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！
wasn't steep enough for that； but it was all she could do to keep walking in a straight line； she felt like reeling unsteadily from side to side。 She was almost drunk with terror。 〃I must keep my head clear； if I don't； I'm a goner；〃 she warned herself。
The carriage was slowly going up over her head； behind her； as the roadway rose。 She could never be so frightened again for the rest of her life。 She had to keep talking to herself inwardly。 〃Manfling's somewhere around you； you know it； even if you can't see him。 Look for the locket first。 Then stray out of sight of the coachman。 Smoke a cigarette。 Shoot through your bag； without pulling it out； if you have to… Is it that bush there； over to the left； ing up toward you？ No； that's just a bush。〃
The carriage had gone up as high as it could now。 It was starting to sink from sight behind the top of the rampart。
The gleaming water was ing slowly up toward her。 The swans； already detecting that she had something in her hand for them； were starting to course gracefully in to meet her along its moon…burnished surface。
For over three hours now those same swans； floating asleep； had been the only signs of life around Manning； inert as they were。 The rest was just a piebald still life of moonlight and shadow。 Not a stir came from the reeds where Belmonte crouched concealed； and if he hadn't told him where he was going to be； Manning wouldn't have known anyone was in them。
The circulation had long ago begun to leave his own extremities。 He pinched and kneaded them from time to time； in preference to shifting his position to ease them； but it was a losing battle。 He could scarcely feel the pinches themselves after a while。
The moon was waning now from the full that had witnessed Sally O'Keefe's death； but it was still large enough to cast an aluminum sheen where it was unobstructed。 He looked down along his own curved length carefully； to make sure none of the coinlike disks of it that splattered through the leaves struck him in any place that might be revealing from the ground： the white of his hands； the dull sheen of his silk socks； the glossy toecaps of his shoes。 The slightest thing like that might have been sufficient to indicate； to a wary antagonist； something that didn't belong up in a tree。
The strain had bee almost unendurable。 He wondered whether Belmonte was feeling it as much as he。 Worse； probably； he had nothing to rest his back against。 He didn't bother looking at his watch。 That was a fool's stunt； which always made time seem to stretch out longer than it was。 When she came； that would be the right time。 Until she came； they'd wait…even if it meant staying up here in this tree until he fell out of it from numbness。 They weren't in this for fun。
The slow clop…clop of a horse sounded far off in the distance somewhere； and sound had e back into the world。 It was like something carried through a hollow tube or bore； it had that sort of blurred resonance to it。 It died out again； then came back once more； clearer； nearer； than before。 Was that she； now？ It must be； who else could it be？ A carriage alone on the Bosque at this hour； and ing this way。 Nothing else had traversed that road up there since he had taken up his position。 Pleasure drives were a thing of the past in the Bosque these nights。
The hoofbeats were clear and ringing now； belltoned almost； for there was nothing in the vast stillness around to pete with them； and approaching more closely every moment。 Manning caught himself taking deeper breaths than he had a minute ago； that was his body instinctively trying to store up oxygen for possible approaching action。 On they came； jewel clear； so calm； so unhurried…in the evenness of rhythm that is nature's gift to the horse； clop…clop； cloppety…clop。 In other circumstances there would have been something almost soothing in their cadence。 At last he could even make out the slight creak of the axles； the whisper of the rubber…tired wheels along the roadbed。
A woman's voice said something。 The hoofbeats faltered to a stop。 There was a slight protest from the carriage step； weighted down； released again。 He could hear her next remark plainly； for she had raised her voice slightly： 〃You won't get a centavo if you don't do as you're told！〃
He couldn't see the vehicle itself； for there was too much overhanging foliage in the way obscuring it； but a moment later the white of her gown came into full view； coruscating in the moonlight； up there on top of the rampart； and she started to walk slowly down the open grassy slope under his very eyes。
If she felt fear…and she must have…she gave no sign。 Her bearing was matchless。 Her grace； the fluid dignity of her carriage。 To him； at any rate； there was nothing strained or rigid in the way she moved。 Just the precautionary hesitancy of a woman dressed in her best； picking her way delicately in order not to soil her shoes or gown。
He narrowed his eyes in admiration of her poised self…control。 It took a woman to put on a show like that； a man never could have； never in the wide world。
She came abreast of the tree that hid him； passed on down without a glance over at it。 She couldn't； of course； know exactly where he was。 All she had to rely on was his assurance that he and Belmonte would be watching from somewhere close by。
The swans were gliding in to meet her； each leaving a spreading fan of ripples in its wake。 They'd already spotted the little white ball the napkin of crumbs made in her hand。
She reached the water's edge at last。 Manning was now roughly midway between her and the carriage。 He was watching the terrain around him on all sides； now； more than he was her。 Nothing could get at her from in front； across the water； and to reach her from the rear it would have to pass his tree first。 Belmonte's position protected her on the right； and his tree； again； did as much for her on the left。
He saw her looking for the locket。 With her free hand she had lifted the hem of her skirt a little to avoid wetting it and was picking her way along the water's edge； head attentively bent。 The hungry birds； meanwhile； were banked nearly solidly around her on the water side； jostling and nudging one another aside； and the whole body of them moving first up the shore； then down it； in pany with her own slow coursing。
Behind her heroically oblivious back； nothing stirred； nothing moved。 There wasn't a rustle from the dark feathery masses of bush and underbrush all about。 Not the snap of a twig。
She'd found it at last。 He saw her dip suddenly； draw something from the outermost inch or two of water that winked in the moonlight as she straightened with it； holding it semialoft。 She hovered with proprietary delight over it for a moment or two； in clever pantomime。 Drying it； turning it this way and that。 Then she put it in the bag on her wrist。 Now she began her feeding of the swans。 Her arm went out toward them； in toward the napkin； held back a moment； then out toward them； in toward the napkin； while she slowly strolled along； a bountiful lady on the banks of the Styx。
Manning's position had changed slightly when she had first e into vie