phyllis of philistia-第12章

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r。　What　was　his　wretched　little　story　of　Parliamentary　squalor　compared　with　these　psychological　subtleties　which　had　interested　his　daughter　all　the　evening？

He　listened　to　and　watched　that　lovely　thing；　overflowing　with　the　animation　that　comes　from　a　quick　intelligencea　keen　appreciation　of　the　intelligence　of　the　great　artists　who　had　interpreted　a　story　which　thrilled　the　imagination　of　generation　after　generation；　and　he　felt　that　Parliament　was　a　paltry　thing。　Parliamentwhat　was　Parliament？　The　wrangle　of　political　parties　over　a　paltry　issue。　It　had　no　real　life　in　it；　it　had　nothing　of　the　fullness　and　breadth　of　the　matters　that　interested　such　people　as　had　mindsimagination。

〃You　are　tired；〃　she　cried　at　last。　〃It　is　thoughtless　of　me　to　keep　you　out　of　your　bed。　You　have　had　a　weary　night；　I　am　sure。　Was　it　the　Irish　again；　or　the　horrid　teetotalers？〃

〃It　was　both；　my　dear；〃　said　he。　〃Phyllis；〃　he　added　solemnly；　〃an　Irish　teetotaler　is　a　fearful　thing。〃

〃You　shall　forget　all　the　intemperate　teetotalers　in　a　beautiful　sleep；〃　said　she；　putting　her　arms　around　his　neck。　〃Good…night；　papa！　It　was　so　thoughtless　of　me　to　keep　you　up。　It　is　one　o'clock。〃

〃It　appears　to　me　that　you　are　the　one　who　should　be　ready　to　succumb；〃　said　her　father。　〃I　had　nothing　to　stimulate　my　imagination。　Practical　politics　has　not　yet　discovered　a　good　working　reply　to　the　man　who　calls　his　fellow…man　a　liar；　so　the　political　outlook　is　not　very　cheering。〃

〃That　is　what　is　greatly　needed：　a　satisfactory　retortverbal；　of　courseto　that　every…day　assertion。〃

〃It　has　become　the　most　potent　influence　in　the　House　of　Commons；　during　the　past　year　or　two；　and　the　worst　of　the　matter　is　that　the　statement　is　nearly　always　correct。〃

〃Then　there　is　all　the　greater　need　for　a　/modus　vivendi/〃she　had　an　ample　acquaintance　with　the　jargon　of　diplomacy。　〃I　don't　despair　of　Parliament　being　able　to　suggest　an　efficient　retort。〃

〃Parliament：　two　ragamuffins　quarreling　up　an　entry　over　a　rotten　orange。　Good…night；　my　child！〃

She　was　at　last　in　her　own　room：　an　apartment　of　gracious…tinted　fabrics　and　pink　satin　panels；　of　tapestried　sofas　made　by　French　artists　before　the　lovely　daughter　of　Maria　Teresa　went　to　her　death。　She　switched　on　the　lights　in　the　candle　sconces；　and　threw　herself　down　upon　one　of　the　sofas。　Her　theater　wrap　and　fan　she　had　laid　over　a　chair。

It　was　not　to　the　drama　which　she　had　seen　superbly　acted　at　the　Parthenon　that　her　thoughts　went　out；　but　to　the　words　which　her　dearest　friend　had　spoken　when　driving　back　from　the　theater。

What　words　were　they？

She　could　not　recollect　them　now；　but　she　was　still　conscious　of　the　impression　which　they　had　produced　upon　her　while　they　were　being　spoken。　That　impression　was　that　up　to　that　instant　all　the　issues　of　her　life　had　been　unworthy　of　a　moment's　consideration。　She　had　taken　what　she　believed　to　be　a　deep　interest　in　many　matters　during　the　five　years　that　she　had　been　the　head　of　her　father's　house。　She　had；　she　knew；　been　of　the　greatest　help　to　her　father　in　his　political　life；　not　merely　turning　her　memory　to　good　account　in　discovering　the　incautious　phrases　in　the　speeches　of　the　men　who　were　foolish　enough　to　be　his　opponents；　but　actually　advising　him；　when　he　asked　her；　on　many　matters　about　which　the　newspapers　had　been　full。　Then　she　had　taken　an　active　part　in　more　than　one　of　those　〃movements〃　which　became　the　topic　of　a　London　season　until　compelled　by　an　invisible　but　all…powerful　authority　to　move　on　and　make　way　for　the　next　new　thing。　She　had　moved　with　every　movement；　and　had　proved　her　capacity　to　control　herself　when　the　movement　became　uncontrollable。　And　then　she　had　thought　how　worthy　a　position　in　life　would　be　that　of　the　wife　of　the　rector　of　a　church　like　St。　Chad's。

That　idea　had　remained　with　her；　as　had　already　been　said；　for　some　months；　until；　to　be　exact　in　regard　to　the　date；　the　other　young　women；　whom　she　had　been　watching　with　interest；　had　bought　their　brilliant　blouses　with　the　newest　and；　consequently；　most　abnormal　sleeves；　casting　aside　the　sober…hued　bodices　which　they　had　worn　in　hope。

How　paltry　were　all　these　aspirations；　these　undertakings！

That　was　what　was　dinning　in　her　ears　all　the　time　Ella　had　been　talking　in　the　carriage。

But　why；　why；　why　should　all　her　previous　interests；　including　the　consideration　of　the　questions　of　orthodoxy　and　the　other　thing；　seem　so　ridiculously　small　while　Ella　was　speaking？

That　was　the　question　which　puzzled　her。　Had　Ella　shown　her　a　way　to　something　better；　something　higher；　something　better　worthy　of　the　aspiration　of　a　woman？　She　could　not　say　that　that　had　been　the　drift　of　her　large　discourse。　What　she　had　said　had　actually　been　puzzling　in　its　vagueness；　its　daring　imagesall　images　are　vague；　its　allegoriesall　allegories　are　indefinite。

And　yetand　yetand　yet

With　a　motion　of　impatience　Phyllis　sprang　to　her　feet。　After　a　pause　she　went　to　a　little　satin…wood　cabinet　which　she　had　turned　into　a　bookshelf；　and　took　out　her　Bible。　She　had　never　slept　a　night　for　years　without　reading　a　chapter；　and　in　order　to　avert　the　possibility　of　her　own　feelings　or　fancies　of　the　moment　making　any　invidious　distinction　between　the　various　component　parts　of　a　book　which　is　profitable　in　every　line；　she　had　accustomed　herself　to　read　the　chapters　in　consecutive　order　from　The　Genesis　to　The　Revelation。　Sometimes；　when　she　found　herself　face　to　face　of　a　night　with　a　purely　genealogical　chapter；　Phyllis　of　Philistia　had　difficulty　in　crushing　down　her　unworthy　desire　to　turn　to　some　chapter　that　seemed　to　her　frail　judgment　to　contain　words　of　wider　comfort　to　the　children　of　men　than　a　genealogical　tree　of　the　Children　of　Israel；　but　she　had　never　yielded　to　so　unworthy　an　impulse。　Who　was　she　that　she　should　suggest　that　one　part　of　the　Sacred　Book　was　calculated　to　be　more　profitable　than　another？　Was　it　not　all　the　Bible？

She　had　plowed　her　way　through　the　slough　of　Hebrew　names　upon　these　occasions；　and　the　blessing　of　the　words　had　been　borne　to　her　in　the　form　of　a　sweet　sleep。

Her　chapter　for　this　night　was　that　which　describes　the　campaign　of　David；　during　which　he　and　his　hosts　were　besieged　in　their　earthworks；　and　how　the　three　mighty　men　had　made　a　sortie　through　the　camp　of　the　enemy　in　order　to　obtain　for　their　leader　a　cup　of　water。

She　continued　the　chapter　to　the　end；　but　all　through　it　those　words　were　ringing　in　her　ears：

〃It　is　the　price　of　blood；　it　is　the　price　of　blood。〃

And　as　she　knelt　down　beside　her　bed；　her　bare　white　feet　peeping　out　from　beneath　the　drapery　of　her　white　night…dress；　in　a　posture　that　would　have　made　the　most　human　atheist　believe　in　the　beauty　of　devotion；　those　words　were　still　in　her　ears：　〃The　price　of　blood；　the　price　of　blood。〃

Good　Heavens！　How　could　she　carry　that　feather　fan？　How　could　Ella　Linton　hold　it　up　to　her　facehold　her　face　down　to　it；　flutter　its　fairy　fluff　upon　her　cheeks？　It　was　the　price　of　blood。　Herbert　Courtland　had　run　a　greater　risk　to　obtain　those　feathers　than　David's　mighty　men　had　run　to　draw　the　water　from　the　well。　She　had　heard　all　about　the　insatiable　savagery　of　the　natives　of　New　Guinea。　Paradise？　Who　had　named　those　birds　the　birds　of　paradise？　She　recollected　how　the　feathers　which　Ella　had　whirled　about　had　held　in　the　very　center　of　every　wonderful　disc　of　rich　purple；　edged　with　unequal　radiating　lines　of　gold；　a　single　spot　of　brilliant　crimson；　with　a　tiny　star　of　silver　in　the　center。　The　effect　of　the　sunlight　glinting　over　this　combination　on　the　thousand　feathers　that　swept　after　the　bird　had　caused　Herbert　Courtland；　the　first　white　man　who　had　seen　this　glory　of　glories；　to　call　it　the　meteor…bird。　But　those　crimson　drops：　were　they　not　the　blood　of　the　men　who　had　perished　miserably　while　endeavoring　to　wrest　its　marvels　from　the　tropical　forests　of　that　great　island？

Paradise？

And　Ella　could　treat　those　feathers　as　though　they　had　been　plucked　from　a　tame　pheasant？　And　now　she　was　lying　in　her　bed　with　the　fan　on　the　pillow　beside　her！

How　could　she　do　it？　That　was　what　the　girl　asked　herself　while　she　lay　awake　on　her　own　bed。　Would　Ella　not　see；　on　the　white　pillow　beside　her　head；　the　crimson　stains　of　the　feathers　that　had　been　snatched　out　of　the　dripping　red　hand　of　death；　but　the　man　who　had　not　feared　to　grapple　with　death　itself　in　that　hell　which　people　called　a　paradise？

But　the　man；　the　man　who　had　gripped　death　by　the　throat　and　had　torn　the　feathers　from　his　grisly；　fleshless　fingers；her　imagination　was　very　vivid　at　night；　especially　after　reading　a　thrilling　chapter　of　Hebrew　massacre；that　man　had　talked　with　her　upon　such　trifles　as　books　and　plays；　strange　pageants　enacted　among　paper　and　canvas　unrealities　of　life。　She　had　actually　been　leaning　against　some　of　these　painted　scenes　while　the　man　who　had　fought　his　way　into　the　depths　of　that　forest　which　no　white　man　but　himself　had　yet　penetrated；the　man　whose　life　had；　day　by　day　and　night　by　night；　been　dependent　upon　the　accuracy　of　his　rifle　aim；had　talked　with　her。

That　was　really　the　sum　of　all　her　thoughts。　She　did　not　try　to　recall　the　words　that　he　had　spoken；　it　was　simply　the　figure　of　the　man　who　had　been　before　her　that　now　remained　on　her　mind。　She　did　not　stop　to　think　whether　or　not　he　had　spoken　as　a　man　with　intellect　would　speak；　whether　he　had　spoken　as　a　man　whose　orthodoxy　was　beyond　suspicion　would　speak。　The　question　of　his　orthodoxy；　of　his　intellect　（which　may　be　just　the　opposite）；　did　not　occur　to　her。　All　she　felt　was　that　she　had　been　talking　face　to　face　with　a　man。

So　that　the　result　of　her　evening's　entertainment；　after　she　had　read　her　inspiring　chapter　in　the　Bible　and　said　her　bedside　prayer；　she　might　have　defined　in　precisely　the　same　words　as　she　had　spoken　to　her　friend　Ella　when　Ella　had　asked　her；　immediately　on　entering　the　carriage；　what　she　thought　of　Herbert　Courtland。

〃He　is　the　bravest　man　in　the　world　at　present。〃

She　did　not　fall　asleep　for　a　considerable　time。



CHAPTER　XI。

I'M　AFRAID　THAT　I　MUST　HAVE　PRINCIPLE　ON　MY　SIDE。

〃It　is　quite　ridiculous；　besides　being　untrue；〃　said　Phyllis；　when　she　had　read　the　article　in　the　newspaper　to　which　her　father　called　her　attention　one　morning；　a　week　after　the　criticism　on　〃Cagliostro〃　had　appeared。　The　article　was　headed：

〃DYNAMITE　VERSUS　EVANGELIZATION；〃

and　it　came　out　in　a　weekly　paper　devoted　to　the　interests　of　Nonconformists。

　　〃It　is　with　the　deepest　regret　that　we　have　to　call　the　attention　　　of　our　readers　and　the　public　＇the　article　ran＇　to　the　series　of　　　charges　brought　by　the　Revs。　Joseph　Capper　and　Evans　Jones；　the　　　eminent　pioneers　of　the　Nonconformist　Eastern　Mission；　against　a　　　gentleman　to　whom　a　considerable　amount　of　honor　is　just　now　being　　　given　by　the　Royal　Geographical　Society；　the　Ethnological　　　Institute；　the　Ornithological　Association；　and　other　secular　　　organizations；　on　account　of　his　exploration　in　the　Island　of　New　　　Guinea。　It　is　scarcely　necessary　to　say　that　we　allude　to　Mr。　　　Herbert　Courtland。　The　position　which　has　been　occupied　for　　　several　years　by　the　two　distinguished　ministers　whose　self　　　sacrifice　in　ende