the man of the forest-第46章
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was habit for him and needed no application of mind。
And Dale； like some men of lonely wilderness lives who did
not retrograde toward the savage； was a thinker。 Love made
him a sufferer。
The surprise and shame of his unconscious surrender； the
certain hopelessness of it； the long years of communion with
all that was wild； lonely； and beautiful； the wonderfully
developed insight into nature's secrets； and the
sudden…dawning revelation that he was no omniscient being
exempt from the ruthless ordinary destiny of man all
these showed him the strength of his manhood and of his
passion； and that the life he had chosen was of all lives
the one calculated to make love sad and terrible。
Helen Rayner haunted him。 In the sunlight there was not a
place around camp which did not picture her lithe； vigorous
body； her dark； thoughtful eyes； her eloquent； resolute
lips； and the smile that was so sweet and strong。 At night
she was there like a slender specter； pacing beside him
under the moaning pines。 Every camp…fire held in its heart
the glowing white radiance of her spirit。
Nature had taught Dale to love solitude and silence； but
love itself taught him their meaning。 Solitude had been
created for the eagle on his crag； for the blasted mountain
fir； lonely and gnarled on its peak； for the elk and the
wolf。 But it had not been intended for man。 And to live
always in the silence of wild places was to become obsessed
with self to think and dream to be happy； which state；
however pursued by man； was not good for him。 Man must be
given imperious longings for the unattainable。
It needed； then； only the memory of an unattainable woman to
render solitude passionately desired by a man； yet almost
unendurable。 Dale was alone with his secret； and every pine；
everything in that park saw him shaken and undone。
In the dark； pitchy deadness of night； when there was no
wind and the cold on the peaks had frozen the waterfall；
then the silence seemed insupportable。 Many hours that
should have been given to slumber were paced out under the
cold； white； pitiless stars； under the lonely pines。
Dale's memory betrayed him； mocked his restraint； cheated
him of any peace； and his imagination； sharpened by love；
created pictures； fancies； feelings； that drove him frantic。
He thought of Helen Rayner's strong； shapely brown hand。 In
a thousand different actions it haunted him。 How quick and
deft in camp…fire tasks！ how graceful and swift as she
plaited her dark hair！ how tender and skilful in its
ministration when one of his pets had been injured！ how
eloquent when pressed tight against her breast in a moment
of fear on the dangerous heights！ how expressive of
unutterable things when laid on his arm！
Dale saw that beautiful hand slowly creep up his arm； across
his shoulder； and slide round his neck to clasp there。 He
was powerless to inhibit the picture。 And what he felt then
was boundless； unutterable。 No woman had ever yet so much as
clasped his hand； and heretofore no such imaginings had ever
crossed his mind； yet deep in him； somewhere hidden； had
been this waiting； sweet； and imperious need。 In the bright
day he appeared to ward off such fancies； but at night he
was helpless。 And every fancy left him weaker； wilder。
When； at the culmination of this phase of his passion； Dale；
who had never known the touch of a woman's lips； suddenly
yielded to the illusion of Helen Rayner's kisses； he found
himself quite mad； filled with rapture and despair； loving
her as he hated himself。 It seemed as if he had experienced
all these terrible feelings in some former life and had
forgotten them in this life。 He had no right to think of
her； but he could not resist it。 Imagining the sweet
surrender of her lips was a sacrilege； yet here； in spite of
will and honor and shame； he was lost。
Dale； at length； was vanquished； and he ceased to rail at
himself； or restrain his fancies。 He became a dreamy；
sad…eyed； camp…fire gazer； like many another lonely man；
separated； by chance or error； from what the heart hungered
most for。 But this great experience； when all its
significance had clarified in his mind； immeasurably
broadened his understanding of the principles of nature
applied to life。
Love had been in him stronger than in most men； because of
his keen； vigorous； lonely years in the forest； where health
of mind and body were intensified and preserved。 How simple；
how natural； how inevitable！ He might have loved any
fine…spirited； healthy…bodied girl。 Like a tree shooting its
branches and leaves； its whole entity； toward the sunlight；
so had he grown toward a woman's love。 Why？ Because the
thing he revered in nature； the spirit； the universal； the
life that was God； had created at his birth or before his
birth the three tremendous instincts of nature to fight
for life； to feed himself； to reproduce his kind。 That was
all there was to it。 But oh！ the mystery； the beauty； the
torment； and the terror of this third instinct this
hunger for the sweetness and the glory of a woman's love！
CHAPTER XVI
Helen Rayner dropped her knitting into her lap and sat
pensively gazing out of the window over the bare yellow
ranges of her uncle's ranch。
The winter day was bright； but steely； and the wind that
whipped down from the white…capped mountains had a keen；
frosty edge。 A scant snow lay in protected places； cattle
stood bunched in the lee of ridges； low sheets of dust
scurried across the flats。
The big living…room of the ranch…house was warm and
comfortable with its red adobe walls； its huge stone
fireplace where cedar logs blazed； and its many…colored
blankets。 Bo Rayner sat before the fire； curled up in an
armchair； absorbed in a book。 On the floor lay the hound
Pedro； his racy； fine head stretched toward the warmth。
〃Did uncle call？〃 asked Helen； with a start out of her
reverie。
〃I didn't hear him；〃 replied Bo。
Helen rose to tiptoe across the floor； and； softly parting
some curtains； she looked into the room where her uncle lay。
He was asleep。 Sometimes he called out in his slumbers。 For
weeks now he had been confined to his bed； slowly growing
weaker。 With a sigh Helen returned to her window…seat and
took up her work。
〃Bo； the sun is bright；〃 she said。 〃The days are growing
longer。 I'm so glad。〃
〃Nell； you're always wishing time away。 For me it passes
quickly enough；〃 replied the sister。
〃But I love spring and summer and fall and I guess I hate
winter；〃 returned Helen； thoughtfully。
The yellow ranges rolled away up to the black ridges and
they in turn swept up to the cold； white mountains。 Helen's
gaze seemed to go beyond that snowy barrier。 And Bo's keen
eyes studied her sister's earnest； sad face。
〃Nell； do you ever think of Dale？〃 she queried； suddenly。
The question startled Helen。 A slow blush suffused neck and
cheek。
〃Of course；〃 she replied； as if surprised that Bo should ask
such a thing。
〃I I shouldn't have asked that；〃 said Bo； softly； and
then bent again over her book。
Helen gazed tenderly at that bright； bowed head。 In this
swift…flying； eventful； busy winter； during which the
management of the ranch had devolved wholly upon Helen； the
little sister had grown away from her。 Bo had insisted upon
her own free will and she had followed it； to the amusement
of her uncle； to the concern of Helen； to the dismay and
bewilderment of the faithful Mexican housekeeper； and to the
undoing of all the young men on the ranch。
Helen had always been hoping and waiting for a favorable
hour in which she might find this wilful sister once more
susceptible to wise and loving influence。 But while she
hesitated to speak； slow footsteps and a jingle of spurs
sounded without； and then came a timid knock。 Bo looked up
brightly and ran to open the door。
〃Oh！ It's only YOU！〃 she uttered； in withering scorn； to
the one who knocked。
Helen thought she could guess who that was。
〃How are you…all？〃 asked a drawling voice。
〃Well； Mister Carmichael； if that interests you I'm quite
ill；〃 replied Bo； freezingly。
〃Ill！ Aw no； now？〃
〃It's a fact。 If
