malvina of brittany-第28章
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parents。 I think it was to visit some relative。 One day we went
into the castle。 It was in ruins then； but has since been restored。
We were in what was once the council chamber。 I stole away by
myself to the other end of the great room and； not knowing why I did
so； I touched a spring concealed in the masonry； and a door swung
open with a harsh； grinding noise。 I remember peering round the
opening。 The others had their backs towards me； and I slipped
through and closed the door behind me。 I seemed instinctively to
know my way。 I ran down a flight of steps and along dark corridors
through which I had to feel my way with my hands； till I came to a
small door in an angle of the wall。 I knew the room that lay the
other side。 A photograph was taken of it and published years
afterwards； when the place was discovered； and it was exactly as I
knew it with its way out underneath the city wall through one of the
small houses in the Aussermarkt。
〃I could not open the door。 Some stones had fallen against it； and
fearing to get punished； I made my way back into the council room。
It was empty when I reached it。 They were searching for me in the
other rooms； and I never told them of my adventure。〃
At any other time I might have laughed。 Later； recalling his talk
that evening； I dismissed the whole story as mere suggestion； based
upon the imagination of a child； but at the time those strangely
brilliant eyes had taken possession of me。 They remained still
fixed upon me as I sat on the low rail of the veranda watching his
white face； into which the hues of death seemed already to be
creeping。
I had a feeling that； through them； he was trying to force
remembrance of himself upon me。 The man himselfthe very soul of
himseemed to be concentrated in them。 Something formless and yet
distinct was visualising itself before me。 It came to me as a
physical relief when a spasm of pain caused him to turn his eyes
away from me。
〃You will find a letter when I am gone；〃 he went on； after a
moment's silence。 〃I thought that you might come too late； or that
I might not have strength enough to tell you。 I felt that out of
the few people I have met outside business； you would be the most
likely not to dismiss the matter as mere nonsense。 What I am glad
of myself； and what I wish you to remember； is that I am dying with
all my faculties about me。 The one thing I have always feared
through life was old age； with its gradual mental decay。 It has
always seemed to me that I have died more or less suddenly while
still in possession of my will。 I have always thanked God for
that。〃
He closed his eyes； but I do not think he was sleeping； and a little
later the nurse returned； and we carried him indoors。 I had no
further conversation with him； though at his wish during the
following two days I continued to read to him； and on the third day
he died。
I found the letter he had spoken of。 He had told me where it would
be。 It contained a bundle of banknotes which he was giving meso
he wrotewith the advice to get rid of them as quickly as possible。
〃If I had not loved you；〃 the letter continued； 〃I would have left
you an income； and you would have blessed me； instead of cursing me；
as you should have done； for spoiling your life。〃
This world was a school； so he viewed it； for the making of men； and
the one thing essential to a man was strength。 One gathered the
impression of a deeply religious man。 In these days he would； no
doubt； have been claimed as a theosophist； but his beliefs he had
made for； and adapted to； himselfto his vehement； conquering
temperament。 God needed men to serve Himto help Him。 So； through
many changes； through many ages； God gave men life： that by contest
and by struggle they might ever increase in strength； to those who
proved themselves most fit the sterner task； the humbler beginnings；
the greater obstacles。 And the crown of well…doing was ever
victory。 He appeared to have convinced himself that he was one of
the chosen； that he was destined for great ends。 He had been a
slave in the time of the Pharaohs； a priest in Babylon； had clung to
the swaying ladders in the sack of Rome； had won his way into the
councils when Europe was a battlefield of contending tribes； had
climbed to power in the days of the Borgias。
To most of us； I suppose； there come at odd moments haunting
thoughts of strangely familiar； far…off things； and one wonders
whether they are memories or dreams。 We dismiss them as we grow
older and the present with its crowding interests shuts them out；
but in youth they were more persistent。 With him they appeared to
have remained； growing in reality。 His recent existence； closed
under the white sheet in the hut behind me as I read； was only one
chapter of the story； he was looking forward to the next。
He wondered； so the letter ran； whether he would have any voice in
choosing it。 In either event he was curious of the result。 What he
anticipated confidently were new opportunities； wider experience。
In what shape would these come to him？
The letter ended with a strange request。 It was that； on returning
to England； I should continue to think of him： not of the dead man
I had known； the Jewish banker； the voice familiar to me； the trick
of speech； of mannerall such being but the changing clothesbut
of the man himself； the soul of him； that would seek and perhaps
succeed in revealing itself to me。
A postscript concluded the letter； to which at the time I attached
no importance。 He had made a purchase of the hut in which he had
died。 After his removal it was to remain empty。
I folded the letter and placed it among other papers； and passing
into the hut took a farewell glance at the massive； rugged face。
The mask might have served a sculptor for the embodiment of
strength。 He gave one the feeling that having conquered death he
was sleeping。
I did what he had requested of me。 Indeed； I could not help it。 I
thought of him constantly。 That may have been the explanation of
it。
I was bicycling through Norfolk； and one afternoon； to escape a
coming thunderstorm； I knocked at the door of a lonely cottage on
the outskirts of a common。 The woman； a kindly bustling person；
asked me in； and hoping I would excuse her； as she was busy ironing；
returned to her work in another room。 I thought myself alone； and
was standing at the window watching the pouring rain。 After a
while； without knowing why； I turned。 And then I saw a child seated
on a high chair behind a table in a dark corner of the room。 A book
of pictures was open before it； but it was looking at me。 I could
hear the sound of the woman at her ironing in the other room。
Outside there was the steady thrashing of the rain。 The child was
looking at me with large； round eyes filled with a terrible pathos。
I noticed that the little body was misshapen。 It never moved； it
made no sound； but I had the feeling that out of those strangely
wistful eyes something was trying to speak to me。 Something was
forming itself before menot visible to my sight； but it was there；
in the room。 It was the man I had last looked upon as； dying； he
sat beside me in the hut below the Jungfrau。 But something had
happened to him。 Moved by instinct I went over to him and lifted
him out of his chair； and with a sob the little wizened arms closed
round my neck and he clung to me cryinga pitiful； low； wailing
cry。
Hearing his cry； the woman came back。 A comely； healthy…looking
woman。 She took him from my arms and comforted him。
〃He gets a bit sorry for himself at times；〃 she explained。 〃At
least； so I fancy。 You see； he can't run about like other children；
or do anything without getting pains。〃
〃Was it an accident？〃 I asked。
〃No；〃 she answered； 〃and his father as fine a man as you would find
in a day's march。 Just a visitation of God； as they tell me。 Sure
I don't know why。 There never was a better little lad； and clever；
too； when he's not in pain。 Draws wonderfully。〃
The storm had passed。 He grew quieter in her arms； and when I had
promised to come again and bring him a new picture…book； a little
grateful
