the call of the canyon- 第34部分

〃True　blue！　He　believed　that。　I'm　glad。　。　。　。　Has　he　spoken　of　me　to　you　since　I　was　last　at　the　hospital？〃

〃Hardly；〃　replied　Burton；　with　the　straight；　strange　glance　on　her　again。

Carley　met　this　glance　and　suddenly　a　coldness　seemed　to　envelop　her。　It　did　not　seem　to　come　from　within　though　her　heart　stopped　beating。　Burton　had　not　changedthe　warmth；　the　gratitude　still　lingered　about　him。　But　the　light　of　his　eyes！　Carley　had　seen　it　in　Glenn's；　in　Rust'sa　strange；　questioning；　far…off　light；　infinitely　aloof　and　unutterably　sad。　Then　there　came　a　lift　of　her　heart　that　released　a　pang。　She　whispered　with　dread；　with　a　tremor；　with　an　instinct　of　calamity。

〃How　aboutRust？〃

〃He's　dead。〃


The　winter　came；　with　its　bleak　sea　winds　and　cold　rains　and　blizzards　of　snow。　Carley　did　not　go　South。　She　read　and　brooded；　and　gradually　avoided　all　save　those　true　friends　who　tolerated　her。

She　went　to　the　theater　a　good　deal；　showing　preference　for　the　drama　of　strife；　and　she　did　not　go　anywhere　for　amusement。　Distraction　and　amusement　seemed　to　be　dead　issues　for　her。　But　she　could　become　absorbed　in　any　argument　on　the　good　or　evil　of　the　present　day。　Socialism　reached　into　her　mind；　to　be　rejected。　She　had　never　understood　it　clearly；　but　it　seemed　to　her　a　state　of　mind　where　dissatisfied　men　and　women　wanted　to　share　what　harder　working　or　more　gifted　people　possessed。　There　were　a　few　who　had　too　much　of　the　world's　goods　and　many　who　had　too　little。　A　readjustment　of　such　inequality　and　injustice　must　come；　but　Carley　did　not　see　the　remedy　in　Socialism。

She　devoured　books　on　the　war　with　a　morbid　curiosity　and　hope　that　she　would　find　some　illuminating　truth　as　to　the　uselessness　of　sacrificing　young　men　in　the　glory　and　prime　of　their　lives。　To　her　war　appeared　a　matter　of　human　nature　rather　than　politics。　Hate　really　was　an　effect　of　war。　In　her　judgment　future　wars　could　be　avoided　only　in　two　waysby　men　becoming　honest　and　just　or　by　women　refusing　to　have　children　to　be　sacrificed。　As　there　seemed　no　indication　whatever　of　the　former；　she　wondered　how　soon　all　women　of　all　races　would　meet　on　a　common　height；　with　the　mounting　spirit　that　consumed　her　own　heart。　Such　time　must　come。　She　granted　every　argument　for　war　and　flung　against　it　one　ringing　passionate　truthagony　of　mangled　soldiers　and　agony　of　women　and　children。　There　was　no　justification　for　offensive　war。　It　was　monstrous　and　hideous。　If　nature　and　evolution　proved　the　absolute　need　of　strife；　war；　blood；　and　death　in　the　progress　of　animal　and　man　toward　perfection；　then　it　would　be　better　to　abandon　this　Christless　code　and　let　the　race　of　man　die　out。

All　through　these　weeks　she　longed　for　a　letter　from　Glenn。　But　it　did　not　come。　Had　he　finally　roused　to　the　sweetness　and　worth　and　love　of　the　western　girl；　Flo　Hutter？　Carley　knew　absolutely；　through　both　intelligence　and　intuition；　that　Glenn　Kilbourne　would　never　love　Flo。　Yet　such　was　her　intensity　and　stress　at　times；　especially　in　the　darkness　of　waking　hours；　that　jealousy　overcame　her　and　insidiously　worked　its　havoc。　Peace　and　a　strange　kind　of　joy　came　to　her　in　dreams　of　her　walks　and　rides　and　climbs　in　Arizona；　of　the　lonely　canyon　where　it　always　seemed　afternoon；　of　the　tremendous　colored　vastness　of　that　Painted　Desert。　But　she　resisted　these　dreams　now　because　when　she　awoke　from　them　she　suffered　such　a　yearning　that　it　became　unbearable。　Then　she　knew　the　feeling　of　the　loneliness　and　solitude　of　the　hills。　Then　she　knew　the　sweetness　of　the　murmur　of　falling　water；　the　wind　in　the　pines；　the　song　of　birds；　the　white　radiance　of　the　stars；　the　break　of　day　and　its　gold…flushed　close。　But　she　had　not　yet　divined'　their　meaning。　It　was　not　all　love　for　Glenn　Kilbourne。　Had　city　life　palled　upon　her　solely　because　of　the　absence　of　her　lover？　So　Carley　plodded　on；　like　one　groping　in　the　night；　fighting　shadows。

One　day　she　received　a　card　from　an　old　schoolmate；　a　girl　who　had　married　out　of　Carley's　set；　and　had　been　ostracized。　She　was　living　down　on　Long　Island；　at　a　little　country　place　named　Wading　River。　Her　husband　was　an　electriciansomething　of　an　inventor。　He　worked　hard。　A　baby　boy　had　just　come　to　them。　Would　not　Carley　run　down　on　the　train　to　see　the　youngster？

That　was　a　strong　and　trenchant　call。　Carley　went。　She　found　indeed　a　country　village；　and　on　the　outskirts　of　it　a　little　cottage　that　must　have　been　pretty　in　summer；　when　the　green　was　on　vines　and　trees。　Her　old　schoolmate　was　rosy；　plump；　bright…eyed；　and　happy。　She　saw　in　Carley　no　changea　fact　that　somehow　rebounded　sweetly　on　Carley's　consciousness。　Elsie　prattled　of　herself　and　her　husband　and　how　they　had　worked　to　earn　this　little　home；　and　then　the　baby。

When　Carley　saw　the　adorable　dark…eyed；　pink…toed；　curly…fisted　baby　she　understood　Elsie's　happiness　and　reveled　in　it。　When　she　felt　the　soft；　warm；　living　little　body　in　her　arms；　against　her　breast；　then　she　absorbed　some　incalculable　and　mysterious　strength。　What　were　the　trivial；　sordid；　and　selfish　feelings　that　kept　her　in　tumult　compared　to　this　welling　emotion？　Had　she　the　secret　in　her　arms？　Babies　and　Carley　had　never　become　closely　acquainted　in　those　infrequent　meetings　that　were　usually　the　result　of　chance。　But　Elsie's　baby　nestled　to　her　breast　and　cooed　to　her　and　clung　to　her　finger。　When　at　length　the　youngster　was　laid　in　his　crib　it　seemed　to　Carley　that　the　fragrance　and　the　soul　of　him　remained　with　her。

〃A　real　American　boy！〃　she　murmured。

〃You　can　just　bet　he　is；〃　replied　Elsie。　〃Carley；　you　ought　to　see　his　dad。〃

〃I'd　like　to　meet　him；〃　said　Carley；　thoughtfully。　〃Elsie；　was　he　in　the　service？〃

〃Yes。　He　was　on　one　of　the　navy　transports　that　took　munitions　to　France。　Think　of　me；　carrying　this　baby；　with　my　husband　on　a　boat　full　of　explosives　and　with　German　submarines　roaming　the　ocean！　Oh；　it　was　horrible！〃

〃But　he　came　back；　and　now　all's　well　with　you；〃　said　Carley；　with　a　smile　of　earnestness。　〃I'm　very　glad；　Elsie。〃

〃Yesbut　I　shudder　when　I　think　of　a　possible　war　in　the　future。　I'm　going　to　raise　boys；　and　girls；　too；　I　hopeand　the　thought　of　war　is　torturing。〃

Carley　found　her　return　train　somewhat　late；　and　she　took　advantage　of　the　delay　to　walk　out　to　the　wooded　headlands　above　the　Sound。

It　was　a　raw　March　day；　with　a　steely　sun　going　down　in　a　pale…gray　sky。　Patches　of　snow　lingered　in　sheltered　brushy　places。　This　bit　of　woodland　had　a　floor　of　soft　sand　that　dragged　at　Carley's　feet。　There　were　sere　and　brown　leaves　still　fluttering　on　the　scrub…oaks。　At　length　Carley　came　out　on　the　edge　of　the　bluff　with　the　gray　expanse　of　seat　beneath　her；　and　a　long　wandering　shore　line；　ragged　with　wreckage　or　driftwood。　The　surge　of　water　rolled　ina　long；　low；　white；　creeping　line　that　softly　roared　on　the　beach　and　dragged　the　pebbles　gratingly　back。　There　was　neither　boat　nor　living　creature　in　sight。

Carley　felt　the　scene　ease　a　clutching　hand　within　her　breast。　Here　was　loneliness　and　solitude　vastly　different　from　that　of　Oak　Creek　Canyon；　yet　it　held　the　same　intangible　power　to　soothe。　The　swish　of　the　surf；　the　moan　of　the　wind　in　the　evergreens；　were　voices　that　called　to　her。　How　many　more　miles　of　lonely　land　than　peopled　cities！　Then　the　sea…how　vast！　And　over　that　the　illimitable　and　infinite　sky；　and　beyond；　the　endless　realms　of　space。　It　helped　her　somehow　to　see　and　hear　and　feel　the　eternal　presence　of　nature。　In　communion　with　nature　the　significance　of　life　might　be　realized。　She　remembered　Glenn　quoting：　〃The　world　is　too　much　with　us。　。　。　。　Getting　and　spending；　we　lay　waste　our　powers。〃　What　were　our　powers？　What　did　God　intend　men　to　do　with　hands　and　bodies　and　gifts　and　souls？　She　gazed　back　over　the　bleak　land　and　then　out　across　the　broad　sea。　Only　a　millionth　part　of　the　surface　of　the　unsubmerged　earth　knew　the　populous　abodes　of　man。　And　the　lonely　sea；　inhospitable　to　stable　homes　of　men；　was　thrice　the　area　of　the　land。　Were　men　intended；　then；　to　congregate　in　few　places；　to　squabble　and　to　bicker　and　breed　the　discontents　that　led　to　injustice；　hatred；　and　war？　What　a　mystery　it　all　was！　But　Nature　was　neither　false　nor　little；　however　cruel　she　might　be。


Once　again　Carley　fell　under　the　fury　of　her　ordeal。　Wavering　now；　restless　and　sleepless；　given　to　violent　starts　and　slow　spells　of　apathy；　she　was　wearing　to　defeat。

That　spring　day；　one　year　from　the　day　she　had　left　New　York　for　Arizona；　she　wished　to　spend　alone。　But　her　thoughts　grew　unbearable。　She　summed　up　the　endless　year。　Could　she　live　another　like　it？　Something　must　break　within　her。

She　went　out。　The　air　was　warm　and　balmy；　carrying　that　subtle　current　which　caused　the　mild　madness　of　spring　fever。　In　the　Park　the　greening　of　the　grass；　the　opening　of　buds；　the　singing　of　birds；　the　gladness　of　children；　the　light　on　the　water；　the　warm　sunall　seemed　to　reproach　her。　Carley　fled　from　the　Park　to　the　home　of　Beatrice　Lovell；　and　there；　unhappily；　she　encountered　those　of　her　acquaintance　with　whom　she　had　least　patience。　They　forced　her　to　think　too　keenly　of　herself。　They　appeared　carefree　while　she　was　miserable。

Over　teacups　there　were　waging　gossip　and　argument　and　criticism。　When　Carley　entered　with　Beatrice　there　was　a　sudden　hush　and　then　a　murmur。

〃Hello；　Carley！　Now　say　it　to　our　faces；〃　called　out　Geralda　Conners；　a　fair；　handsome　young　woman　of　thirty；　exquisitely　gowned　in　the　latest　mode；　and　whose　brilliantly　tinted　complexion　was　not　the　natural　one　of　health。

〃Say　what；　Geralda？〃　asked　Carley。　〃I　certainly　would　not　say　anything　behind　your　backs　that　I　wouldn't　repeat　here。〃

〃Eleanor　has　been　telling　us　how　you　simply　burned　us　up。〃

〃We　did　have　an　argument。　And　I'm　not　sure　I　said　all　I　wanted　to。〃

〃Say　the　rest　here；〃　drawled　a　lazy；　mellow　voice。　〃For　Heaven's　sake；　stir　us　up。　If　I　could　get　a　kick　out　of　anything　I'd　bless　it。〃

〃Carley；　go　on　the　stage；〃　advised　another。　〃You've　got　Elsie　Ferguson　tied　to　the　mast　for　looks。　And　lately　you're　surely　tragic　enough。〃

〃I　wish　you'd　go　somewhere　far　off！〃　observed　a　third。　〃My　husband　is　dippy　about　you。〃

〃Girls；　do　you　know　that　you　actually　have　not　one　sensible　idea　in