flee　and　leave　it　was　to　plunge

deeper　in　the　mire。　　He　must　go；　leave　the　house　unguarded；

find　a　cab；　and　return　…　return　after　an　absence？　　Had　he

courage　for　that？



And　just　then　he　spied　a　stain　about　a　hand's…breadth　on　his

trouser…leg；　and　reached　his　finger　down　to　touch　it。　　The

finger　was　stained　red：　it　was　blood；　he　stared　upon　it　with

disgust；　and　awe；　and　terror；　and　in　the　sharpness　of　the　new

sensation；　fell　instantly　to　act。



He　cleansed　his　finger　in　the　snow；　returned　into　the　house；

drew　near　with　hushed　footsteps　to　the　dining…room　door；　and

shut　and　locked　it。　　Then　he　breathed　a　little　freer；　for

here　at　least　was　an　oaken　barrier　between　himself　and　what

he　feared。　　Next；　he　hastened　to　his　room；　tore　off　the

spotted　trousers　which　seemed　in　his　eyes　a　link　to　bind　him

to　the　gallows；　flung　them　in　a　corner；　donned　another　pair；

breathlessly　crammed　his　night　things　into　his　portmanteau；

locked　it；　swung　it　with　an　effort　from　the　ground；　and　with

a　rush　of　relief；　came　forth　again　under　the　open　heavens。



The　portmanteau；　being　of　occidental　build；　was　no　feather…

weight；　it　had　distressed　the　powerful　Alan；　and　as　for　John；

he　was　crushed　under　its　bulk；　and　the　sweat　broke　upon　him

thickly。　　Twice　he　must　set　it　down　to　rest　before　he　reached

the　gate；　and　when　he　had　come　so　far；　he　must　do　as　Alan

did；　and　take　his　seat　upon　one　corner。　　Here　then；　he　sat　a

while　and　panted；　but　now　his　thoughts　were　sensibly

lightened；　now；　with　the　trunk　standing　just　inside　the　door；

some　part　of　his　dissociation　from　the　house　of　crime　had

been　effected；　and　the　cabman　need　not　pass　the　garden　wall。

It　was　wonderful　how　that　relieved　him；　for　the　house；　in　his

eyes；　was　a　place　to　strike　the　most　cursory　beholder　with

suspicion；　as　though　the　very　windows　had　cried　murder。



But　there　was　to　be　no　remission　of　the　strokes　of　fate。　　As

he　thus　sat；　tak