a death in the desert- 第4部分

stay　at　his　brother's　studio　when　Katharine　Gaylord　was　working



there；　and　how　he　had　wounded　Adriance　on　the　night　of　his　last



concert　in　New　York。　　He　had　sat　there　in　the　box　while　his



brother　and　Katharine　were　called　back　again　and　again　after　the



last　number；　watching　the　roses　go　up　over　the　footlights　until



they　were　stacked　half　as　high　as　the　piano；　brooding；　in　his



sullen　boy's　heart；　upon　the　pride　those　two　felt　in　each　other's



workspurring　each　other　to　their　best　and　beautifully



contending　in　song。　　The　footlights　had　seemed　a　hard；　glittering



line　drawn　sharply　between　their　life　and　his；　a　circle　of　flame



set　about　those　splendid　children　of　genius。　　He　walked　back　to



his　hotel　alone　and　sat　in　his　window　staring　out　on　Madison



Square　until　long　after　midnight；　resolving　to　beat　no　more　at



doors　that　he　could　never　enter　and　realizing　more　keenly　than



ever　before　how　far　this　glorious　world　of　beautiful　creations



lay　from　the　paths　of　men　like　himself。　　He　told　himself　that　he



had　in　common　with　this　woman　only　the　baser　uses　of　life。







Everett's　week　in　Cheyenne　stretched　to　three；　and　he　saw　no



prospect　of　release　except　through　the　thing　he　dreaded。　　The



bright；　windy　days　of　the　Wyoming　autumn　passed　swiftly。　　Letters



and　telegrams　came　urging　him　to　hasten　his　trip　to　the　coast；



but　he　resolutely　postponed　his　business　engagements。　　The



mornings　he　spent　on　one　of　Charley　Gaylord's　ponies；　or　fishing



in　the　mountains；　and　in　the　evenings　he　sat　in　his　room　writing



letters　or　reading。　　In　the　afternoon　he　was　usually　at　his　post



of　duty。　　Destiny；　he　reflected；　seems　to　have　very　positive



notions　about　the　sort　of　parts　we　are　fitted　to　play。　　The　scene



changes　and　the　compensation　varies；　but　in　the　end　we　usually



find　that　we　have　played　the　same　class　of　business　from　first　to



last。　　Everett　had　been　a　stopgap　all　his　life。　　He　remembered



going　through　a　looking　glass　labyrinth　when　he　was　a　boy　and



trying　gallery　after　gallery；　only　at　every　turn　to　bump　his　nose



against　his　own　facewhich；　indeed；　was　not　his　own；　but　his



brother's。　　No　matter　what　his　mission；　east　or　west；　by　land　or



sea；　he　was　sure　to　find　himself　employed　in　his　brother's



business；　one　of　the　tributary　lives　which　helped　to　swell　the



shining　current　of　Adriance　Hilgarde's。　　It　was　not　the　first



time　that　his　duty　had　been　to　comfort；　as　best　he　could；　one　of



the　broken　things　his　brother's　imperious　speed　had　cast　aside



and　forgotten。　　He　made　no　attempt　to　analyze　the　situation　or　to



state　it　in　exact　terms；　but　he　felt　Katharine　Gaylord's　need　for



him；　and　he　accepted　it　as　a　commission　from　his　brother　to　help



this　woman　to　die。　　Day　by　day　he　felt　her　demands　on　him　grow



more　imperious；　her　need　for　him　grow　more　acute　and　positive；



and　day　by　day　he　felt　that　in　his　peculiar　relation　to　her　his



own　individuality　played　a　smaller　and　smaller　part。　　His　power



to　minister　to　her　comfort；　he　saw；　lay　solely　in　his　link　with



his　brother's　life。　　He　understood　all　that　his　physical



resemblance　meant　to　her。　　He　knew　that　she　sat　by　him　always



watching　for　some　common　trick　of　gesture；　some　familiar　play　of



expression；　some　illusion　of　light　and　shadow；　in　which　he　should



seem　wholly　Adriance。　　He　knew　that　she　lived　upon　this　and　that



her　disease　fed　upon　it；　that　it　sent　shudders　of　remembrance



through　her　and　that　in　the　exhaustion　which　followed　this



turmoil　of　her　dying　senses；　she　slept　deep　and　sweet　and



dreamed　of　youth　and　art　and　days　in　a　certain　old　Florentine



garden；　and　not　of　bitterness　and　death。







The　question　which　most　perplexed　him　was；　〃How　much　shall　I



know？　　How　much　does　she　wish　me　to　know？〃　　A　few　days　after　his



first　meeting　with　Katharine　Gaylord；　he　had　cabled　his　brother



to　write　her。　　He　had　merely　said　that　she　was　mortally　ill；　he



could　depend　on　Adriance　to　say　the　right　thingthat　was　a　part



of　his　gift。　　Adriance　always　said　not　only　the　right　thing；　but



the　opportune；　graceful；　exquisite　thing。　　His　phrases　took　the



color　of　the　moment　and　the　then…present　condition；　so　that　they



never　savored　of　perfunctory　compliment　or　frequent　usage。　　He



always　caught　the　lyric　essence　of　the　moment；　the　poetic



suggestion　of　every　situation。　　Moreover；　he　usually　did　the



right　thing；　the　opportune；　graceful；　exquisite　thingexcept；



when　he　did　very　cruel　thingsbent　upon　making　people　happy



when　their　existence　touched　his；　just　as　he　insisted　that　his



material　environment　should　be　beautiful；　lavishing　upon　those



near　him　all　the　warmth　and　radiance　of　his　rich　nature；　all　the



homage　of　the　poet　and　troubadour；　and；　when　they　were　no　longer



near；　forgettingfor　that　also　was　a　part　of　Adriance's　gift。







Three　weeks　after　Everett　had　sent　his　cable；　when　he　made



his　daily　call　at　the　gaily　painted　ranch　house；　he　found



Katharine　laughing　like　a　schoolgirl。　　〃Have　you　ever　thought；〃



she　said；　as　he　entered　the　music　room；　〃how　much　these　seances



of　ours　are　like　Heine's　'Florentine　Nights；'　except　that　I　don't



give　you　an　opportunity　to　monopolize　the　conversation　as　Heine



did？〃　　She　held　his　hand　longer　than　usual；　as　she　greeted　him；



and　looked　searchingly　up　into　his　face。　　〃You　are　the　kindest



man　living；　the　kindest；〃　she　added；　softly。







Everett's　gray　face　colored　faintly　as　he　drew　his　hand



away；　for　he　felt　that　this　time　she　was　looking　at　him　and　not



at　a　whimsical　caricature　of　his　brother。　　〃Why；　what　have　I　done



now？〃　he　asked；　lamely。　　〃I　can't　remember　having　sent　you　any



stale　candy　or　champagne　since　yesterday。〃







She　drew　a　letter　with　a　foreign　postmark　from　between



the　leaves　of　a　book　and　held　it　out；　smiling。　　〃You　got　him　to



write　it。　　Don't　say　you　didn't；　for　it　came　direct；　you　see；　and



the　last　address　I　gave　him　was　a　place　in　Florida。　　This　deed



shall　be　remembered　of　you　when　I　am　with　the　just　in　Paradise。



But　one　thing　you　did　not　ask　him　to　do；　for　you　didn't　know　about



it。　　He　has　sent　me　his　latest　work；　the　new　sonata；　the　most



ambitious　thing　he　has　ever　done；　and　you　are　to　play　it　for　me



directly；　though　it　looks　horribly　intricate。　　But　first　for　the



letter；　I　think　you　would　better　read　it　aloud　to　me。〃







Everett　sat　down　in　a　low　chair　facing　the　window　seat　in



which　she　reclined　with　a　barricade　of　pillows　behind　her。　　He



opened　the　letter；　his　lashes　half…veiling　his　kind　eyes；　and　saw



to　his　satisfaction　that　it　was　a　long　onewonderfully　tactful



and　tender；　even　for　Adriance；　who　was　tender　with　his　valet　and



his　stable　boy；　with　his　old　gondolier　and　the　beggar…women　who



prayed　to　the　saints　for　him。







The　letter　was　from　Granada；　written　in　the　Alhambra；　as　he



sat　by　the　fountain　of　the　Patio　di　Lindaraxa。　　The　air　was



heavy；　with　the　warm　fragrance　of　the　South　and　full　of　the　sound



of　splashing；　running　water；　as　it　had　been　in　a　certain　old



garden　in　Florence；　long　ago。　　The　sky　was　one　great　turquoise；



heated　until　it　glowed。　　The　wonderful　Moorish　arches　threw



graceful　blue　shadows　all　about　him。　　He　had　sketched　an　outline



of　them　on　the　margin　of　his　notepaper。　　The　subtleties　of　Arabic



decoration　had　cast　an　unholy　spell　over　him；　and　the　brutal



exaggerations　of　Gothic　art　were　a　bad　dream；　easily　forgotten。　



The　Alhambra　itself　had；　from　the　first；　seemed　perfectly



familiar　to　him；　and　he　knew　that　he　must　have　trod　that　court；



sleek　and　brown　and　obsequious；　centuries　before　Ferdinand　rode



into　Andalusia。　　The　letter　was　full　of　confidences　about　his



work；　and　delicate　allusions　to　their　old　happy　days　of　study　and



comradeship；　and　of　her　own　work；　still　so　warmly　remembered　and



appreciatively　discussed　everywhere　he　went。







As　Everett　folded　the　letter　he　felt　that　Adriance　had



divined　the　thing　needed　and　had　risen　to　it　in　his　own　wonderful



way。　　The　letter　was　consistently　egotistical　and　seemed　to　him



even　a　trifle　patronizing；　yet　it　was　just　what　she　had



wanted。　　A　strong　realization　of　his　brother's　charm　and　intensity



and　power　came　over　him；　he　felt　the　breath　of　that　whirlwind　of



flame　in　which　Adriance　passed；　consuming　all　in　his　path；　and



himself　even　more　resolutely　than　he　consumed　others。　　Then　he



looked　down　at　this　white；　burnt…out　brand　that　lay　before　him。



〃Like　him；　isn't　it？〃　she　said；　quietly。







〃I　think　I　can　scarcely　answer　his　letter；　but　when　you　see



him　next　you　can　do　that　for　me。　　I　want　you　to　tell　him　many



things　for　me；　yet　they　can　all　be　summed　up　in　this：　I　want　him



to　grow　wholly　into　his　best　and　greatest　self；　even　at　the　cost



of　the　dear　boyishness　that　is　half　his　charm　to　you　and　me。　　Do



you　understand　me？〃







〃I　know　perfectly　well　what　you　mean；〃　answered　Everett；



thoughtfully。　　〃I　have　often　felt　so　about　him　myself。　　And　yet



it's　difficult　to　prescribe　for　those　fellows；　so　little　makes；



so　little　mars。〃







Katharine　raised　herself　upon　her　elbow；　and　her　face



flushed　with　feverish　earnestness。　　〃Ah；　but　it　is　the　waste　of



himself　that　I　mean；　his　lashing　himself　out　on　stupid　and



uncomprehending　people　until　they　take　him　at　their　own　estimate。　



He　can　kindle　marble；　strike　fire　from　putty；　but　is　it　worth



what　it　costs　him？〃







〃Come；　come；〃　expostulated　Everett；　alarmed　at　her　excitement。　



〃Where　is　the　new　sonata？　　Let