the trees of pride-第13章

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The　poet　rose　also。　　〃Well；　I　am　innocent；　oddly　enough；〃　he　said。　〃I　think　I　can　make　a　guess　about　your　vanishing　well；　but　of　the　death　and　dry　bones　I　know　no　more　than　the　deadif　so　much。　And；　by　the　way；　my　dear　Paynter〃and　he　turned　two　bright　eyes　on　the　art　critic〃I　will　excuse　you　from　excusing　me　for　all　the　things　I　haven't　done；　and　you；　I　hope；　will　excuse　me　if　I　differ　from　you　altogether　about　the　morality　of　poets。　As　you　suggest；　it　is　a　fashionable　view；　but　I　think　it　is　a　fallacy。　No　man　has　less　right　to　be　lawless　than　a　man　of　imagination。　For　he　has　spiritual　adventures；　and　can　take　his　holidays　when　he　likes。　I　could　picture　the　poor　Squire　carried　off　to　elfland　whenever　I　wanted　him　carried　off；　and　that　wood　needed　no　crime　to　make　it　wicked　for　me。　That　red　sunset　the　other　night　was　all　that　a　murder　would　have　been　to　many　men。　　No；　Mr。　Ashe；　show；　when　next　you　sit　in　judgment；　a　little　mercy　to　some　wretched　man　who　drinks　and　robs　because　he　must　drink　beer　to　taste　it；　and　take　it　to　drink　it。　Have　compassion　on　the　next　batch　of　poor　thieves；　who　have　to　hold　things　in　order　to　have　them。　　But　if　ever　you　find　ME　stealing　one　small　farthing；　when　I　can　shut　my　eyes　and　see　the　city　of　El　Dorado；　then〃and　he　lifted　his　head　like　a　falcon〃show　me　no　mercy；　for　I　shall　deserve　none。〃

〃Well；〃　remarked　Ashe；　after　a　pause；　〃I　must　go　and　fix　things　up　for　the　inquest。　　Mr。　Treherne；　your　attitude　is　singularly　interesting；　I　really　almost　wish　I　could　add　you　to　my　collection　of　murderers。　They　are　a　varied　and　extraordinary　set。〃

〃Has　it　ever　occurred　to　you；〃　asked　Paynter；　〃that　perhaps　the　men　who　have　never　comitted　murder　are　a　varied　and　very　extraordinary　set？　Perhaps　every　plain　man's　life　holds　the　real　mystery；　the　secret　of　sins　avoided。〃

〃Possibly；〃　replied　Ashe。　　〃It　would　be　a　long　business　to　stop　the　next　man　in　the　street　and　ask　him　what　crimes　he　never　committed　and　why　not。　And　I　happen　to　be　busy；　so　you'll　excuse　me。〃

〃What；〃　asked　the　American；　when　he　and　the　poet　were　alone；　〃is　this　guess　of　yours　about　the　vanishing　water？〃

〃Well；　I'm　not　sure　I'll　tell　you　yet；〃　answered　Treherne；　something　of　the　old　mischief　coming　back　into　his　dark　eyes。　〃But　I'll　tell　you　something　else；　which　may　be　connected　with　it；　something　I　couldn't　tell　until　my　wife　had　told　you　about　our　meeting　in　the　wood。〃　　His　face　had　grown　grave　again；　and　he　resumed　after　a　pause：

〃When　my　wife　started　to　follow　her　father　I　advised　her　to　go　back　first　to　the　house；　to　leave　it　by　another　door　and　to　meet　me　in　the　wood　in　half　an　hour。　　We　often　made　these　assignations；　of　course；　and　generally　thought　them　great　fun；　but　this　time　the　question　was　serious；　and　I　didn't　want　the　wrong　thing　done　in　a　hurry。　It　was　a　question　whether　anything　could　be　done　to　undo　an　experiment　we　both　vaguely　felt　to　be　dangerous；　and　she　especially　thought；　after　reflection；　that　interference　would　make　things　worse。　She　thought　the　old　sportsman；　having　been　dared　to　do　something；　would　certainly　not　be　dissuaded　by　the　very　man　who　had　dared　him　or　by　a　woman　whom　he　regarded　as　a　child。　　She　left　me　at　last　in　a　sort　of　despair；　but　I　lingered　with　a　last　hope　of　doing　something；　and　drew　doubtfully　near　to　the　heart　of　the　wood；　and　there；　instead　of　the　silence　I　expected；　I　heard　a　voice。　　It　seemed　as　if　the　Squire　must　be　talking　to　himself；　and　I　had　the　unpleasant　fancy　that　he　had　already　lost　his　reason　in　that　wood　of　witchcraft。　But　I　soon　found　that　if　he　was　talking　he　was　talking　with　two　voices。　Other　fancies　attacked　me；　as　that　the　other　was　the　voice　of　the　tree　or　the　voices　of　the　three　trees　talking　together；　and　with　no　man　near。　But　it　was　not　the　voice　of　the　tree。　　The　next　moment　I　knew　the　voice；　for　I　had　heard　it　twenty　times　across　the　table。　It　was　the　voice　of　that　doctor　of　yours；　I　heard　it　as　certainly　as　you　hear　my　voice　now。〃

After　a　moment's　silence；　he　resumed：　　〃I　left　the　wood；　I　hardly　knew　why；　and　with　wild　and　bewildered　feelings；　and　as　I　came　out　into　the　faint　moonshine　I　saw　that　old　lawyer　standing　quietly；　but　staring　at　me　like　an　owl。　At　least；　the　light　touched　his　red　hair　with　fire；　but　his　square　old　face　was　in　shadow。　　But　I　knew；　if　I　could　have　read　it；　that　it　was　the　face　of　a　hanging　judge。〃

He　threw　himself　on　the　bench　again；　smiled　a　little；　and　added：　〃Only；　like　a　good　many　hanging　judges；　I　fancy；　he　was　waiting　patiently　to　hang　the　wrong　man。〃

〃And　the　right　man〃　said　Paynter　mechanically。　Treherne　shrugged　his　shoulders；　sprawling　on　the　ale　bench；　and　played　with　his　empty　pot。



IV。　　THE　CHASE　AFTER　THE　TRUTH

Some　time　after　the　inquest；　which　had　ended　in　the　inconclusive　verdict　which　Mr。　Andrew　Ashe　had　himself　predicted　and　achieved；　Paynter　was　again　sitting　on　the　bench　outside　the　village　inn；　having　on　the　little　table　in　front　of　it　a　tall　glass　of　light　ale；　which　he　enjoyed　much　more　as　local　color　than　as　liquor。　He　had　but　one　companion　on　the　bench；　and　that　a　new　one；　for　the　little　market　place　was　empty　at　that　hour；　and　he　had　lately；　for　the　rest；　been　much　alone。　　He　was　not　unhappy；　for　he　resembled　his　great　countryman；　Walt　Whitman；　in　carrying　a　kind　of　universe　with　him　like　an　open　umbrella；　but　he　was　not　only　alone；　but　lonely。　For　Ashe　had　gone　abruptly　up　to　London；　and　since　his　return　had　been　occupied　obscurely　with　legal　matters；　doubtless　bearing　on　the　murder。　And　Treherne　had　long　since　taken　up　his　position　openly；　at　the　great　house；　as　the　husband　of　the　great　lady；　and　he　and　she　were　occupied　with　sweeping　reforms　on　the　estate。　The　lady　especially；　being　of　the　sort　whose　very　dreams　〃drive　at　practice；〃　was　landscape　gardening　as　with　the　gestures　of　a　giantess。　It　was　natural；　therefore；　that　so　sociable　a　spirit　as　Paynter　should　fall　into　speech　with　the　one　other　stranger　who　happened　to　be　staying　at　the　inn；　evidently　a　bird　of　passage　like　himself。　This　man；　who　was　smoking　a　pipe　on　the　bench　beside　him；　with　his　knapsack　before　him　on　the　table；　was　an　artist　come　to　sketch　on　that　romantic　coast；　a　tall　man　in　a　velvet　jacket；　with　a　shock　of　tow…colored　hair；　a　long　fair　beard；　but　eyes　of　dark　brown；　the　effect　of　which　contrast　reminded　Paynter　vaguely；　he　hardly　knew　why；　of　a　Russian。　　The　stranger　carried　his　knapsack　into　many　picturesque　corners；　he　obtained　permission　to　set　up　his　easel　in　that　high　garden　where　the　late　Squire　had　held　his　al　fresco　banquets。　But　Paynter　had　never　had　an　opportunity　of　judging　of　the　artist's　work；　nor　did　he　find　it　easy　to　get　the　artist　even　to　talk　of　his　art。　Cyprian　himself　was　always　ready　to　talk　of　any　art；　and　he　talked　of　it　excellently；　but　with　little　response。　　He　gave　his　own　reasons　for　preferring　the　Cubists　to　the　cult　of　Picasso；　but　his　new　friend　seemed　to　have　but　a　faint　interest　in　either。　He　insinuated　that　perhaps　the　Neo…Primitives　were　after　all　only　thinning　their　line；　while　the　true　Primitives　were　rather　tightening　it；　but　the　stranger　seemed　to　receive　the　insinuation　without　any　marked　reaction　of　feeling。　　When　Paynter　had　even　gone　back　as　far　into　the　past　aA　the　Post…Impressionists　to　find　a　common　ground；　and　not　found　it；　other　memories　began　to　creep　back　into　his　mind。　He　was　just　reflecting；　rather　darkly；　that　after　all　the　tale　of　the　peacock　trees　needed　a　mysterious　stranger　to　round　it　off；　and　this　man　had　much　the　air　of　being　one；　when　the　mysterious　stranger　himself　said　suddenly：

〃Well；　I　think　I'd　better　show　you　the　work　I'm　doing　down　here。〃

He　had　his　knapsack　before　him　on　the　table；　and　he　smiled　rather　grimly　as　he　began　to　unstrap　it。　　Paynter　looked　on　with　polite　expressions　of　interest；　but　was　considerably　surprised　when　the　artist　unpacked　and　placed　on　the　table；　not　any　recognizable　works　of　art；　even　of　the　most　Cubist　description；　but　（first）　a　quire　of　foolscap　closely　written　with　notes　in　black　and　red　ink；　and　（second）；　to　the　American's　extreme　amazement；　the　old　woodman's　ax　with　the　linen　wrapper；　which　he　had　himself　found　in　the　well　long　ago。

〃Sorry　to　give　you　a　start；　sir；〃　said　the　Russian　artist；　with　a　marked　Lo