five tales-第25章

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And　stealing　close；　she　bent　and　slipped　it　in。　　Two　faces　looked　at　her　from　round　the　door；　she　heard　Bob　Pillin's　smothered　chuckle；　her　mother's　rich　and　feathery　laugh。　　Oh！　　How　red　his　forehead　was！　She　touched　it　with　her　lips；　skipped　back；　twirled　round；　danced　silently　a　second；　blew　a　kiss；　and　like　quicksilver　was　gone。

And　the　whispering；　the　chuckling；　and　one　little　out…pealing　laugh　rose　in　the　hall。

But　the　old　man　slept。　　Nor　until　Meller　came　at　his　usual　hour　of　half…past　twelve；　was　it　known　that　he　would　never　wake。







THE　APPLE　TREE


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃The　Apple…tree；　the　singing　and　the　gold。〃　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　MURRAY'S　〃HIPPOLYTUS　of　EURIPIDES。〃

In　their　silver…wedding　day　Ashurst　and　his　wife　were　motoring　along　the　outskirts　of　the　moor；　intending　to　crown　the　festival　by　stopping　the　night　at　Torquay；　where　they　had　first　met。　　This　was　the　idea　of　Stella　Ashurst；　whose　character　contained　a　streak　of　sentiment。　　If　she　had　long　lost　the　blue…eyed；　flower…like　charm；　the　cool　slim　purity　of　face　and　form；　the　apple…blossom　colouring；　which　had　so　swiftly　and　so　oddly　affected　Ashurst　twenty…six　years　ago；　she　was　still　at　forty…three　a　comely　and　faithful　companion；　whose　cheeks　were　faintly　mottled；　and　whose　grey…blue　eyes　had　acquired　a　certain　fullness。

It　was　she　who　had　stopped　the　car　where　the　common　rose　steeply　to　the　left；　and　a　narrow　strip　of　larch　and　beech；　with　here　and　there　a　pine；　stretched　out　towards　the　valley　between　the　road　and　the　first　long　high　hill　of　the　full　moor。　　She　was　looking　for　a　place　where　they　might　lunch；　for　Ashurst　never　looked　for　anything；　and　this；　between　the　golden　furze　and　the　feathery　green　larches　smelling　of　lemons　in　the　last　sun　of　Aprilthis；　with　a　view　into　the　deep　valley　and　up　to　the　long　moor　heights；　seemed　fitting　to　the　decisive　nature　of　one　who　sketched　in　water…colours；　and　loved　romantic　spots。　　Grasping　her　paint　box；　she　got　out。

〃Won't　this　do；　Frank？〃

Ashurst；　rather　like　a　bearded　Schiller；　grey　in　the　wings；　tall；　long…legged；　with　large　remote　grey　eyes　which　sometimes　filled　with　meaning　and　became　almost　beautiful；　with　nose　a　little　to　one　side；　and　bearded　lips　just　openAshurst；　forty…eight；　and　silent；　grasped　the　luncheon　basket；　and　got　out　too。

〃Oh！　Look；　Frank！　　A　grave！〃

By　the　side　of　the　road；　where　the　track　from　the　top　of　the　common　crossed　it　at　right　angles　and　ran　through　a　gate　past　the　narrow　wood；　was　a　thin　mound　of　turf；　six　feet　by　one；　with　a　moorstone　to　the　west；　and　on　it　someone　had　thrown　a　blackthorn　spray　and　a　handful　of　bluebells。　　Ashurst　looked；　and　the　poet　in　him　moved。　　At　cross…roadsa　suicide's　grave！　　Poor　mortals　with　their　superstitions！　　Whoever　lay　there；　though；　had　the　best　of　it；　no　clammy　sepulchre　among　other　hideous　graves　carved　with　futilities　just　a　rough　stone；　the　wide　sky；　and　wayside　blessings！　　And；　without　comment；　for　he　had　learned　not　to　be　a　philosopher　in　the　bosom　of　his　family；　he　strode　away　up　on　to　the　common；　dropped　the　luncheon　basket　under　a　wall；　spread　a　rug　for　his　wife　to　sit　on　she　would　turn　up　from　her　sketching　when　she　was　hungryand　took　from　his　pocket　Murray's　translation　of　the　〃Hippolytus。〃　　He　had　soon　finished　reading　of　〃The　Cyprian〃　and　her　revenge；　and　looked　at　the　sky　instead。　　And　watching　the　white　clouds　so　bright　against　the　intense　blue；　Ashurst；　on　his　silver…wedding　day；　longed　forhe　knew　not　what。　　Maladjusted　to　lifeman's　organism！　　One's　mode　of　life　might　be　high　and　scrupulous；　but　there　was　always　an；　undercurrent　of　greediness；　a　hankering；　and　sense　of　waste。　　Did　women　have　it　too？　　Who　could　tell？　　And　yet；　men　who　gave　vent　to　their　appetites　for　novelty；　their　riotous　longings　for　new　adventures；　new　risks；　new　pleasures；　these　suffered；　no　doubt；　from　the　reverse　side　of　starvation；　from　surfeit。　　No　getting　out　of　ita　maladjusted　animal；　civilised　man！　　There　could　be　no　garden　of　his　choosing；　of　〃the　Apple…tree；　the　singing；　and　the　gold；〃　in　the　words　of　that　lovely　Greek　chorus；　no　achievable　elysium　in　life；　or　lasting　haven　of　happiness　for　any　man　with　a　sense　of　beautynothing　which　could　compare　with　the　captured　loveliness　in　a　work　of　art；　set　down　for　ever；　so　that　to　look　on　it　or　read　was　always　to　have　the　same　precious　sense　of　exaltation　and　restful　inebriety。　　Life　no　doubt　had　moments　with　that　quality　of　beauty；　of　unbidden　flying　rapture；　but　the　trouble　was；　they　lasted　no　longer　than　the　span　of　a　cloud's　flight　over　the　sun；　impossible　to　keep　them　with　you；　as　Art　caught　beauty　and　held　it　fast。　　They　were　fleeting　as　one　of　the　glimmering　or　golden　visions　one　had　of　the　soul　in　nature；　glimpses　of　its　remote　and　brooding　spirit。　　Here；　with　the　sun　hot　on　his　face；　a　cuckoo　calling　from　a　thorn　tree；　and　in　the　air　the　honey　savour　of　gorsehere　among　the　little　fronds　of　the　young　fern；　the　starry　blackthorn；　while　the　bright　clouds　drifted　by　high　above　the　hills　and　dreamy　valleys　here　and　now　was　such　a　glimpse。　　But　in　a　moment　it　would　passas　the　face　of　Pan；　which　looks　round　the　corner　of　a　rock；　vanishes　at　your　stare。　　And　suddenly　he　sat　up。　　Surely　there　was　something　familiar　about　this　view；　this　bit　of　common；　that　ribbon　of　road；　the　old　wall　behind　him。　　While　they　were　driving　he　had　not　been　taking　noticenever　did；　thinking　of　far　things　or　of　nothingbut　now　he　saw！　　Twenty…six　years　ago；　just　at　this　time　of　year；　from　the　farmhouse　within　half　a　mile　of　this　very　spot　he　had　started　for　that　day　in　Torquay　whence　it　might　be　said　he　had　never　returned。　　And　a　sudden　ache　beset　his　heart；　he　had　stumbled　on　just　one　of　those　past　moments　in　his　life；　whose　beauty　and　rapture　he　had　failed　to　arrest；　whose　wings　had　fluttered　away　into　the　unknown；　he　had　stumbled　on　a　buried　memory；　a　wild　sweet　time；　swiftly　choked　and　ended。　　And；　turning　on　his　face；　he　rested　his　chin　on　his　hands；　and　stared　at　the　short　grass　where　the　little　blue　milkwort　was　growing。。。。




I

And　this　is　what　he　remembered。

On　the　first　of　May；　after　their　last　year　together　at　college；　Frank　Ashurst　and　his　friend　Robert　Garton　were　on　a　tramp。　　They　had　walked　that　day　from　Brent；　intending　to　make　Chagford；　but　Ashurst's　football　knee　had　given　out；　and　according　to　their　map　they　had　still　some　seven　miles　to　go。　　They　were　sitting　on　a　bank　beside　the…road；　where　a　track　crossed　alongside　a　wood；　resting　the　knee　and　talking　of　the　universe；　as　young　men　will。　　Both　were　over　six　feet；　and　thin　as　rails；　Ashurst　pale；　idealistic；　full　of　absence；　Garton　queer；　round…the…corner；　knotted；　curly；　like　some　primeval　beast。　　Both　had　a　literary　bent；　neither　wore　a　hat。

Ashurst's　hair　was　smooth；　pale；　wavy；　and　had　a　way　of　rising　on　either　side　of　his　brow；　as　if　always　being　flung　back；　Carton's　was　a　kind　of　dark　unfathomed　mop。　　They　had　not　met　a　soul　for　miles。

〃My　dear　fellow；〃　Garton　was　saying；　〃pity's　only　an　effect　of　self…　consciousness；　it's　a　disease　of　the　last　five　thousand　years。　　The　world　was　happier　without。〃

Ashurst；　following　the　clouds　with　his　eyes；　answered：

〃It's　the　pearl　in　the　oyster；　anyway。〃

〃My　dear　chap；　all　our　modern　unhappiness　comes　from　pity。　　Look　at　animals；　and　Red　Indians；　limited　to　feeling　their　own　occasional　misfortunes；　then　look　at　ourselvesnever　free　from　feeling　the　toothaches　of　others。　　Let's　get　back　to　feeling　for　nobody；　and　have　a　better　time。〃

〃You'll　never　practise　that。〃

Garton　pensively　stirred　the　hotch…potch　of　his　hair。

〃To　attain　full　growth；　one　mustn't　be　squeamish。　　To　starve　oneself　emotionally's　a　mistake。　　All　emotion　is　to　the　goodenriches　life。〃

〃Yes；　and　when　it　runs　up　against　chivalry？〃

〃Ah！　　That's　so　English！　　If　you　speak　of　emotion　the　English　always　think　you　want　something　physical；　and　are　shocked。　　They're　afraid　of　passion；　but　not　of　lustoh；　no！so　long　as　they　can　keep　it　secret。〃

Ashurst　did　not　answer；　he　had　plucked　a　blue　floweret；　and　was　twiddling　it　against　the　sky。　　A　cuckoo　began　calling　from　a　thorn　tree。　　The　sky；　the　flowers；　the　songs　of　birds！　　Robert　was　talking　through　his　hat！　　And　he　said：

〃Well；　let's　go　on；　and　find　some　farm　where　we　can　put　up。〃　　In　uttering　those　words；　he　was　conscious　of　a　girl　coming　down　from　the　common　just　above　them。　　She　was　outlined　against　the　sky；　carrying　a　basket；　and　you　could　see　that　sky　through　the　crook　of　her　arm。　　And　Ashurst；　who　saw　beauty　without　wondering　how　it　could　advantage　him；　thought：　'How　pretty！'　　The　wind；　blowing　her　dark　frieze　skirt　against　her　legs；　lifted　her　battered　peacock　tam…o'…shanter；　her　greyish　blouse　was　worn　and　old；　her　shoes　were　split；　her　little　hands　rough　and　red；　her　neck　browned。　　Her　dark　hair　waved　untidy　across　her　broad　forehead；　her　face　was　short；　her　upper　lip　short；　showing　a　glint　of　teeth；　her　brows　were　straight　and　dark；　her　lashes　long　and　dark；　her　nose　straight；　but　her　grey　eyes　were　the　wonder…dewy　as　if　opened　for　the　first　time　that　day。　　She　looked　at　Ashurstperhaps　he　struck　her　as　strange；　limping　along　without　a　hat；　with　his　large　eyes　on　her；　and　his　hair　falling　back。　　He　could　not　take　off　what　was　not　on　his　head；　but　put　up　his　hand　in　a　salute；　and　said：

〃Can　you　tell　us　if　there's　a　farm　near　here　where　we　could　stay　the　night？　　I've　gone　lame。〃

〃There's　only　our　farm　near；　sir。〃　　She　spoke　without　shyness；　in　a　pretty　soft　crisp　voice。

〃And　where　is　that？〃

〃Down　here；　sir。〃

〃Would　you　put　us　up？〃

〃Oh！　　I　think　we　would。〃

〃Will　you　show　us　the　way？〃

〃Yes；　Sir。〃

He　limped　on；　silent；　and　Garton　took　up　the　catechism。

〃Are　you　a　Devonshire　girl？〃

〃No；　Sir。〃

〃What　then？〃

〃From　Wales。〃

〃Ah！　　I　thought　you　were　a　Celt；　so　it's　not　your　farm？〃

〃My　aunt's；　sir。〃

〃And　your　uncle's？〃

〃He　is　dead。〃

〃Who　farms　it；　then？〃

〃My　aunt；　and　my　three　cousins。〃

〃But　your　uncle　was　a　Devonshire　man？〃

〃Yes；　Sir。〃

〃Have　you　lived　here　long？〃　　〃Seven　years。〃

〃And　how　d'you　like　it　after　Wales？〃　　〃I　don't　know；　sir。〃

〃I　suppose　you　don't　remember？〃　　〃Oh；　yes！　　But　it　is　different。〃

〃I　believe　you！〃

Ashurst　broke　in　suddenly：　〃How　old　are　you？〃

〃Seventeen；　Sir。〃

〃And　what's　your　name？〃　　〃Megan　David。〃

〃This　is　Robert　Garton；　and　I　am　Frank　Ashurst。　　We　wanted　to　get　on　to　Chagford。〃

〃It　is　a　pity　your　leg　is　hurting　you。〃

Ashurst　smiled；　and　when　he　smiled　his　face　was　rather　beautiful。

Descending　past　the　narrow　wood；　they　came　on　the　farm　suddenly…a　long；　low；　stone…built　dwelling　with　casement　windows；　in　a　farmyard　where　pigs　and　fowls　and　an　old　mare　were　straying。　　A　short　steep…up　grass　hill　behind　was　crowned　with　a　few　Scotch　firs；　and　in　front；　an　old　orchard　of　apple　trees；　just　breaking　into　flower；　stretched　down　to　a　stream　and　a　long　wild　meadow。　　A　little　boy　with　oblique　dark　eyes　was　shepherding　a　pig；　and　by　the　house　door　stood　a　woman；　who　came　towards　them。　　The　girl　said：

〃It　is　Mrs。　Narracombe；　my　aunt。〃

〃Mrs。　Narracombe；　my　aunt；〃　had　a　quick；　dark　eye；　like　a　mother　wild…duck's；　and　something　of　the　same　snaky　turn　about　her　neck。

〃We　met　your　niece　on　the　road；〃　said　Ashurst；　〃she　thought　you　might　perhaps　put　us　up