the choir invisible-第24章
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After a pause during which neither of the men spoke； the parson went on：
〃All Irelandit is a harp！ We know what Scotland is。 John；〃 he exclaimed； suddenly turning toward the dark figure lying just inside the shadow； 〃you are a discord of the bagpipe and the harp： there's the trouble with you。 Sometimes I can hear the harp alone in you； and then I like you； but when the bagpipe begins； you are worse than a big bumblebee with a bad cold。〃
〃I know it；〃 said John sorrowfully。 〃My only hope is that the harp will outlast the bee。〃
〃At least that was a chord finely struck；〃 said the parson warmly。 After another silence he went on。
〃Martin Lutherhe was a cathedral organ。 And so it goes。 And so the whole past sounds to me： it is the music of the world： it is the vast choir of the ever…living dead。〃 He gazed dreamily up at the heavens： 〃Plato！ he is the music of the stars。〃
After a little while； bending over and looking at the earth and speaking in a tone of unconscious humility； he added：
〃The most that we can do is to begin a strain that will swell the general volume and last on after we have perished。 As for me； when I am gone； I should like the memory of my life to give out the sound of a flute。〃
He slipped his hand softly into the breastpocket of his coat and more softly drew something out。
〃Would you like a little music？〃 he asked shyly； his cold beautiful face all at once taking on an expression of angelic sweetness。
John quickly reached out and caught his hand in a long； crushing grip： he knew this was the last proof the parson could ever have given him that he loved him。 And then as he lay back on his pillow； he turned his face back into the dark cabin。
Out upon the stillness of the night floated the parson's passion silver…clear； but in an undertone of such peace； of such immortal gentleness。 It was as though the very beams of the far…off serenest moon； falling upon his flute and dropping down into its interior through its little round openings； were by his touch shorn of all their lustre； their softness； their celestial energy； and made to reissue as music。 It was as though his flute had been stuffed with frozen Alpine blossoms and these had been melted away by the passionate breath of his soul into the coldest invisible flowers of sound。 At last； as though all these blossoms in his flute had been used upblown out upon the warm； moon…lit air as the snow…white fragrances of the earthe parson buried his face softly upon his elbow which rested on the back of his chair。 And neither man spoke again。 XIII
WHEN Mrs。 Falconer had drawn near John's hut on the morning of his misfortune； it was past noon despite all her anxious； sorrowful haste to reach him。 His wounds had been dressed。 The crowd of people that had gathered about his cabin were gone back to their occupations or their homesexcept a group that sat on the roots of a green tree several yards from his door。 Some of these were old wilderness folk living near by who had offered to nurse him and otherwise to care for his comforts and needs。 The affair furnished them that renewed interest in themselves which is so liable to revisit us when we have escaped a fellow…creature's suffering but can relate good things about ourselves in like risks and dangers； and they were drawing out their reminiscences now with unconscious gratitude for so excellent an opportunity befalling them in these peaceful unadventurous days。 Several of John's boys lay in the grass and hung upon these narratives。 Now and then they cast awe…stricken glances at his door which had been pushed to； that he might be quiet； or； if his pain would let him； drop into a little sleep。 They made it their especial care； when any new…comer hurried past； to arrest him with the command that he must not go in； and they would thus have stopped Mrs。 Falconer but she put them gently aside without heed or hearing。
When she softly pushed the door open； John was not asleep。 He lay in a corner on his low hard bed of skins against the wall of logs his eyes wide open； the hard white glare of the small shutter…less window falling on his face。 He turned to her the look of a dumb animal that can say nothing of why it has been wounded or of how it is suffering； stretched out his hand gratefully； and drew her toward him。 She sat down on the edge of the bed； folded her quivering fingers across his temples； smoothed back his heavy； coarse； curling hair； and bending low over his eyes； rained down into them the whole unuttered； tearless passion of her distress； her sympathy。 Major Falconer came for her within the hour and she left with him almost as soon as he arrived。 When she was gone； John lay thinking of her。
〃What a nurse she is！〃 he said； remembering how she had concerned herself solely his about life； his safety； his wounds。 Once she had turned quickly：
〃Now you can't go away！〃 she had said with a smile that touched him deeply。
〃I wish you didn't have to go！〃 he had replied mourningfully； feeling his sudden dependence on her。
This was the first time she had ever been in roomwith its poverty； its bareness。 She must have cast about it a look of delicate inquiryas a woman is apt to do in a singleman's abode； for when she came again； in addition to pieces of soft old linen for bandages brought fresh cool fragrant sheetsthe work of her own looms； a better pillow with a pillow…case on it that was delicious to his cheek； for he had his weakness about clean； white linen。 She put a curtain over the pitiless window。 He saw a wild rose in a glass beside his Testament。 He discovered moccasin slippers beside his bed。
〃And here；〃 she had said just before leaving； with her hand on a pile of things and with an embarrassed laughkeeping her face turned away〃here are some towels。〃 Under the towels he found two night shirtsnew ones。
When she was gone； he lay thinking of her again。
He had gratefully slipped on one of the shirts。 He was feeling the new sense of luxury that is imparted by a bed enriched with snow…white； sweet…smelling pillows and sheets。 The curtain over his window strained into his room a light shadowy； restful。 The flower on his table；the transforming touch in his roomher noble brooding tendernesseverything went into his gratitude； his remembrance of her。 But all thishe argued with a sudden taste for fine discriminationhad not been done out of mere anxiety for his life： it was not the barren solicitude of a nurse but the deliberate； luxurious regard of a mother for his comfort： no doubt it represented the ungovernable overflow of the maternal； long pent…up in her ungratified。 And by this route he came at last to a thought of her that novel for himthe pitying recollection of her childlessness。
〃What a mother she would have been！〃 he said rebelliously。 〃The mother of sons who would have become great through herand greater through the memory of her after she was gone。〃 When she came again； seeing him out of danger and seeing him comfortable； she seated herself beside his table and opened her work。〃It isn't good for you to talk much；〃 she soon said reprovingly； 〃and I have to workand to think。〃
And so he lay watching herwatching her beautiful fingers which never seemed to rest in lifewatching her quiet brow with its ripple of lustrous hair forever suggesting to him how her lovely neck and shoulders would be buried by it if its long light waves were but loosened。 To have a woman sitting by his table with her sewingit turned his room into something vaguely dreamed of heretofore： a home。 She finished a sock for Major Falconer and began on one of his shirts。 He counted the stitches as they went into a sleeve。 They made him angry。 And her face！over it had come a look of settled weariness； for perhaps if there is ever a time when a woman forgets and the inward sorrow steals outward to the surface as an unwatched shadow along a wall； it is when she sews。
〃What a wife she is！〃 he reflected enviously after she was gone； and he tried not to think of certain matters in her life。 〃What a wife！ How unfaltering in duty！〃
The next time she came； it was early。 She seemed to him to have bathed in the freshness； the beauty； the delight of the morning。 He had never seen her so radiant； so young。 She
