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Tales From Two Hemispheres-Part27_Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen(1848-1895)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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"I know what I shall do!"

"And so do I."



"Won't you tell me, please?"

"No."



"Then I sha'n't tell you either."

And they flew apart like two thoughtless little



birds ("sanguine," as Strand would have called

them), each to ponder on some formidable plot



for the reconciliation of the estranged lovers.

V.



During the week that ensued, the multifarious

sub-currents of Strand's passion seemed



slowly to gather themselves into one clearly defined

stream, and, after much scientific speculation,



he came to the conclusion that he loved

Augusta. In a moment of extreme discouragement,



he made a clean breast of it to Arnfinn,

at the same time informing him that he had



packed his knapsack, and would start on his

wanderings again the next morning. All his



friend's entreaties were in vain; he would and

must go. Strand was an exasperatingly head-



strong fellow, and persuasions never prevailed

with him. He had confirmed himself in the belief



that he was very unattractive to women, and

that Augusta, of all women, for some reason



which was not quite clear to him, hated and

abhorred him. Inexperienced as he was, he could



see no reason why she should avoid him, if she

did not hate him. They sat talking until mid-



night, each entangling himself in those passionate

paradoxes and contradictions peculiar to



passionate and impulsive youth. Strand paced

the floor with large steps, pouring out his long



pent-up emotion in violent tirades of self-

accusation and regret; while Arnfinn sat on the bed,



trying to soothe his excitement by assuring him

that he was not such a monster as, for the moment,



he had believed himself to be, but only

succeeding, in spite of all his efforts, in pouring



oil on the flames. Strand was scientifically

convinced that Nature, in accordance with some



inscrutable law of equilibrium, had found it

necessary to make him physically unattractive,



perhaps to indemnify mankind for that excess

of intellectual gifts which, at the expense of the



race at large, she had bestowed upon him.

Early the next morning, as a kind of etherealized



sunshine broke through the white muslin

curtains of Arnfinn's room, and long streaks of



sun-illumined dust stole through the air toward

the sleeper's pillow, there was a sharp rap at the



door, and Strand entered. His knapsack was

strapped over his shoulders, his long staff was in



his hand, and there was an expression of

conscious martyrdom in his features. Arnfinn



raised himself on his elbows, and rubbed his

eyes with a desperatedetermination to get



awake, but only succeeded in gaining a very

dim impression of a beard, a blue woolen shirt,



and a disproportionately large shoe buckle. The

figure advanced to the bed, extended a broad,



sun-burned hand, and a deep bass voice was

heard to say:



"Good-bye, brother."

Arnfinn, who was a hard sleeper, gave another



rub, and, in a querulously sleepy tone, managed

to mutter:



"Why,--is it as late as that--already?"

The words of parting were more remotely



repeated, the hand closed about Arnfinn's half-

unfeeling fingers, the lock on the door gave a



little sharp click, and all was still. But the

sunshine drove the dust in a dumb, confused dance






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