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Lady Baltimore-Part35_Owen Wister(1860-1938)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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He spoke first. "Your friend has given his word to a lady; he must stand

by it like a gentleman.



"Lot of difference," I returned, still looking round the room, "between

spirit and letter. If his heart has broken the word, his lips can't make



him a gentleman."

John brought his fist down on the table. "He had no business to get



engaged to her! He must take the consequences."

That blow of the fist on the table brought my thoughts wholly clear and



fixed on the one subject; my will had no longer to struggle with them,

they worked of themselves in just the way that I wanted them to do.



"If he's a gentleman, he must stand to his word," John repeated, "unless

she releases him."



I fumbled again for my letter. "That's just about what he says himself,"

I rejoined, sitting down. "He thinks he ought to take the consequences."



"Of course!" John Mayrant's face was very stern as he sat in judgment on

himself.



"But why should she take the consequences?" I asked.

"What consequences?"



"Being married to a man who doesn't want her, all her life, until death

them do part. How's that? Having the daily humiliation of his indif-



ference, and the world's knowledge of his indifference. How's that?

Perhaps having the further humiliation of knowing that his heart belongs



to another woman. How's that? That's not what a girl bargains for. His

standing to his word is not an act of honor, but a deception. And in



talking about 'taking the consequences,' he's patting his personal

sacrifice on the back and forgetting all about her and the sacrifice he's



putting her to. What's the brief suffering of a broken engagement to

that? No: the true consequences that a man should shoulder for making



such a mistake is the poor opinion that society holds of him for placing

a woman in such a position; and to free her is the most honorable thing



he can do. Her dignity suffers less so than if she were a wife chained

down to perpetual disregard."



John, after a silence, said: "That is a very curious view."

"That is the view I shall give my friend," I answered. "I shall tell him



that in keeping on he is not at bottom honestly thinking of the girl and

her welfare, but of himself and the public opinion he's afraid of, if he



breaks his engagement. And I shall tell him that if I'm in church and

they come to the place where they ask if any man knows just cause or



impediment, I shall probably call out, 'He does! His heart's not in it.

This is not marriage that he's committing. You're pronouncing your



blessing upon a fraud.'"

John sat now a long time silent, holding his extinct cigar. The lamp was



almost burned dry; we had blown out the expiring candles some while

since. "That is a very curious view," he repeated. "I should like to hear



what your friend says in answer."

This finished our late sitting. We opened the door and went out for a



brief space into the night to get its pure breath into our lungs, and

look to the distant place where the moon had sailed. Then we went to bed,



or rather, I did; for the last thing that I remembered was John, standing

by the window of our bedroom still dressed, looking out into the forest.



XX: What She Wanted Him For

He was neither at the window, nor in his bed, nor anywhere else to be



seen, when I opened my eyes upon the world next morning; nor did any

answer come when I called his name. I raised myself and saw outside the



great branches of the wood, bathed from top to trunk in a sunshine that

was no early morning's light; and upon this, the silence of the house



spoke plainly to me not of man still sleeping, but of man long risen and

gone about his business. I stepped barefoot across the wooden floor to



where lay my watch, but it marked an unearthly hour, for I had neglected

to wind it at the end of our long and convivial evening--of which my head



was now giving me some news. And then I saw a note addressed to me from

John Mayrant.



"You are a good sleeper," it began, "but my conscience is clear as to the

Bombo, called by some Kill-devil, about which I hope you will remember



that I warned you."

He hoped I should remember! Of course I remembered everything; why did he



say that? An apology for his leaving me followed; he had been obliged to

take the early train because of the Custom House, where he was serving



his final days; they would give me breakfast when ever I should be ready

for it, and I was to make free of the place; I had better visit the old



church (they had orders about the keys) and drive myself into Kings Port

after lunch; the horses would know the way, if I did not. It was the



boy's closing sentence which fixed my attention wholly, took it away from

Kill-devil Bombo and my Aunt Carola's commission, for the execution of



which I now held the clue, and sent me puzzling for the right

interpretation of his words:--






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