a first family of tasajara-第30章

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she　wanted　the　blue　shade　of　the　lamp　to　correct　that　dreadful

glare。





CHAPTER　XII。





John　Milton　had　rowed　back　without　lifting　his　eyes　to　Mrs。

Ashwood's　receding　figure。　　He　believed　that　he　was　right　in

declining　her　invitation；　although　he　had　a　miserable　feeling　that

it　entailed　seeing　her　for　the　last　time。　　With　all　that　he

believed　was　his　previous　experience　of　the　affections；　he　was

still　so　untutored　as　to　be　confused　as　to　his　reasons　for

declining；　or　his　right　to　have　been　shocked　and　disappointed　at

her　manner。　　It　seemed　to　him　sufficiently　plain　that　he　had

offended　the　most　perfect　woman　he　had　ever　known　without　knowing

more。　　The　feeling　he　had　for　her　was　none　the　less　powerful

because；　in　his　great　simplicity；　it　was　vague　and　unformulated。

And　it　was　a　part　of　this　strange　simplicity　that　in　his　miserable

loneliness　his　thoughts　turned　unconsciously　to　his　dead　wife　for

sympathy　and　consolation。　　Loo　would　have　understood　him！



Mr。　Fletcher；　who　had　received　him　on　his　arrival　with　singular

effusiveness　and　cordiality；　had　put　off　their　final　arrangements

until　after　dinner；　on　account　of　pressing　business。　　It　was

therefore　with　some　surprise　that　an　hour　before　the　time　he　was

summoned　to　Fletcher's　room。　　He　was　still　more　surprised　to　find

him　sitting　at　his　desk；　from　which　a　number　of　business　papers　and

letters　had　been　hurriedly　thrust　aside　to　make　way　for　a　manuscript。

A　single　glance　at　it　was　enough　to　show　the　unhappy　John　Milton

that　it　was　the　one　he　had　sent　to　Mrs。　Ashwood。　　The　color　flashed

to　his　cheek　and　he　felt　a　mist　before　his　eyes。　　His　employer's

face；　on　the　contrary；　was　quite　pale；　and　his　eyes　were　fixed　on

Harcourt　with　a　singular　intensity。　　His　voice　too；　although　under

great　control；　was　hard　and　strange。



〃Read　that；〃　he　said；　handing　the　young　man　a　letter。



The　color　again　streamed　into　John　Milton's　face　as　he　recognized

the　hand　of　Mrs。　Ashwood；　and　remained　there　while　he　read　it。

When　he　put　it　down；　however；　he　raised　his　frank　eyes　to

Fletcher's；　and　said　with　a　certain　dignity　and　manliness：　〃What

she　says　is　the　truth；　sir。　　But　it　is　I　alone　who　am　at　fault。

This　manuscript　is　merely　MY　stupid　idea　of　a　very　simple　story　she

was　once　kind　enough　to　tell　me　when　we　were　talking　of　strange

occurrences　in　real　life；　which　she　thought　I　might　some　time　make

use　of　in　my　work。　　I　tried　to　embellish　it；　and　failed。　　That's

all。　　I　will　take　it　back；it　was　written　only　for　her。〃



There　was　such　an　irresistible　truthfulness　and　sincerity　in　his

voice　and　manner；　that　any　idea　of　complicity　with　the　sender　was

dismissed　from　Fletcher's　mind。　　As　Harcourt；　however；　extended　his

hand　for　the　manuscript　Fletcher　interfered。



〃You　forget　that　you　gave　it　to　her；　and　she　has　sent　it　to　me。　　If

I　don't　keep　it；　it　can　be　returned　to　her　only。　　Now　may　I　ask　who

is　this　lady　who　takes　such　an　interest　in　your　literary　career？

Have　you　known　her　long？　　Is　she　a　friend　of　your　family？〃



The　slight　sneer　that　accompanied　his　question　restored　the　natural

color　to　the　young　man's　face；　but　kindled　his　eye　ominously。



〃No；〃　he　said　briefly。　　〃I　met　her　accidentally　about　two　months

ago　and　as　accidentally　found　out　that　she　had　taken　an　interest　in

one　of　the　first　things　I　ever　wrote　for　your　paper。　　She　neither

knew　you　nor　me。　　It　was　then　that　she　told　me　this　story；　she　did

not　even　then　know　who　I　was；　though　she　had　met　some　of　my　family。

She　was　very　good　and　has　generously　tried　to　help　me。〃



Fletcher's　eyes　remained　fixed　upon　him。



〃But　this　tells　me　only　WHAT　she　is；　not　WHO　she　is。〃



〃I　am　afraid　you　must　inquire　of　her　brother；　Mr。　Shipley；〃　said

Harcourt　curtly。



〃Shipley？〃



〃Yes；　he　is　traveling　with　her　for　his　health；　and　they　are　going

south　when　the　rains　come。　　They　are　wealthy　Philadelphians；　I

believe；　andand　she　is　a　widow。〃



Fletcher　picked　up　her　note　and　glanced　again　at　the　signature；

〃Constance　Ashwood。〃　　There　was　a　moment　of　silence；　when　he

resumed　in　quite　a　different　voice：　〃It's　odd　I　never　met　them　nor

they　me。〃



As　he　seemed　to　be　waiting　for　a　response；　John　Milton　said　simply：

〃I　suppose　it's　because　they　have　not　been　here　long；　and　are

somewhat　reserved。〃



Mr。　Fletcher　laid　aside　the　manuscript　and　letter；　and　took　up　his

apparently　suspended　work。



〃When　you　see　this　Mrs。Mrs。　Ashwood　again；　you　might　say〃



〃I　shall　not　see　her　again；〃　interrupted　John　Milton　hastily。



Mr。　Fletcher　shrugged　his　shoulders。　　〃Very　well；〃　he　said　with　a

peculiar　smile；　〃I　will　write　to　her。　　Now；　Mr。　Harcourt；〃　he

continued　with　a　sudden　business　brevity；　〃if　you　please；　we'll

drop　this　affair　and　attend　to　the　matter　for　which　I　just　summoned

you。　　Since　yesterday　an　important　contract　for　which　I　have　been

waiting　is　concluded；　and　its　performance　will　take　me　East　at

once。　　I　have　made　arrangements　that　you　will　be　left　in　the

literary　charge　of　the　'Clarion。'　　It　is　only　a　fitting　recompense

that　the　paper　owes　to　you　and　your　father；to　whom　I　hope　to　see

you　presently　reconciled。　　But　we　won't　discuss　that　now！　　As　my

affairs　take　me　back　to　Los　Gatos　within　half　an　hour；　I　am　sorry　I

cannot　dispense　my　hospitality　in　person；but　you　will　dine　and

sleep　here　to…night。　　Good…by。　　As　you　go　out　will　you　please　send

up　Mr。　Jackson　to　me。〃　　He　nodded　briefly；　seemed　to　plunge

instantly　into　his　papers　again；　and　John　Milton　was　glad　to

withdraw。



The　shock　he　had　felt　at　Mrs。　Ashwood's　frigid　disposition　of　his

wishes　and　his　manuscript　had　benumbed　him　to　any　enjoyment　or

appreciation　of　the　change　in　his　fortune。　　He　wandered　out　of　the

house　and　descended　to　the　beach　in　a　dazed；　bewildered　way；　seeing

only　the　words　of　her　letter　to　Fletcher　before　him；　and　striving

to　grasp　some　other　meaning　from　them　than　their　coldly　practical

purport。　　Perhaps　this　was　her　cruel　revenge　for　his　telling　her

not　to　write　to　him。　　Could　she　not　have　divined　it　was　only　his

fear　of　what　she　might　say！　　And　now　it　was　all　over！　　She　had

washed　her　hands　of　him　with　the　sending　of　that　manuscript　and

letter；　and　he　would　pass　out　of　her　memory　as　a　foolish；　conceited

ingrate；perhaps　a　figure　as　wearily　irritating　and　stupid　to　her

as　the　cousin　she　had　known。　　He　mechanically　lifted　his　eyes　to

the　distant　hotel；　the　glow　was　still　in　the　western　sky；　but　the

blue　lamp　was　already　shining　in　the　window。　　His　cheek　flushed

quickly；　and　he　turned　away　as　if　she　could　have　seen　his　face。

Yesshe　despised　him；　and　THAT　was　his　answer！



When　he　returned；　Mr。　Fletcher　had　gone。　　He　dragged　through　a

dinner　with　Mr。　Jackson；　Fletcher's　secretary；　and　tried　to　realize

his　good　fortune　in　listening　to　the　subordinate's　congratulations。

〃But　I　thought；〃　said　Jackson；　〃you　had　slipped　up　on　your　luck　to…

day；　when　the　old　man　sent　for　you。　　He　was　quite　white；　and　ready

to　rip　out　about　something　that　had　just　come　in。　　I　suppose　it　was

one　of　those　anonymous　things　against　your　father；the　old　man's

dead　set　against　'em　now。〃　　But　John　Milton　heard　him　vaguely；　and

presently　excused　himself　for　a　row　on　the　moonlit　bay。



The　active　exertion；　with　intervals　of　placid　drifting　along　the

land…locked　shore；　somewhat　soothed　him。　　The　heaving　Pacific

beyond　was　partly　hidden　in　a　low　creeping　fog；　but　the　curving　bay

was　softly　radiant。　　The　rocks　whereon　she　sat　that　morning；　the

hotel　where　she　was　now　quietly　reading；　were　outlined　in　black　and

silver。　　In　this　dangerous　contiguity　it　seemed　to　him　that　her

presence　returned；not　the　woman　who　had　met　him　so　coldly；　who

had　penned　those　lines；　the　woman　from　whom　he　was　now　parting

forever；　but　the　blameless　ideal　he　had　worshiped　from　the　first；

and　which　he　now　felt　could　never　pass　out　of　his　life　again！　　He

recalled　their　long　talks；　their　rarer　rides　and　walks　in　the　city；

her　quick　appreciation　and　ready　sympathy；　her　pretty　curiosity　and

half…maternal　consideration　of　his　foolish　youthful　past；　even　the

playful　way　that　she　sometimes　seemed　to　make　herself　younger　as　if

to　better　understand　him。　　Lingering　at　times　in　the　shadow　of　the

headland；　he　fancied　he　saw　the　delicate　nervous　outlines　of　her

face　near　his　own　again；　the　faint　shading　of　her　brown　lashes；　the

soft　intelligence　of　her　gray　eyes。　　Drifting　idly　in　the　placid

moonlight；　pulling　feverishly　across　the　swell　of　the　channel；　or

lying　on　his　oars　in　the　shallows　of　the　rocks；　but　always　following

the　curves　of　the　bay；　like　a　bird　circling　around　a　lighthouse；　it

was　far　in　the　night　before　he　at　last　dragged　his　boat　upon　the

sand。　　Then　he　turned　to　look　once　more　at　her　distant　window。　　He

would　be　away　in　the　morning　and　he　should　never　see　it　again！　　It

was　very　late；　but　the　blue　light　seemed　to　be　still　burning

unalterably　and　inflexibly。



But　even　as　he　gazed；　a　change　came　over　it。　　A　shadow　seemed　to

pass　before　the　blind；　the　blue　shade　was　lifted；　for　an　instant　he

could　see　the　colorless　star…like　point　of　the　light　itself　show

clearly。　　It　was　over　now；　she　was　putting　out　the　lamp。　　Suddenly

he　held　his　breath！　　A　roseate　glow　gradually　suffused　the　window

like　a　burning　blush；　the　curtain　was　drawn　aside；　and　the　red

lamp…shade　gleamed　out　surely　and　steadily　into　the　darkness。



Transfigured　and　breathless　in　the　moonlight；　John　Milton　gazed　on

it。　　It　seemed　to　him　the　dawn　of　Love！





CHAPTER　XIII。





The　winter　rains　had　come。　　But　so　plenteously　and　persistently；

and　with　such　fateful　preparation　of　circumstance；　that　the　long

looked　for　blessing　presently　became　a　wonder；　an　anxiety；　and　at

last　a　slowly　widening　terror。　　Before　a　month　had　passed　every

mountain；　stream；　and　watercourse；　surcharged　with　the　melted　snows

of　the　Sierras；　had　become　a　great　tributary；　every　tributary　a

great　river；　until；　pouring　their　great　volume　into　the　engorged

channels　of　the　American　and　Sacramento　rivers；　they　overleaped

their　banks　and　became　as　one　vast　inland　sea。　　Even　to　a　country

already　familiar　with　broad　and　striking　catastrophe；　the　flood　was

a　phenomenal　one。　　For　days　the　sullen　overflow　lay　in　the　valley

of　the　Sacramento；　enormous；　silent；　currentlessexcept　where　the

surplus　waters　rolled　through　Carquinez　Straits；　San　Francisco　Bay；

and　the　Golden　Gate；　and　reappeared　as　the　vanished　Sacramento

River；　in　an　outflowing　stream　of　fresh　and　turbid　water　fifty

miles　at　sea。



Across　the　vast　inland　expanse；　brooded　over　by　a　leaden　sky；　leaden

rain　fell；　dimpling　like　shot　the　sluggish　pools　of　the　flood；　a

cloudy　chaos　of　fallen　trees；　drifting　barns　and　outhouses；　wagons

and　agricultural　implements　moved　over　the　surface　of　the　waters；　or

circled　slowly　around　the　outskirts　of　forests　that　stood　ankle　deep

in　ooze　and　the　current；　which　in　serried　phal