the choir invisible-第24章
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e smut of the heart and mind。 But ah！ the other things besides these。
Sown among the white wheat of the spirit were the red tares of the flesh； and as he strode back and forth through the harvest； he found himself plucking these also with feverish vehemence。 There were things here that he had never seen in print： words that he had never even named to his secret consciousness； thoughts and desires that he had put away from his soul with many a struggle； many a prayer； stories of a kind that he had always declined to hear when told in companies of men： all here； spelled out； barefaced； without apology； without shame： the deposits of those old； old moral voices and standards long since buried deep under the ever rising level of the world's whitening holiness。 With utter guilt and shame he did not leave off till he had plucked the last red tare； and having plucked them； he had hugged the whole inflaming bundle against his bloodhis blood now flushed with youth； flushed with health； flushed with summer。
And finally； in the midst of all these things； perhaps coloured by them； there had come to him the first great awakening of his life in a love that was forbidden。
He upbraided himself the more bitterly for the influence of the book because it was she who had placed both the good and the evil in his hand with perfect confidence that he would lay hold on the one and remain unsoiled by the other。 She had remained spirit…proof herself against the influences that tormented him； out of her own purity she had judged him。 And yet； on the other hand； with that terrible candour of mind which he used either for or against himself as rigidly as for or against another person； he pleaded in his own behalf that she had made a mistake in overestimating his strength； in underestimating his temptations。 How should she know that for years his warfare had gone on direfully？ How realize that almost daily he had stood as at the dividing of two roads： the hard； narrow path ascending to the bleak white peaks of the spirit； the broad； sweet； downward vistas of the flesh？ How foresee； therefore； that the book would only help to rend him in twain with a mightier passion for each？
He had been back at the school a week now。 He had never dared go to see her。 Confront that luminous face with his darkened one？ Deal such a soul the wound of such dishonour？ He knew very well that the slightest word or glance of self…betrayal would bring on the immediate severance of her relationship with him： her wifehood might be her martyrdom； but it was martyrdom inviolate。 And yet he felt that if he were once with her； he could not be responsible for the consequences： he could foresee no degree of self…control that would keep him from telling her that he loved her。 He had been afraid to go。 But ah； how her image drew him day and night； day and night！ Slipping between him and every other being； every other desire。 Her voice kept calling to him to come to hera voice new； irresistible； that seemed to issue from the deeps of Summer； from the deeps of Life； from the deeps of Love； with its almighty justification。
This was his first Saturday。 To…day he had not even the school as a post of duty； to which he might lash himself for safety。 He had gone away from town in an opposite direction from her home； burying himself alone in the forest。 But between him and that summoning voice he could put no distance。 It sang out afresh to him from the inviting silence of the woods as well as from its innumerable voices。 It sang to him reproachfully from the pages of the old book： 〃In the lusty month of May lovers call again to their mind old gentleness and old service and many deeds that were forgotten by negligence：〃 he had never even gone to thank her for all her kindness to him during his illness！
Still he held out； wrestling with himself。 At last Love itself； the deceiver； snaringly pleaded that she alone could cure him of all this folly。 It had grown up wholly during his absence from her； no doubt by reason of this。 Many a time before be had gone to her about other troubles； and always he had found her carrying that steady light of right…mindedness which had scatteredhis darkness and revealed his better pathway。
He sprang up and set off sternly through the woods。 Goaded by love； he fancied that the presence of the forbidden woman would restore him to his old； blameless friendship。
XVIII
SHE was at work in the garden： he had long ago noted that she never idled。
He approached the fence and leaned on it as when they had last talked together； but his big Jacobin hat was pulled down over his eyes now。 He was afraid of his own voice； afraid of the sound of his knuckles； so that when at last he had rapped on the fence； he hoped that she had not heard； so that he could go away。
〃Knock louder；〃 she called out from under her bonnet。 〃I'm not sure that I heard you。〃
How sunny her voice was； how pure and sweet and remote from any suspicion of hovering harm！ It unshackled him as from a dreadful nightmare。
He broke into his old laughthe first time since he had stood there beforeand frankly took off his hat。
〃How did you know who it was？ You saw me coming！〃
〃Did I？ I don't like to contradict a stranger。〃
〃Am I a stranger？〃
〃What makes a stranger？ How long has it been since you were here？〃
〃A lifetime；〃 he replied gravely。 〃You are still living！ Will you walk into my parlour？〃
〃Will you meet me at the door？〃 It was so pleasant to seem gay； to say nothing； be nothing！ She came quietly over to the fence and gave him her hand with a little laugh。〃 〃You have holiday of Saturdays。 I have not； you see。 But I can take a recess： come in。 You are looking well！ Wounds agree with you。〃
He went trembling round to the gate； passed in； and they sat down on the bench。
〃How things grow in this soil；〃 she said pointing to the garden。 〃It has only been five or six weeks since you were here。 Do you remember？ I was planting the seed： now look at the plants！〃
〃I； too； was sowing that afternoon；〃 he replied musingly。 〃But my harvest ripened before yours； I have already reaped it。〃
〃What's that you are saying about me？〃 called out a hard； smooth voice from over the fence at their back。 〃I don't like to miss anything！〃
Amy had a piece of sewing； which she proceeded to spread upon the fence。
〃Will you show me about this； Aunt Jessica？〃
She greeted John without embarrassment or discernible remembrance of their last meeting。 Her fine blond hair was frowsy and a button was missing at the throat of her dress。 （Some women begin to let themselves go after marriage； some after the promise of marriage。） There were cake…crumbs also in one corner of her mouth。 〃These are some of my wedding clothes；〃 she said to him prettily。 〃Aren't they fine？〃
Mrs。 Falconer drew her attention for a moment and they began to measure the cloth over the back of her finger； counting the lengths under her breath。
Amy took a pin from the bosom of her dress and picked between her pearly teeth daintily。
〃Aunt Jessica；〃 she suddenly inquired with mischievous look at John； 〃before you were engaged to uncle； was there any one else you liked better？〃
With a terrible inward start； he shot a covert glance at her and dropped his eyes。 Mrs。 Falconer's answer was playful and serene。
〃It has been a long time； it's hard to remember。 But I've heard of such cases。〃
There was something in the reply that surprised Amy and she peeped under Mrs。 Falconer's bonnet to see what was going on。 She had learned that a great deal went on under that bonnet。 〃Well； after you were engaged to him； was there anybody else？〃
〃I don't think I remember。 But I've known of such cases。〃
Amy peeped again； and the better to see for herself hereafter； coolly lifted the bonnet off。 〃Well； after you were married to him；〃 she said； 〃was there anybody else？ I've known of such cases；〃 she added； with a dry imitation of the phrase。
〃You have made me forget my lengths；〃 said Mrs。 Falconer with unruffled innocence。 〃I'll have to measure again。〃 Amy turned to John with sparkling eyes。 〃Did you ever know a man who was in love with a married woman？〃
〃Yes；〃 said John； secretly writhing； but too truthful to say 〃no。〃
〃What did he do about it？〃 asked Amy。
〃I don't know；〃 replied John； shortly。 〃What do you think he ought to have done？ What would you do？〃 asked Amy。 〃I don't know；〃 replied John； more coolly； turning away his confused face。
Neither of you seems to know anything this afternoon；〃 observed Amy； 〃and I'd always been led to suppose that each of you knew everything。〃
As she departed with her sewing； she turned to send a final arrow； with some genuine feeling。 〃I think I'll send for uncle to come and talk tome。〃
〃Stay and talk to us；〃 Mrs。 Falconer called to her with a sincere； pitying laugh。 〃Come back！〃
Amy's questions had passed high over her head like a little flock of chattering birds they had struck him low； like bullets。
〃Go on；〃 she said quietly； when they were seated again； 〃what was it about the harvest？〃
He could not reply at once； and she let him sit in silence； looking across the garden while she took up her knitting from the end of the bench； and leaning lightly toward him； measured a few rows of stitches across his wrist。 It gave way under her touch。
〃These are your mittens for next winter；〃 she said softly； more softly than he had ever heard her speak。 And the quieting melody of her mere tone！how unlike that other voice which bored joyously into you as a bright gimlet twists its unfeeling head into wood。 He turned on her one quick； beautiful look of gratitude。
〃What was it about the harvest？〃 she repeated； forbearing to return his look； and thinking that all his embarrassment followed from the pain of having thus met Amy。
He began to speak very slowly： 〃The last time I was here I boasted that I had yet to meet my first great defeat in life 。 。 。 that there was nothing stronger in the world than a man's will and purpose 。 。 。 that if ideals got shattered； we shattered them 。 。 。 that I would go on doing with my life as I had planned； be what I wished； have what I wanted。〃
〃Well？〃 she urged； busy with her needles。
〃I know better now。〃
〃Aren't you the better for knowing better？〃 He made no reply； so that she began to say very simply and as a matter of course： 〃It's the defeat more than anything else that hurts you！ Defeat is always the hardest thing for you to stand； even in trifles。 But don't you know that we have to be defeated in order to succeed？ Most of us spend half our lives in fighting for things that would only destroy us if we got them。 A man who has never been defeated is usually a man who has been ruined。 And； of course；〃 she added with light raillery； 〃of course there are things stronger than the strongest will and purpose： the sum of other men's wills and purposes； for instance。 A single soldier may have all the will and purpose to whip an army； but he doesn't do it。 And a man may have all the will and purpose to whip the world； walk over it rough…shod； shoulder it out of his way as you'd like to do； but he doesn't do it。 And of course we do not shatter our ideals ourselvesalways： a thousand things outside ourselves do that for us。 And what reason h
