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The Scapegoat-Part18_Hall Caine(1853-1931)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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that she had played so strangely at the Kasbah on the marriage

of Ben Aboo; but never again as on that day did she sweep the strings



to wild rhapsodies of sound such as none had heard before

and none could follow, but only touched and fumbled them



with deftless fingers that knew no music.

She lost her old power to guide her footsteps and to minister



to her pleasures and to cherish her affections. No longer did she seem

to communicate with Nature by other organs than did the rest



of the human kind. She was a radiant and joyous spirit maid no more,

but only a beautiful blind girl, a sweet human sister that was weak



and faint.

Nevertheless, Israel recked nothing of her weakness, for joy



at the loss of those powers over which his enemies throughout

seventeen evil years had bleated and barked "Beelzebub!" And if God



in His mercy had taken the angel out of his house, so strangelygifted,

so strangelyjoyful, He had given him instead, for the hunger



of his heart as a man, a sweet human daughter, however helpless and frail.

Thus in the first days of Naomi's great change Israel was content.



But day by day this contentment left him, and he was haunted

by strange sinkings of the heart. Naomi's frailty appeared



to be not only of the body but also of the spirit. It seemed as if

her soul had suddenly fallen asleep. She betrayed neither joy nor sorrow.



No sound escaped her lips; no thought for herself or for others seemed

to animate her. She neither laughed nor wept. When Israel kissed



her pale brow, she did not stretch out her arms as she had done before

to draw down his head to her lips. Calmly, silently, sadly, gracefully,



she passed from day to day, without feeling and without

thought--a beautiful statue of flesh and blood.



What God was doing with her slumbering spirit then, only He Himself knows;

but the time of her awakening came, and with it came her first delight



in the new gift with which God had gifted her.

To revive her spirits and to quicken her memory, Israel had taken her



to walk in the fields outside the town where she had loved to play

in her childhood--the wild places covered with the peppermint



and the pink, the thyme, the marjoram, and the white broom,

where she had gathered flowers in the old times, when God had taught her.



The day was sweet, for it was the cool of the morning, the air was soft,

and the wind was gentle, and under the shady trees the covert



of the reeds lay quiet. And whither Naomi would, thither they

had wandered, without object and without direction.



On and on, hand in hand, they had walked through the winding paths

of the oleander, between the creeping fences of the broom, and



the sprawling limbs of the prickly pear, until they came to a stream,

a tributary of the Marteel, trickling down from the wild heights



of the Akhmas, over the light pebbles of its narrow bed.

And there--but by what impulse or what chance Israel never knew--Naomi had



withdrawn her hand from his hand; and at the next moment,

in scarcely more time than it took him to stoop to the ground and



rise again, suddenly as if she had sunk into the earth, or been lifted

into the sky, Naomi disappeared from his sight.



Israel pushed the low boughs apart, expecting to find her by his side,

but she was nowhere near. He called her by her name, thinking she would



answer with the only language of her lips, the old language of her laugh.

"Naomi! Naomi! Come, come, my child, where are you?"



But no sound came back to him.

Again he called, not as before in a tone of remonstrance, but



with a voice of fear.

"Naomi, Naomi! Where are you? where? where?"



Then he listened and waited, yet heard nothing, neither her laugh

nor the rustle of her robe, nor the light beat of her footstep.



Nevertheless, she had passed over the grass from the spot

where she had left him, without waywardness or thought of evil,



only missing his hand and trying to recover it, then becoming afraid

and walking rapidly, until the dense foliage between them had hidden her



from sight and deadened the sound of his voice.

Opening a way between the long leaves of an aloe, Israel found her



at length in the place whereto she had wandered. It was a short bend

of the brook, where dark old trees overshadowed the water



with forest gloom. She was seated on the trunk of a fallen oak,

and it seemed as if she had sat herself down to weep in her dumb trouble,



for her blind eyes were still wet with tears. The river was murmuring

at her feet; an old olive-tree over her head was pattering



with its multitudinous tongues; the little family of a squirrel was

chirping by her side, and one tiny creature of the brood was squirling



up her dress; a thrush was swinging itself on the low bough of the olive




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