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The Merry Men-Part21_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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beauty and grace of the woman showed more clearly; but there was a



light in her eye that struck on me unpleasantly; and when I had

looked on awhile in silence, and seeminglyunobserved, I turned



tail as I had come, and groped my way back again to my own chamber.

By the time Felipe brought my supper and lights, my nerve was



utterly gone; and, had the lad been such as I was used to seeing

him, I should have kept him (even by force had that been necessary)



to take off the edge from my distastefulsolitude. But on Felipe,

also, the wind had exercised its influence. He had been feverish



all day; now that the night had come he was fallen into a low and

tremulous humour that reacted on my own. The sight of his scared



face, his starts and pallors and sudden harkenings, unstrung me;

and when he dropped and broke a dish, I fairly leaped out of my



seat.

'I think we are all mad to-day,' said I, affecting to laugh.



'It is the black wind,' he replied dolefully. 'You feel as if you

must do something, and you don't know what it is.'



I noted the aptness of the description; but, indeed, Felipe had

sometimes a strange felicity in rendering into words the sensations



of the body. 'And your mother, too,' said I; 'she seems to feel

this weather much. Do you not fear she may be unwell?'



He stared at me a little, and then said, 'No,' almost defiantly;

and the next moment, carrying his hand to his brow, cried out



lamentably on the wind and the noise that made his head go round

like a millwheel. 'Who can be well?' he cried; and, indeed, I



could only echo his question, for I was disturbed enough myself.

I went to bed early, wearied with day-long restlessness, but the



poisonous nature of the wind, and its ungodly and unintermittent

uproar, would not suffer me to sleep. I lay there and tossed, my



nerves and senses on the stretch. At times I would doze, dream

horribly, and wake again; and these snatches of oblivion confused



me as to time. But it must have been late on in the night, when I

was suddenly startled by an outbreak of pitiable and hateful cries.



I leaped from my bed, supposing I had dreamed; but the cries still

continued to fill the house, cries of pain, I thought, but



certainly of rage also, and so savage and discordant that they

shocked the heart. It was no illusion; some living thing, some



lunatic or some wild animal, was being foully tortured. The

thought of Felipe and the squirrel flashed into my mind, and I ran



to the door, but it had been locked from the outside; and I might

shake it as I pleased, I was a fast prisoner. Still the cries



continued. Now they would dwindle down into a moaning that seemed

to be articulate, and at these times I made sure they must be



human; and again they would break forth and fill the house with

ravings worthy of hell. I stood at the door and gave ear to them,



till at, last they died away. Long after that, I still lingered

and still continued to hear them mingle in fancy with the storming



of the wind; and when at last I crept to my bed, it was with a

deadly sickness and a blackness of horror on my heart.



It was little wonder if I slept no more. Why had I been locked in?

What had passed? Who was the author of these indescribable and



shocking cries? A human being? It was inconceivable. A beast?

The cries were scarce quite bestial; and what animal, short of a



lion or a tiger, could thus shake the solid walls of the

residencia? And while I was thus turning over the elements of the



mystery, it came into my mind that I had not yet set eyes upon the

daughter of the house. What was more probable than that the



daughter of the Senora, and the sister of Felipe, should be herself

insane? Or, what more likely than that these ignorant and half-



witted people should seek to manage an afflicted kinswoman by

violence? Here was a solution; and yet when I called to mind the



cries (which I never did without a shuddering chill) it seemed

altogether insufficient: not even cruelty could wring such cries



from madness. But of one thing I was sure: I could not live in a

house where such a thing was half conceivable, and not probe the






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