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The Scapegoat-Part8_Hall Caine(1853-1931)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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then stretched before her, or of the white town lying below,

with its domes and minarets, but she seemed to exult in her lofty place,



and to drink new life from the rush of mighty winds about her.

Then coming back to the dale, she would seem, to those who looked



up at her, with fear and with awe, to leap as the goat leapt

in the rocky places; and as a bird sweeps over the grass



with wings outstretched, so with her arms spread out,

and her long fair hair flying loose, she would sweep down the hill,



as though her very tiptoes did not touch it.

By what power she did these things no man could tell, except it were



the power of the spiritual world itself; but the distemper of the mind,

which loved such dangers, increased upon her as she grew from a child



into a maid, and it found new ways of strangeness. Thus, in the spring,

when the rain fell heavily, or in the winter, when the great winds were



abroad, or in the summer, when the lightning lightened and

the thunderthundered, her restless spirit seemed to be roused



to sympathetic tumults, and if she could escape the eyes that watched her

she would run and race in the tempest, and her eyes would be aglitter,



and laughter would be on her lips. Then Israel himself would go out

to find her, and, having found her in the pelting storm without covering



on her head or shoes on her feet, he would fetch her home by the hand,

and as they passed through the streets together his forehead would be



bowed and his eyes bent down.

But it was not always that Naomi made her father ashamed.



More often her joyful spirit cheered him, for above all things else

she was a creature of joy. A circle of joy seemed to surround her always.



Her heart in its darkness was full of radiance. As she grew

her comeliness increased, though this was strange and touching



in her beauty, that her face did not become older with her years,

but was still the face of a child, with a child's expression



of sweetness through the bloom and flush of early maidenhood.

Her love of flowers increased also, and the sense of smell seemed



to come to her, for she filled the house with all fragrant flowers

in their season, twining them in wreaths about the white pillars



of the patio, and binding them in rings around the brown water-jars

that stood in it. And with the girl's expanding nature her love



of dress increased as well; but it was not a young maid's love

of lovely things; it was a wild passion for light, loose garments



that swayed and swirled in native grace about her. Truly she was

a spirit of joy and gladness. She was happy as a day in summer,



and fresh as a dewy morning in spring. The ripple of her laughter was

like sunshine. A flood of sunshine seemed to follow in the air



wheresoever she went. And certainly for Israel, her father,

she was as a sunbeamgatheringsunshine into his lonely house.



Nevertheless, the sunbeam had its cloud-shapes of gloom, and if Israel

in his darker hours hungered for more human company, and wished



that the little playfellow of the angels which had come down

to his dwelling could only be his simple human child, he sometimes



had his wish, and many throbs of anguish with it. For often it happened,

and especially at seasons when no winds were stirring, and blank peace



and a doleful silence haunted the air, that Naomi would seem to fall

into a sick longing from causes that were beyond Israel's power



to fathom. Then her sweet face would sadden, and her beautiful blind eyes

would fill, and her pretty laughter would echo no more through the house.



And sometimes, in the dead of the night, she would rise from her bed

and go through the dark corridors, for darkness and light were as one



to her, until she came to Israel's room, and he would awake

from his sleep to find her, like a little white vision, standing



by his bedside. What she wanted there he could never know,

for neither had he power to ask nor she to answer, whether she were sick



or in pain, or whether in her sleep she had seen a face

from the invisible world, and heard a voice that called her away,



or whether her mother's arms had seemed to be about her once again

and then to be torn from her afresh, and she had come to him



on awakening in her trouble, not knowing what it is to dream,

but thinking all evil dreams to be true fact and new sorrow.



So, with a sigh, he would arise and light his lamp and lead her back

to her bed, and more scalding than the tears that would be standing



in Naomi's eyes would be the hot drops that would gush into his own.

"My poor darling," he would say, "can you not tell me your trouble,



that I may comfort you? No, no, she cannot tell me, and I cannot




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