tales and fantasies-第7部分

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from　his　perch；　and　was　slapping　his　chest；　for　the　night　was

bitter。



'I　wish　you　would；'　said　John；　putting　his　hand　to　his　brow

in　one　of　his　accesses　of　giddiness。



The　man　pulled　at　the　handle；　and　the　clanking　of　the　bell

replied　from　further　in　the　garden；　twice　and　thrice　he　did

it；　with　sufficient　intervals；　in　the　great　frosty　silence　of

the　night　the　sounds　fell　sharp　and　small。



'Does　he　expect　ye？'　asked　the　driver；　with　that　manner　of

familiar　interest　that　well　became　his　port…wine　face；　and

when　John　had　told　him　no；　'Well；　then；'　said　the　cabman；　'if

ye'll　tak'　my　advice　of　it；　we'll　just　gang　back。　　And　that's

disinterested；　mind　ye；　for　my　stables　are　in　the　Glesgie

Road。'



'The　servants　must　hear；'　said　John。



'Hout！'　said　the　driver。　　'He　keeps　no　servants　here；　man。

They're　a'　in　the　town　house；　I　drive　him　often；　it's　just　a

kind　of　a　hermitage；　this。'



'Give　me　the　bell；'　said　John；　and　he　plucked　at　it　like　a

man　desperate。



The　clamour　had　not　yet　subsided　before　they　heard　steps　upon

the　gravel；　and　a　voice　of　singular　nervous　irritability

cried　to　them　through　the　door；　'Who　are　you；　and　what　do　you

want？'



'Alan；'　said　John；　'it's　me　…　it's　Fatty　…　John；　you　know。

I'm　just　come　home；　and　I've　come　to　stay　with　you。'



There　was　no　reply　for　a　moment；　and　then　the　door　was

opened。



'Get　the　portmanteau　down；'　said　John　to　the　driver。



'Do　nothing　of　the　kind；'　said　Alan；　and　then　to　John；　'Come

in　here　a　moment。　　I　want　to　speak　to　you。'



John　entered　the　garden；　and　the　door　was　closed　behind　him。

A　candle　stood　on　the　gravel　walk；　winking　a　little　in　the

draughts；　it　threw　inconstant　sparkles　on　the　clumped　holly；

struck　the　light　and　darkness　to　and　fro　like　a　veil　on

Alan's　features；　and　sent　his　shadow　hovering　behind　him。

All　beyond　was　inscrutable；　and　John's　dizzy　brain　rocked

with　the　shadow。　　Yet　even　so；　it　struck　him　that　Alan　was

pale；　and　his　voice；　when　he　spoke；　unnatural。



'What　brings　you　here　to…night？'　he　began。　　'I　don't　want；

God　knows；　to　seem　unfriendly；　but　I　cannot　take　you　in；

Nicholson；　I　cannot　do　it。'



'Alan；'　said　John；　'you've　just　got　to！　　You　don't　know　the

mess　I'm　in；　the　governor's　turned　me　out；　and　I　daren't　show

my　face　in　an　inn；　because　they're　down　on　me　for　murder　or

something！'



'For　what？'　cried　Alan；　starting。



'Murder；　I　believe；'　says　John。



'Murder！'　repeated　Alan；　and　passed　his　hand　over　his　eyes。

'What　was　that　you　were　saying？'　he　asked　again。



'That　they　were　down　on　me；'　said　John。　　'I'm　accused　of

murder；　by　what　I　can　make　out；　and　I've　really　had　a

dreadful　day　of　it；　Alan；　and　I　can't　sleep　on　the　roadside

on　a　night　like　this　…　at　least；　not　with　a　portmanteau；'　he

pleaded。



'Hush！'　said　Alan；　with　his　head　on　one　side；　and　then；　'Did

you　hear　nothing？'　he　asked。



'No；'　said　John；　thrilling；　he　knew　not　why；　with

communicated　terror。　　'No；　I　heard　nothing；　why？'　　And　then；

as　there　was　no　answer；　he　reverted　to　his　pleading：　'But　I

say；　Alan；　you've　just　got　to　take　me　in。　　I'll　go　right　away

to　bed　if　you　have　anything　to　do。　　I　seem　to　have　been

drinking；　I　was　that　knocked　over。　　I　wouldn't　turn　you　away；

Alan；　if　you　were　down　on　your　luck。'



'No？'　returned　Alan。　　'Neither　will　you；　then。　　Come　and

let's　get　your　portmanteau。'



The　cabman　was　paid；　and　drove　off　down　the　long；　lamp…

lighted　hill；　and　the　two　friends　stood　on　the　side…walk

beside　the　portmanteau　till　the　last　rumble　of　the　wheels　had

died　in　silence。　　It　seemed　to　John　as　though　Alan　attached

importance　to　this　departure　of　the　cab；　and　John；　who　was　in

no　state　to　criticise；　shared　profoundly　in　the　feeling。



When　the　stillness　was　once　more　perfect；　Alan　shouldered　the

portmanteau；　carried　it　in；　and　shut　and　locked　the　garden

door；　and　then；　once　more；　abstraction　seemed　to　fall　upon

him；　and　he　stood　with　his　hand　on　the　key；　until　the　cold

began　to　nibble　at　John's　fingers。



'Why　are　we　standing　here？'　asked　John。



'Eh？'　said　Alan；　blankly。



'Why；　man；　you　don't　seem　yourself；'　said　the　other。



'No；　I'm　not　myself；'　said　Alan；　and　he　sat　down　on　the

portmanteau　and　put　his　face　in　his　hands。



John　stood　beside　him　swaying　a　little；　and　looking　about　him

at　the　swaying　shadows；　the　flitting　sparkles；　and　the　steady

stars　overhead；　until　the　windless　cold　began　to　touch　him

through　his　clothes　on　the　bare　skin。　　Even　in　his　bemused

intelligence；　wonder　began　to　awake。



'I　say；　let's　come　on　to　the　house；'　he　said　at　last。



'Yes；　let's　come　on　to　the　house；'　repeated　Alan。



And　he　rose　at　once；　reshouldered　the　portmanteau；　and　taking

the　candle　in　his　other　hand；　moved　forward　to　the　Lodge。

This　was　a　long；　low　building；　smothered　in　creepers；　and

now；　except　for　some　chinks　of　light　between　the　dining…room

shutters；　it　was　plunged　in　darkness　and　silence。



In　the　hall　Alan　lighted　another　candle；　gave　it　to　John；　and

opened　the　door　of　a　bedroom。



'Here；'　said　he；　'go　to　bed。　　Don't　mind　me；　John。　　You'll　be

sorry　for　me　when　you　know。'



'Wait　a　bit；'　returned　John；　'I've　got　so　cold　with　all　that

standing　about。　　Let's　go　into　the　dining…room　a　minute。

Just　one　glass　to　warm　me；　Alan。'



On　the　table　in　the　hall　stood　a　glass；　and　a　bottle　with　a

whisky　label　on　a　tray。　　It　was　plain　the　bottle　had　been

just　opened；　for　the　cork　and　corkscrew　lay　beside　it。



'Take　that；'　said　Alan；　passing　John　the　whisky；　and　then

with　a　certain　roughness　pushed　his　friend　into　the　bedroom；

and　closed　the　door　behind　him。



John　stood　amazed；　then　he　shook　the　bottle；　and；　to　his

further　wonder；　found　it　partly　empty。　　Three　or　four　glasses

were　gone。　　Alan　must　have　uncorked　a　bottle　of　whisky　and

drank　three　or　four　glasses　one　after　the　other；　without

sitting　down；　for　there　was　no　chair；　and　that　in　his　own

cold　lobby　on　this　freezing　night！　　It　fully　explained　his

eccentricities；　John　reflected　sagely；　as　he　mixed　himself　a

grog。　　Poor　Alan！　　He　was　drunk；　and　what　a　dreadful　thing

was　drink；　and　what　a　slave　to　it　poor　Alan　was；　to　drink　in

this　unsociable；　uncomfortable　fashion！　　The　man　who　would

drink　alone；　except　for　health's　sake　…　as　John　was　now　doing

…　was　a　man　utterly　lost。　　He　took　the　grog　out；　and　felt

hazier；　but　warmer。　　It　was　hard　work　opening　the　portmanteau

and　finding　his　night　things；　and　before　he　was　undressed；

the　cold　had　struck　home　to　him　once　more。　　'Well；'　said　he；

'just　a　drop　more。　　There's　no　sense　in　getting　ill　with　all

this　other　trouble。'　　And　presently　dreamless　slumber　buried

him。



When　John　awoke　it　was　day。　　The　low　winter　sun　was　already

in　the　heavens；　but　his　watch　had　stopped；　and　it　was

impossible　to　tell　the　hour　exactly。　　Ten；　he　guessed　it；　and

made　haste　to　dress；　dismal　reflections　crowding　on　his　mind。

But　it　was　less　from　terror　than　from　regret　that　he　now

suffered；　and　with　his　regret　there　were　mingled　cutting

pangs　of　penitence。　　There　had　fallen　upon　him　a　blow；　cruel；

indeed；　but　yet　only　the　punishment　of　old　misdoing；　and　he

had　rebelled　and　plunged　into　fresh　sin。　　The　rod　had　been

used　to　chasten；　and　he　had　bit　the　chastening　fingers。　　His

father　was　right；　John　had　justified　him；　John　was　no　guest

for　decent　people's　houses；　and　no　fit　associate　for　decent

people's　children。　　And　had　a　broader　hint　been　needed；　there

was　the　case　of　his　old　friend。　　John　was　no　drunkard；　though

he　could　at　times　exceed；　and　the　picture　of　Houston　drinking

neat　spirits　at　his　hall…table　struck　him　with　something　like

disgust。　　He　hung　back　from　meeting　his　old　friend。　　He　could

have　wished　he　had　not　come　to　him；　and　yet；　even　now；　where

else　was　he　to　turn？



These　musings　occupied　him　while　he　dressed；　and　accompanied

him　into　the　lobby　of　the　house。　　The　door　stood　open　on　the

garden；　doubtless；　Alan　had　stepped　forth；　and　John　did　as　he

supposed　his　friend　had　done。　　The　ground　was　hard　as　iron；

the　frost　still　rigorous；　as　he　brushed　among　the　hollies；

icicles　jingled　and　glittered　in　their　fall；　and　wherever　he

went；　a　volley　of　eager　sparrows　followed　him。　　Here　were

Christmas　weather　and　Christmas　morning　duly　met；　to　the

delight　of　children。　　This　was　the　day　of　reunited　families；

the　day　to　which　he　had　so　long　looked　forward；　thinking　to

awake　in　his　own　bed　in　Randolph　Crescent；　reconciled　with

all　men　and　repeating　the　footprints　of　his　youth；　and　here

he　was　alone；　pacing　the　alleys　of　a　wintry　garden　and　filled

with　penitential　thoughts。



And　that　reminded　him：　why　was　he　alone？　and　where　was　Alan？

The　thought　of　the　festal　morning　and　the　due　salutations

reawakened　his　desire　for　his　friend；　and　he　began　to　call

for　him　by　name。　　As　the　sound　of　his　voice　died　away；　he　was

aware　of　the　greatness　of　the　silence　that　environed　him。

But　for　the　twittering　of　the　sparrows　and　the　crunching　of

his　own　feet　upon　the　frozen　snow；　the　whole　windless　world

of　air　hung　over　him　entranced；　and　the　stillness　weighed

upon　his　mind　with　a　horror　of　solitude。



Still　calling　at　intervals；　but　now　with　a　moderated　voice；

he　made　the　hasty　circuit　of　the　garden；　and　finding　neither

man　nor　trace　of　man　in　all　its　evergreen　coverts；　turned　at

last　to　the　house。　　About　the　house　the　silence　seemed　to

deepen　strangely。　　The　door；　indeed；　stood　open　as　before；

but　the　windows　were　still　shuttered；　the　chimneys　breathed

no　stain　into　the　bright　air；　there　sounded　abroad　none　of

that　low　stir　（perhaps　audible　rather　to　the　ear　of　the

spirit　than　to　the　ear　of　the　flesh）　by　which　a　house

announces　and　betrays　its　human　lodgers。　　And　yet　Alan　must

be　there　…　Alan　locked　in　drunken　slumbers；　forgetful　of　the

return　of　day；　of　the　holy　season；　and　of　the　friend　whom　he

had　so　coldly　received　and　was　now　so　chur