按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
and radiating an influence from their low…browed doors。 He knew besides
they were like other men； below the crust of custom； rapture found a
way； he had heard them beat the timbrel before Bacchus … had heard them
shout and carouse over their whisky…toddy； and not the most Dutch…
bottomed and severe faces among them all； not even the solemn elders
themselves； but were capable of singular gambols at the voice of love。
Men drawing near to an end of life's adventurous journey … maids
thrilling with fear and curiosity on the threshold of entrance … women
who had borne and perhaps buried children； who could remember the
clinging of the small dead hands and the patter of the little feet now
silent … he marvelled that among all those faces there should be no face
of expectation； none that was mobile； none into which the rhythm and
poetry of life had entered。 〃O for a live face；〃 he thought； and at
times he had a memory of Lady Flora； and at times he would study the
living gallery before him with despair； and would see himself go on to
waste his days in that joyless pastoral place； and death come to him；
and his grave be dug under the rowans； and the Spirit of the Earth laugh
out in a thunder…peal at the huge fiasco。
On this particular Sunday； there was no doubt but that the spring had
come at last。 It was warm； with a latent shiver in the air that made
the warmth only the more welcome。 The shallows of the stream glittered
and tinkled among bunches of primrose。 Vagrant scents of the earth
arrested Archie by the way with moments of ethereal intoxication。 The
grey Quakerish dale was still only awakened in places and patches from
the sobriety of its winter colouring； and he wondered at its beauty； an
essential beauty of the old earth it seemed to him； not resident in
particulars but breathing to him from the whole。 He surprised himself
by a sudden impulse to write poetry … he did so sometimes； loose；
galloping octo…syllabics in the vein of Scott … and when he had taken
his place on a boulder； near some fairy falls and shaded by a whip of a
tree that was already radiant with new leaves； it still more surprised
him that he should have nothing to write。 His heart perhaps beat in
time to some vast indwelling rhythm of the universe。 By the time he
came to a corner of the valley and could see the kirk； he had so
lingered by the way that the first psalm was finishing。 The nasal
psalmody； full of turns and trills and graceless graces； seemed the
essential voice of the kirk itself upraised in thanksgiving；
〃Everything's alive；〃 he said； and again cries it aloud； 〃thank God；
everything's alive！〃 He lingered yet a while in the kirk…yard。 A tuft
of primroses was blooming hard by the leg of an old black table
tombstone； and he stopped to contemplate the random apologue。 They
stood forth on the cold earth with a trenchancy of contrast； and he was
struck with a sense of incompleteness in the day； the season； and the
beauty that surrounded him … the chill there was in the warmth； the
gross black clods about the opening primroses； the damp earthy smell
that was everywhere intermingled with the scents。 The voice of the aged
Torrance within rose in an ecstasy。 And he wondered if Torrance also
felt in his old bones the joyous influence of the spring morning；
Torrance； or the shadow of what once was Torrance； that must come so
soon to lie outside here in the sun and rain with all his rheumatisms；
while a new minister stood in his room and thundered from his own
familiar pulpit？ The pity of it； and something of the chill of the
grave； shook him for a moment as he made haste to enter。
He went up the aisle reverently； and took his place in the pew with
lowered eyes； for he feared he had already offended the kind old
gentleman in the pulpit； and was sedulous to offend no further。 He
could not follow the prayer； not even the heads of it。 Brightnesses
of azure； clouds of fragrance； a tinkle of falling water and singing
birds； rose like exhalations from some deeper； aboriginal memory； that
was not his； but belonged to the flesh on his bones。 His body
remembered； and it seemed to him that his body was in no way gross；
but ethereal and perishable like a strain of music； and he felt for it
an exquisite tenderness as for a child； an innocent； full of beautiful
instincts and destined to an early death。 And he felt for old Torrance
… of the many supplications； of the few days … a pity that was near to
tears。 The prayer ended。 Right over him was a tablet in the wall； the
only ornament in the roughly masoned chapel … for it was no more； the
tablet commemorated； I was about to say the virtues； but rather the
existence of a former Rutherford of Hermiston； and Archie； under that
trophy of his long descent and local greatness； leaned back in the pew
and contemplated vacancy with the shadow of a smile between playful and
sad； that became him strangely。 Dandie's sister； sitting by the side of
Clem in her new Glasgow finery； chose that moment to observe the young
laird。 Aware of the stir of his entrance； the little formalist had kept
her eyes fastened and her face prettily composed during the prayer。 It
was not hypocrisy； there was no one further from a hypocrite。 The girl
had been taught to behave： to look up； to look down； to look
unconscious； to look seriously impressed in church； and in every
conjuncture to look her best。 That was the game of female life； and she
played it frankly。 Archie was the one person in church who was of
interest； who was somebody new； reputed eccentric； known to be young；
and a laird； and still unseen by Christina。 Small wonder that； as
she stood there in her attitude of pretty decency； her mind should run
upon him！ If he spared a glance in her direction； he should know she
was a well…behaved young lady who had been to Glasgow。 In reason he
must admire her clothes； and it was possible that he should think her
pretty。 At that her heart beat the least thing in the world； and she
proceeded； by way of a corrective； to call up and dismiss a series of
fancied pictures of the young man who should now； by rights； be looking
at her。 She settled on the plainest of them； … a pink short young man
with a dish face and no figure； at whose admiration she could afford to
smile； but for all that； the consciousness of his gaze （which was really
fixed on Torrance and his mittens） kept her in something of a flutter
till the word Amen。 Even then； she was far too well…bred to gratify her
curiosity with any impatience。 She resumed her seat languidly … this was
a Glasgow touch … she composed her dress； rearranged her nosegay of
primroses； looked first in front； then behind upon the other side； and
at last allowed her eyes to move； without hurry； in the direction of
the Hermiston pew。 For a moment； they were riveted。 Next she had
plucked her gaze home again like a tame bird