eugene pickering-第14章

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then　he　had　had　a　chill；　the　pendulum　had　swung　right　and　left　in　a

manner　rather　trying　to　the　machine；　but　now；　at　last；　it　was　working

back　to　an　even；　natural　beat。　　He　recovered　in　a　measure　the

generous　eloquence　with　which　he　had　fanned　his　flame　at　Homburg；　and

talked　about　things　with　something　of　the　same　passionate　freshness。

One　day　when　I　was　laid　up　at　the　inn　at　Bruges　with　a　lame　foot；　he

came　home　and　treated　me　to　a　rhapsody　about　a　certain　meek…faced

virgin　of　Hans　Memling；　which　seemed　to　me　sounder　sense　than　his

compliments　to　Madame　Blumenthal。　　He　had　his　dull　days　and　his

sombre　moodshours　of　irresistible　retrospect；　but　I　let　them　come

and　go　without　remonstrance；　because　I　fancied　they　always　left　him　a

trifle　more　alert　and　resolute。　　One　evening；　however；　he　sat　hanging

his　head　in　so　doleful　a　fashion　that　I　took　the　bull　by　the　horns

and　told　him　he　had　by　this　time　surely　paid　his　debt　to　penitence；

and　that　he　owed　it　to　himself　to　banish　that　woman　for　ever　from　his

thoughts。



He　looked　up；　staring；　and　then　with　a　deep　blush〃That　woman？〃　he

said。　　〃I　was　not　thinking　of　Madame　Blumenthal！〃



After　this　I　gave　another　construction　to　his　melancholy。　　Taking　him

with　his　hopes　and　fears；　at　the　end　of　six　weeks　of　active

observation　and　keen　sensation；　Pickering　was　as　fine　a　fellow　as

need　be。　　We　made　our　way　down　to　Italy　and　spent　a　fortnight　at

Venice。　　There　something　happened　which　I　had　been　confidently

expecting；　I　had　said　to　myself　that　it　was　merely　a　question　of

time。　　We　had　passed　the　day　at　Torcello；　and　came　floating　back　in

the　glow　of　the　sunset；　with　measured　oar…strokes。　　〃I　am　well　on　the

way；〃　Pickering　said；　〃I　think　I　will　go！〃



We　had　not　spoken　for　an　hour；　and　I　naturally　asked　him；　Where？　　His

answer　was　delayed　by　our　getting　into　the　Piazzetta。　　I　stepped

ashore　first　and　then　turned　to　help　him。　　As　he　took　my　hand　he　met

my　eyes；　consciously；　and　it　came。　　〃To　Smyrna！〃



A　couple　of　days　later　he　started。　　I　had　risked　the　conjecture　that

Miss　Vernor　was　a　charming　creature；　and　six　months　afterwards　he

wrote　me　that　I　was　right。









End