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Whirligigs-Part40_O.Henry(1862-1910)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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But Octavia was in a trance. Her eyes were steadily



regarding something quite beyond their focus. Her lips

were parted, and her face was lighted by the kindling



furor of the explorer, the ardent, stirring disquiet of the

adventurer. Suddenly she clasped her hands together



exultantly.

"The problem solves itself, auntie," she cried. "I'm



going to that ranch. I'm going to live on it. I'm

going to learn to like mutton, and even concede the good



qualities of centipedes -- at a respectful distance. It's

just what I need. It's a new life that comes when my old



one is just ending. It's a release, auntie; it isn't a narrow-

ing. Think of the gallops over those leagues of prairies,



with the wind tugging at the roots of your hair, the com-

ing close to the earth and learning over again the stories



of the growing grass and the little wild flowers without

names! Glorious is what it will be. Shall I be a



shepherdess with a Watteau hat, and a crook to keep the

bad wolves from the lambs, or a typical Western ranch



girl, with short hair, like the pictures of her in the Sunday

papers? I think the latter. And they'll have my picture,



too, with the wild-cats I've slain, single-handed, hanging

from my saddle horn. 'From the Four Hundred to the



Flocks' is the way they'll headline it, and they'll print

photographs of the old Van Dresser mansion and the



church where I was married. They won't have my

picture, but they'll get an artist to draw it. I'll be wild



and woolly, and I'll grow my own wool."

"Octavia!" Aunt Ellen condensed into the one word



all the protests she was unable to utter.

"Don't say a word, auntie. I'm going. I'll see the



sky at night fit down on the world like a big butter-dish

cover, and I'll make friends again with the stars that I



haven't had a chat with since I was a wee child. I wish

to go. I'm tired of all this. I'm glad I haven't any



money. I could bless Colonel Beaupree for that ranch,

and forgive him for all his bubbles. What if the life will



be rough and lonely! I -- I deserve it. I shut my heart

to everything except that miserableambition. I -- oh,



I wish to go away, and forget -- forget!"

Octavia swerved suddenly to her knees, laid her flushed



face in her aunt's lap, and shook with turbulent sobs.

Aunt Ellen bent over her, and smoothed the coppery-



brown hair.

"I didn't know," she said, gently; "I didn't know --



that. Who was it, dear?

When Mrs. Octavia Beaupree, n锟絜 Van Dresser,



stepped from the train at Nopal, her manner lost, for the

moment, some of that easy certitude which had always



marked her movements. The town was of recent estab-

lishment, and seemed to have been hastily constructed of



undressed lumber and flapping canvas. The element

that had congregated about the station, though not



offensively demonstrative, was clearly composed of citizens

accustomed to and prepared for rude alarms.



Octavia stood on the platform, against the telegraph

office, and attempted to choose by intuition from the



swaggering, straggling string, of loungers, the manager

of the Rancho de las Sombras, who had been instructed



by Mr. Bannister to meet her there. That tall, serious,

looking, elderly man in the blue flannel shirt and white



tie she thought must be he. But, no; he passed by,

removing his gaze from the lady as hers rested on him,



according to the Southern custom. The manager, she

thought, with some impatience at being kept waiting,



should have no difficulty in selecting her. Young women

wearing the most recent thing in ash-coloured travelling



suits were not so plentiful in Nopal!




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