a death in the desert-第4部分

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ill　to　answer　his　letter；　and　have　lost　touch　with　him。〃







Everett　drew　a　letter　from　his　pocket。　　〃This　came　about　a



month　ago。　　It's　chiefly　about　his　new　opera；　which　is　to　be



brought　out　in　London　next　winter。　　Read　it　at　your　leisure。〃







〃I　think　I　shall　keep　it　as　a　hostage；　so　that　I　may　be　sure



you　will　come　again。　　Now　I　want　you　to　play　for　me。　　Whatever



you　like；　but　if　there　is　anything　new　in　the　world；　in　mercy　let



me　hear　it。　　For　nine　months　I　have　heard　nothing　but　'The



Baggage　Coach　Ahead'　and　'She　Is　My　Baby's　Mother。'〃







He　sat　down　at　the　piano；　and　Katharine　sat　near　him；



absorbed　in　his　remarkable　physical　likeness　to　his　brother　and



trying　to　discover　in　just　what　it　consisted。　　She　told　herself



that　it　was　very　much　as　though　a　sculptor's　finished　work　had



been　rudely　copied　in　wood。　　He　was　of　a　larger　build　than



Adriance；　and　his　shoulders　were　broad　and　heavy；　while　those　of



his　brother　were　slender　and　rather　girlish。　　His　face　was　of　the



same　oval　mold；　but　it　was　gray　and　darkened　about　the　mouth　by



continual　shaving。　　His　eyes　were　of　the　same　inconstant　April



color；　but　they　were　reflective　and　rather　dull；　while　Adriance's



were　always　points　of　highlight；　and　always　meaning　another　thing



than　the　thing　they　meant　yesterday。　　But　it　was　hard　to　see　why



this　earnest　man　should　so　continually　suggest　that　lyric；



youthful　face　that　was　as　gay　as　his　was　grave。　　For　Adriance；



though　he　was　ten　years　the　elder；　and　though　his　hair　was



streaked　with　silver；　had　the　face　of　a　boy　of　twenty；　so　mobile



that　it　told　his　thoughts　before　he　could　put　them　into　words。



A　contralto；　famous　for　the　extravagance　of　her　vocal



methods　and　of　her　affections；　had　once　said　to　him　that　the



shepherd　boys　who　sang　in　the　Vale　of　Tempe　must　certainly　have



looked　like　young　Hilgarde；　and　the　comparison　had　been



appropriated　by　a　hundred　shyer　women　who　preferred　to　quote。











As　Everett　sat　smoking　on　the　veranda　of　the　InterOcean



House　that　night；　he　was　a　victim　to　random　recollections。　　His



infatuation　for　Katharine　Gaylord；　visionary　as　it　was；　had　been



the　most　serious　of　his　boyish　love　affairs；　and　had　long



disturbed　his　bachelor　dreams。　　He　was　painfully　timid　in



everything　relating　to　the　emotions；　and　his　hurt　had　withdrawn



him　from　the　society　of　women。　　The　fact　that　it　was　all　so　done



and　dead　and　far　behind　him；　and　that　the　woman　had　lived　her



life　out　since　then；　gave　him　an　oppressive　sense　of　age　and



loss。　　He　bethought　himself　of　something　he　had　read　about



〃sitting　by　the　hearth　and　remembering　the　faces　of　women　without



desire；〃　and　felt　himself　an　octogenarian。







He　remembered　how　bitter　and　morose　he　had　grown　during　his



stay　at　his　brother's　studio　when　Katharine　Gaylord　was　working



there；　and　how　he　had　wounded　Adriance　on　the　night　of　his　last



concert　in　New　York。　　He　had　sat　there　in　the　box　while　his



brother　and　Katharine　were　called　back　again　and　again　after　the



last　number；　watching　the　roses　go　up　over　the　footlights　until



they　were　stacked　half　as　high　as　the　piano；　brooding；　in　his



sullen　boy's　heart；　upon　the　pride　those　two　felt　in　each　other's



workspurring　each　other　to　their　best　and　beautifully



contending　in　song。　　The　footlights　had　seemed　a　hard；　glittering



line　drawn　sharply　between　their　life　and　his；　a　circle　of　flame



set　about　those　splendid　children　of　genius。　　He　walked　back　to



his　hotel　alone　and　sat　in　his　window　staring　out　on　Madison



Square　until　long　after　midnight；　resolving　to　beat　no　more　at



doors　that　he　could　never　enter　and　realizing　more　keenly　than



ever　before　how　far　this　glorious　world　of　beautiful　creations



lay　from　the　paths　of　men　like　himself。　　He　told　himself　that　he



had　in　common　with　this　woman　only　the　baser　uses　of　life。







Everett's　week　in　Cheyenne　stretched　to　three；　and　he　saw　no



prospect　of　release　except　through　the　thing　he　dreaded。　　The



bright；　windy　days　of　the　Wyoming　autumn　passed　swiftly。　　Letters



and　telegrams　came　urging　him　to　hasten　his　trip　to　the　coast；



but　he　resolutely　postponed　his　business　engagements。　　The



mornings　he　spent　on　one　of　Charley　Gaylord's　ponies；　or　fishing



in　the　mountains；　and　in　the　evenings　he　sat　in　his　room　writing



letters　or　reading。　　In　the　afternoon　he　was　usually　at　his　post



of　duty。　　Destiny；　he　reflected；　seems　to　have　very　positive



notions　about　the　sort　of　parts　we　are　fitted　to　play。　　The　scene



changes　and　the　compensation　varies；　but　in　the　end　we　usually



find　that　we　have　played　the　same　class　of　business　from　first　to



last。　　Everett　had　been　a　stopgap　all　his　life。　　He　remembered



going　through　a　looking　glass　labyrinth　when　he　was　a　boy　and



trying　gallery　after　gallery；　only　at　every　turn　to　bump　his　nose



against　his　own　facewhich；　indeed；　was　not　his　own；　but　his



brother's。　　No　matter　what　his　mission；　east　or　west；　by　land　or



sea；　he　was　sure　to　find　himself　employed　in　his　brother's



business；　one　of　the　tributary　lives　which　helped　to　swell　the



shining　current　of　Adriance　Hilgarde's。　　It　was　not　the　first



time　that　his　duty　had　been　to　comfort；　as　best　he　could；　one　of



the　broken　things　his　brother's　imperious　speed　had　cast　aside



and　forgotten。　　He　made　no　attempt　to　analyze　the　situation　or　to



state　it　in　exact　terms；　but　he　felt　Katharine　Gaylord's　need　for



him；　and　he　accepted　it　as　a　commission　from　his　brother　to　help



this　woman　to　die。　　Day　by　day　he　felt　her　demands　on　him　grow



more　imperious；　her　need　for　him　grow　more　acute　and　positive；



and　day　by　day　he　felt　that　in　his　peculiar　relation　to　her　his



own　individuality　played　a　smaller　and　smaller　part。　　His　power



to　minister　to　her　comfort；　he　saw；　lay　solely　in　his　link　with



his　brother's　life。　　He　understood　all　that　his　physical



resemblance　meant　to　her。　　He　knew　that　she　sat　by　him　always



watching　for　some　common　trick　of　gesture；　some　familiar　play　of



expression；　some　illusion　of　light　and　shadow；　in　which　he　should



seem　wholly　Adriance。　　He　knew　that　she　lived　upon　this　and　that



her　disease　fed　upon　it；　that　it　sent　shudders　of　remembrance



through　her　and　that　in　the　exhaustion　which　followed　this



turmoil　of　her　dying　senses；　she　slept　deep　and　sweet　and



dreamed　of　youth　and　art　and　days　in　a　certain　old　Florentine



garden；　and　not　of　bitterness　and　death。







The　question　which　most　perplexed　him　was；　〃How　much　shall　I



know？　　How　much　does　she　wish　me　to　know？〃　　A　few　days　after　his



first　meeting　with　Katharine　Gaylord；　he　had　cabled　his　brother



to　write　her。　　He　had　merely　said　that　she　was　mortally　ill；　he



could　depend　on　Adriance　to　say　the　right　thingthat　was　a　part



of　his　gift。　　Adriance　always　said　not　only　the　right　thing；　but



the　opportune；　graceful；　exquisite　thing。　　His　phrases　took　the



color　of　the　moment　and　the　then…present　condition；　so　that　they



never　savored　of　perfunctory　compliment　or　frequent　usage。　　He



always　caught　the　lyric　essence　of　the　moment；　the　poetic



suggestion　of　every　situation。　　Moreover；　he　usually　did　the



right　thing；　the　opportune；　graceful；　exquisite　thingexcept；



when　he　did　very　cruel　thingsbent　upon　making　people　happy



when　their　existence　touched　his；　just　as　he　insisted　that　his



material　environment　should　be　beautiful；　lavishing　upon　those



near　him　all　the　warmth　and　radiance　of　his　rich　nature；　all　the



homage　of　the　poet　and　troubadour；　and；　when　they　were　no　longer



near；　forgettingfor　that　also　was　a　part　of　Adriance's　gift。







Three　weeks　after　Everett　had　sent　his　cable；　when　he　made



his　daily　call　at　the　gaily　painted　ranch　house；　he　found



Katharine　laughing　like　a　schoolgirl。　　〃Have　you　ever　thought；〃



she　said；　as　he　entered　the　music　room；　〃how　much　these　seances



of　ours　are　like　Heine's　'Florentine　Nights；'　except　that　I　don't



give　you　an　opportunity　to　monopolize　the　conversation　as　Heine



did？〃　　She　held　his　hand　longer　than　usual；　as　she　greeted　him；



and　looked　searchingly　up　into　his　face。　　〃You　are　the　kindest



man　living；　the　kindest；〃　she　added；　softly。







Everett's　gray　face　colored　faintly　as　he　drew　his　hand



away；　for　he　felt　that　this　time　she　was　looking　at　him　and　not



at　a　whimsical　caricature　of　his　brother。　　〃Why；　what　have　I　done



now？〃　he　asked；　lamely。　　〃I　can't　remember　having　sent　you　any



stale　candy　or　champagne　since　yesterday。〃







She　drew　a　letter　with　a　foreign　postmark　from　between



the