酷兔英语

章节正文
文章总共2页


cannot help it. As my body is trembling, so is my soul. This speech of the

grave, this dead man reaching out from the mould of a generation to protect me



from you. There is reason in it. There is the living mystery that prevents you

from marrying me. Were my father alive, he would protect me from you. Dead, he



still strives to protect me. His hands, his ghostly hands, are against your

life!"



"Do be calm," Chris said soothingly. "Listen to me. It is all a lark. We are

playing with the subjective forces of our own being, with phenomena which



science has not yet explained, that is all. Psychology is so young a science.

The subconscious mind has just been discovered, one might say. It is all



mystery as yet; the laws of it are yet to he formulated. This is simply

unexplained phenomena. But that is no reason that we should immediately



account for it by labelling it spiritism. As yet we do not know, that is all.

As for Planchette--"



He abruptly ceased, for at that moment, to enforce his remark, he had placed

his hand on Planchette, and at that moment his hand had been seized, as by a



paroxysm, and sent dashing, willy-nilly, across the paper, writing as the hand

of an angry person would write.



"No, I don't care for any more of it," Lute said, when the message was

completed. "It is like witnessing a fight between you and my father in the



flesh. There is the savor in it of struggle and blows."

She pointed out a sentence that read: "You cannot escape me nor the just



punishment that is yours!"

"Perhaps I visualize too vividly for my own comfort, for I can see his hands



at your throat. I know that he is, as you say, dead and dust, but for all

that, I can see him as a man that is alive and walks the earth; I see the



anger in his face, the anger and the vengeance, and I see it all directed

against you."



She crumpled up the scrawled sheets of paper, and put Planchette away.

"We won't bother with it any more," Chris said. "I didn't think it would



affect you so strongly. But it's all subjective, I'm sure, with possibly a bit

of suggestion thrown in--that and nothing more. And the whole strain of our



situation has made conditions unusuallyfavorable for strikingphenomena."

"And about our situation," Lute said, as they went slowly up the path they had



run down. " What we are to do, I don't know. Are we to go on, as we have gone

on? What is best? Have you thought of anything?"



He debated for a few steps. "I have thought of telling your uncle and aunt."

"What you couldn't tell me?" she asked quickly.



"No," he answered slowly; "but just as much as I have told you. I have no

right to tell them more than I have told you."



This time it was she that debated. "No, don't tell them," she said finally.

"They wouldn't understand. I don't understand, for that matter, but I have



faith in you, and in the nature of things they are not capable of this same

Implicit faith. You raise up before me a mystery that prevents our marriage,



and I believe you; but they could not believe you without doubts arising as to

the wrong and ill-nature of the mystery. Besides, it would but make their



anxieties greater."

"I should go away, I know I should go away," he said, half under his breath.



"And I can. I am no weakling. Because I have failed to remain away once, is no

reason that I shall fail again."



She caught her breath with a quick gasp. "It is like a bereavement to hear you

speak of going away and remaining away. I should never see you again. It is



too terrible. And do not reproach yourself for weakness. It is I who am to

blame. It is I who prevented you from remaining away before, I know. I wanted



you so. I want you so.

"There is nothing to be done, Chris, nothing to be done but to go on with it



and let it work itself out somehow. That is one thing we are sure of: it will

work out somehow."



"But it would be easier if I went away," he suggested.

"I am happier when you are here."



"The cruelty of circumstance," he muttered savagely.

"Go or stay--that will be part of the working out. But I do not want you to



go, Chris; you know that. And now no more about it. Talk cannot mend it. Let

us never mention it again--unless . . . unless some time, some wonderful,



happy time, you can come to me and say: 'Lute, all is well with me. The

mystery no longer binds me. I am free.' Until that time let us bury it, along



with Planchette and all the rest, and make the most of the little that is

given us.



"And now, to show you how prepared I am to make the most of that little, I am

even ready to go with you this afternoon to see the horse--though I wish you



wouldn't ride any more . . . for a few days, anyway, or for a week. What did

you say was his name?"



"Comanche," he answered. "I know you will like him."

*******






文章总共2页
文章标签:名著  

章节正文