marjorie daw-第2部分

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with　dry　legal　parchments；　mortgages；　and　affidavits；　you　take　down
a　package　of　manuscript；　and　lo！　there　are　lyrics　and　sonnets　and
canzonettas。　You　really　have　a　graphic　descriptive　touch；　Edward
Delaney；　and　I　suspect　you　of　anonymous　love…tales　in　the
magazines。

I　shall　be　a　bear　until　I　hear　from　you　again。　Tell　me　all　about
your　pretty　inconnue　across　the　road。　What　is　her　name？　Who　is　she？
Who's　her　father？　Where's　her　mother？　Who's　her　lover？　You　cannot
imagine　how　this　will　occupy　me。　The　more　trifling；　the　better。　My
imprisonment　has　weakened　me　intellectually　to　such　a　degree　that　I
find　your　epistolary　gifts　quite　considerable。　I　am　passing　into　my
second　childhood。　In　a　week　or　two　I　shall　take　to　India　rubber
rings　and　prongs　of　coral。　A　silver　cup；　with　an　appropriate
inscription；　would　be　a　delicate　attention　on　your　part。　In　the
mean　time；　write！


IV。

EDWARD　DELANEY　TO　JOHN　FLEMMING。

August　12；　1872。

The　sick　pasha　shall　be　amused。　Bismillah！　he　wills　it　so。　If　the
story…teller　becomes　prolix　and　tediousthe　bow…string　and　the
sack；　and　two　Nubians　to　drop　him　into　the　Piscataqua！　But　truly；
Jack；　I　have　a　hard　task。　There　is　literally　nothing　hereexcept
the　little　girl　over　the　way。　She　is　swinging　in　the　hammock　at
this　moment。　It　is　to　me　compensation　for　many　of　the　ills　of　life
to　see　her　now　and　then　put　out　a　small　kid　boot；　which　fits　like　a
glove；　and　set　herself　going。　Who　is　she；　and　what　is　her　name？　Her
name　is　Daw。　Only　daughter　if　Mr。　Richard　W。　Daw；　ex…colonel　and
banker。　Mother　dead。　One　brother　at　Harvard；　elder　brother　killed
at　the　battle　of　Fair　Oaks；　ten　years　ago。　Old；　rich　family；　the
Daws。　This　is　the　homestead；　where　father　and　daughter　pass　eight
months　of　the　twelve；　the　rest　of　the　year　in　Baltimore　and
Washington。　The　New　England　winter　too　many　for　the　old　gentleman。
The　daughter　is　called　MarjorieMarjorie　Daw。　Sounds　odd　at　first；
doesn't　it？　But　after　you　say　it　over　to　yourself　half　a　dozen
times；　you　like　it。　There's　a　pleasing　quaintness　to　it；　something
prim　and　violet…like。　Must　be　a　nice　sort　of　girl　to　be　called
Marjorie　Daw。

I　had　mine　host　of　The　Pines　in　the　witness…box　last　night；　and
drew　the　foregoing　testimony　from　him。　He　has　charge　of　Mr。　Daw's
vegetable…garden；　and　has　known　the　family　these　thirty　years。　Of
course　I　shall　make　the　acquaintance　of　my　neighbors　before　many
days。　It　will　be　next　to　impossible　for　me　not　to　meet　Mr。　Daw　or
Miss　Daw　in　some　of　my　walks。　The　young　lady　has　a　favorite　path　to
the　sea…beach。　I　shall　intercept　her　some　morning；　and　touch　my　hat
to　her。　Then　the　princess　will　bend　her　fair　head　to　me　with
courteous　surprise　not　unmixed　with　haughtiness。　Will　snub　me；　in
fact。　All　this　for　thy　sake；　O　Pasha　of　the　Snapt　Axle…tree！。　。　。
How　oddly　things　fall　out！　Ten　minutes　ago　I　was　called　down　to　the
parloryou　know　the　kind　of　parlors　in　farm…houses　on　the　coast；　a
sort　of　amphibious　parlor；　with　sea…shells　on　the　mantel…piece　and
spruce　branches　in　the　chimney…placewhere　I　found　my　father　and
Mr。　Daw　doing　the　antique　polite　to　each　other。　He　had　come　to　pay
his　respects　to　his　new　neighbors。　Mr。　Daw　is　a　tall；　slim
gentleman　of　about　fifty…five；　with　a　florid　face　and　snow…white
mustache　and　side…whiskers。　Looks　like　Mr。　Dombey；　or　as　Mr。　Dombey
would　have　looked　if　he　had　served　a　few　years　in　the　British　Army。
Mr。　Daw　was　a　colonel　in　the　late　war；　commanding　the　regiment　in
which　his　son　was　a　lieutenant。　Plucky　old　boy；　backbone　of　New
Hampshire　granite。　Before　taking　his　leave；　the　colonel　delivered
himself　of　an　invitation　as　if　he　were　issuing　a　general　order。
Miss　Daw　has　a　few　friends　coming；　at　4　p。m。；　to　play　croquet　on
the　lawn　（parade…ground）　and　have　tea　（cold　rations）　on　the　piazza。
Will　we　honor　them　with　our　company？　（or　be　sent　to　the　guard…
house。）　My　father　declines　on　the　plea　of　ill…health。　My　father's
son　bows　with　as　much　suavity　as　he　knows；　and　accepts。

In　my　next　I　shall　have　something　to　tell　you。　I　shall　have　seen
the　little　beauty　face　to　face。　I　have　a　presentiment；　Jack；　that
this　Daw　is　a　rara　avis！　Keep　up　your　spirits；　my　boy；　until　I
write　you　another　letterand　send　me　along　word　how's　your　leg。


V。

EDWARD　DELANEY　TO　JOHN　FLEMMING。

August　13；　1872。

The　party；　my　dear　Jack；　was　as　dreary　as　possible。　A　lieutenant　of
the　navy；　the　rector　of　the　Episcopal　Church　at　Stillwater；　and　a
society　swell　from　Nahant。　The　lieutenant　looked　as　if　he　had
swallowed　a　couple　of　his　buttons；　and　found　the　bullion　rather
indigestible；　the　rector　was　a　pensive　youth；　of　the　daffydowndilly
sort；　and　the　swell　from　Nahant　was　a　very　weak　tidal　wave　indeed。
The　women　were　much　better；　as　they　always　are；　the　two　Miss
Kingsburys　of　Philadelphia；　staying　at　the　Seashell　House；　two
bright　and　engaging　girls。　But　Marjorie　Daw！

The　company　broke　up　soon　after　tea；　and　I　remained　to　smoke　a
cigar　with　the　colonel　on　the　piazza。　It　was　like　seeing　a　picture；
to　see　Miss　Marjorie　hovering　around　the　old　soldier；　and　doing　a
hundred　gracious　little　things　for　him。　She　brought　the　cigars　and
lighted　the　tapers　with　her　own　delicate　fingers；　in　the　most
enchanting　fashion。　As　we　sat　there；　she　came　and　went　in　the
summer　twilight；　and　seemed；　with　her　white　dress　and　pale　gold
hair；　like　some　lovely　phantom　that　had　sprung　into　existence
out　of　the　smokewreaths。　If　she　had　melted　into　air；　like　the
statue　of　Galatea　in　the　play；　I　should　have　been　more　sorry　than
surprised。

It　was　easy　to　perceive　that　the　old　colonel　worshipped　her　and　she
him。　I　think　the　relation　between　an　elderly　father　and　a　daughter
just　blooming　into　womanhood　the　most　beautiful　possible。　There　is
in　it　a　subtile　sentiment　that　cannot　exist　in　the　case　of　mother
and　daughter；　or　that　of　son　and　mother。　But　this　is　getting　into
deep　water。

I　sat　with　the　Daws　until　half　past　ten；　and　saw　the　moon　rise　on
the　sea。　The　ocean；　that　had　stretched　motionless　and　black　against
the　horizon；　was　changed　by　magic　into　a　broken　field　of　glittering
ice；　interspersed　with　marvellous　silvery　fjords。　In　the　far
distance　the　Isle　of　Shoals　loomed　up　like　a　group　of　huge　bergs
drifting　down　on　us。　The　Polar　Regions　in　a　June　thaw！　It　was
exceedingly　fine。　What　did　we　talk　about？　We　talked　about　the
weatherand　you！　The　weather　has　been　disagreeable　for　several
days　pastand　so　have　you。　I　glided　from　one　topic　to　the　other
very　naturally。　I　told　my　friends　of　your　accident；　how　it　had
frustrated　all　our　summer　plans；　and　what　our　plans　were。　I　played
quite　a　spirited　solo　on　the　fibula。　Then　I　described　you；　or；
rather；　I　didn't。　I　spoke　of　your　amiability；　of　your　patience
under　this　severe　affliction；　of　your　touching　gratitude　when
Dillon　brings　you　little　presents　of　fruit；　of　your　tenderness　to
your　sister　Fanny；　whom　you　would　not　allow　to　stay　in　town　to
nurse　you；　and　how　you　heroically　sent　her　back　to　Newport；
preferring　to　remain　alone　with　Mary；　the　cook；　and　your　man
Watkins；　to　whom；　by　the　way；　you　were　devotedly　attached。　If　you
had　been　there；　Jack；　you　wouldn't　have　known　yourself。　I　should
have　excelled　as　a　criminal　lawyer；　if　I　had　not　turned　my
attention　to　a　different　branch　of　jurisprudence。　

Miss　Marjorie　asked　all　manner　of　leading　questions　concerning　you。
It　did　not　occur　to　me　then；　but　it　struck　me　forcibly　afterwards；
that　she　evinced　a　singular　interest　in　the　conversation。　When　I
got　back　to　my　room；　I　recalled　how　eagerly　she　leaned　forward；
with　her　full；　snowy　throat　in　strong　moonlight；　listening　to　what
I　said。　Positively；　I　think　I　made　her　like　you！

Miss　Daw　is　a　girl　whom　you　would　like　immensely；　I　can　tell　you
that。　A　beauty　without　affectation；　a　high　and　tender　natureif
one　can　read　the　soul　in　the　face。　And　the　old　colonel　is　a　noble
character；　too。

I　am　glad　that　the　Daws　are　such　pleasant　people。　The　Pines　is　an
isolated　spot；　and　my　resources　are　few。　I　fear　I　should　have　found
life　here　somewhat　monotonous　before　long；　with　no　other　society
than　that　of　my　excellent　sire。　It　is　true；　I　might　have　made　a
target　of　the　defenceless　invalid；　but　I　haven't　a　taste　for
artillery；　moi。


VI。

JOHN　FLEMMING　TO　EDWARD　DELANEY。

August　17；　1872。

For　a　man　who　hasn't　a　taste　for　artillery；　it　occurs　to　me；　my
friend；　you　are　keeping　up　a　pretty　lively　fire　on　my　inner　works。
But　go　on。　Cynicism　is　a　small　brass　field…piece　that　eventually
bursts　and　kills　the　artilleryman。

You　may　abuse　me　as　much　as　you　like；　and　I'll　not　complain；　for　I
don't　know　what　I　should　do　without　your　letters。　They　are　curing
me。　I　haven't　hurled　anything　at　Watkins　since　last　Sunday；　partly
because　I　have　grown　more　amiable　under　your　teaching；　and　partly
because　Watkins　captured　my　ammunition　one　night；　and　carried　it
off　to　the　library。　He　is　rapidly　losing　the　habit　he　had　acquired
of　dodging　whenever　I　rub　my　ear；　or　make　any　slight　motion　with　my
right　arm。　He　is　still　suggestive　of　the　wine…cellar；　however。　You
may　break；　you　may　shatter　Watkins；　if　you　will；　but　the　scent　of
the　Roederer　will　hang　round　him　still。

Ned；　that　Miss　Daw　must　be　a　charming　person。　I　should　certainly
like　her。　I　like　her　already。　When　you　spoke　in　your　first　letter
of　seeing　a　young　girl　swinging　in　a　hammock　under　your　chamber
window；　I　was　somehow　strangely　drawn　to　her。　I　cannot　account　for
it　in　the　least。　What　you　have　subsequently　written　of　Miss　Daw　has
strengthened　the　impression。　You　seem　to　be　describing　a　woman　I
have　known　in　some　previous　state　of　existence；　or　dreamed　of　in
this。　Upon　my　word；　if　you　were　to　send　me　her　photograph；　I
believe　I　should　recognize　her　at　a　glance。　Her　manner；　that
listening　attitude；　her　traits　of　character；　as　you　indicate　them；
the　light　hair　and　the　dark　eyesthey　are　all　familiar　things　to
me。　Asked　a　lot　of　questions；　did　she？　Curious　about　me？　That　is
strange。

You　would　laugh　in　your　sleeve；　you　wretched　old　cynic；　if　you　knew
how　I　lie　awake　nights；　with　my　gas　turned　down　to　a　star；　thinking
of　The　Pines　and　the　house　across　the　road。　How　cool　it　must　be
down　there！　I　long　for　the　salt　smell　in　the　air。　I　picture　the
colonel