按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
sometimes fell asleep； his square； pale old face nodding to one side。
He dreamed that he was gazing at the picture over the fireplace； of
an old statesman with a high collar； supremely finished face； and
sceptical eyebrowsthe picture； smooth； and reticent as sealing…wax；
of one who seemed for ever exhaling the narrow wisdom of final
judgments。 All round him； his fellow members were chattering。 Only
he himself； the old sick member； was silent。 If fellows only knew
what it was like to sit by yourself and feel ill all the time！ What
they were saying he had heard a hundred times。 They were talking of
investments； of cigars； horses； actresses； machinery。 What was that？
A foreign patent for cleaning boilers？ There was no such thing；
boilers couldn't be cleaned； any fool knew that！ If an Englishman
couldn't clean a boiler； no foreigner could clean one。 He appealed
to the old statesman's eyes。 But for once those eyes seemed
hesitating； blurred； wanting in finality。 They vanished。 In their
place were Rozsi's little deep…set eyes； with their wide and far…off
look； and as he gazed they seemed to grow bright as steel； and to
speak to him。 Slowly the whole face grew to be there； floating on
the dark background of the picture； it was pink； aloof； unfathomable；
enticing； with its fluffy hair and quick lips； just as he had last
seen it。 〃Are you looking for something？〃 she seemed to say： 〃I
could show you。〃
〃I have everything safe enough；〃 answered Swithin； and in his sleep
he groaned。
He felt the touch of fingers on his forehead。 'I'm dreaming；' he
thought in his dream。
She had vanished； and far away； from behind the picture； came a sound
of footsteps。
Aloud； in his sleep； Swithin muttered： 〃I've missed it。〃
Again he heard the rustling of those light footsteps； and close in
his ear a sound； like a sob。 He awoke； the sob was his own。 Great
drops of perspiration stood on his forehead。 'What is it？' he
thought； 'what have I lost？' Slowly his mind travelled over his
investments； he could not think of any single one that was unsafe。
What was it； then； that he had lost？ Struggling on his pillows； he
clutched the wine…glass。 His lips touched the wine。 'This isn't the
〃Heidseck〃！' he thought angrily； and before the reality of that
displeasure all the dim vision passed away。 But as he bent to drink；
something snapped； and； with a sigh； Swithin Forsyte died above the
bubbles。。。。
When James Forsyte came in again on his way home； the valet；
trembling took his hat and stick。
〃How's your master？〃
〃My master is dead； sir！〃
〃Dead！ He can't be！ I left him safe an hour ago。
On the bed Swithin's body was doubled like a sack； his hand still
grasped the glass。
James Forsyte paused。 〃Swithin！〃 he said； and with his hand to his
ear he waited for an answer； but none came； and slowly in the glass a
last bubble rose and burst。
December 1900。
To
MY SISTER
MABEL EDITH REYNOLDS
THE SILENCE
I
In a car of the Naples express a mining expert was diving into a bag
for papers。 The strong sunlight showed the fine wrinkles on his
brown face and the shabbiness of his short； rough beard。 A newspaper
cutting slipped from his fingers； he picked it up； thinking： 'How the
dickens did that get in here？' It was from a colonial print of three
years back； and he sat staring； as if in that forlorn slip of yellow
paper he had encountered some ghost from his past。
These were the words he read： 〃We hope that the setback to
civilisation； the check to commerce and development； in this
promising centre of our colony may be but temporary； and that capital
may again come to the rescue。 Where one man was successful； others
should surely not fail？ We are convinced that it only needs。。。。〃
And the last words： 〃For what can be sadder than to see the forest
spreading its lengthening shadows； like symbols of defeat； over the
untenanted dwellings of men； and where was once the merry chatter of
human voices； to pass by in the silence。。。。〃
On an afternoon； thirteen years before； he had been in the city of
London； at one of those emporiums where mining experts perch； before
fresh flights； like sea…gulls on some favourite rock。 A clerk said
to him： 〃Mr。 Scorrier； they are asking for you downstairsMr。
Hemmings of the New Colliery Company。〃
Scorrier took up the speaking tube。 〃Is that you； Mr。 Scorrier？ I
hope you are very well； sir； I amHemmingsI amcoming up。〃
In two minutes he appeared； Christopher Hemmings； secretary of the
New Colliery Company； known in the City…behind his backas 〃Down…by…
the…starn〃 Hemmings。 He grasped Scorrier's handthe gesture was
deferential； yet distinguished。 Too handsome； too capable； too
important； his figure； the cut of his iron…grey beard； and his
intrusively fine eyes； conveyed a continual courteous invitation to
inspect their infallibilities。 He stood； like a City 〃Atlas；〃 with
his legs apart； his coat…tails gathered in his hands； a whole globe
of financial matters deftly balanced on his nose。 〃Look at me！〃 he
seemed to say。 〃It's heavy； but how easily I carry it。 Not the man
to let it down； Sir ！〃
〃I hope I see you well； Mr。 Scorrier；〃 he began。 〃I have come round
about our mine。 There is a question of a fresh field being opened
upbetween ourselves； not before it's wanted。 I find it difficult
to get my Board to take a comprehensive view。 In short； the question
is： Are you prepared to go out for us； and report on it？ The fees
will be all right。〃 His left eye closed。 〃Things have been very
erdicky； we are going to change our superintendent。 I have got
little Pippinyou know little Pippin？〃
Scorrier murmured； with a feeling of vague resentment： 〃Oh yes。 He's
not a mining man！〃
Hemmings replied： 〃We think that he will do。〃 'Do you？' thought
Scorrier； 'that's good of you！'
He had not altogether shaken off a worship he had felt for Pippin
〃King〃 Pippin he was always called； when they had been boys at the
Camborne Grammar…school。 〃King〃 Pippin！ the boy with the bright
colour； very bright hair； bright； subtle； elusive eyes； broad
shoulders； little stoop in the neck； and a way of moving it quickly
like a bird； the boy who was always at the top of everything； and
held his head as if looking for something further to be the top of。
He remembered how one day 〃King〃 Pippin had said to him in his soft
way； 〃Young Scorrie； I'll do your sums for you〃； and in answer to his
dubious； 〃Is that all right？〃 had replied； 〃Of courseI don't want
you to get behind that beast Blake； he's not a Cornishman〃 （the beast
Blake was an Irishman not yet twelve）。 He remembered； too； an
occasion when 〃King〃 Pippin with two other boys fought six louts and
got a licking； and how Pippin sat for half an hour afterwards； all
bloody； his head in his hands； rocking to and fro； and weeping tears
of mortification； and how the next day he had sneaked off by himself；
and； attacking the same gang； got frightfully mauled a second time。
Thinking of these things he answered curtly： 〃When shall I start？〃
〃Down…by…the…starn〃 Hemmings replied with a sort of fearful
sprightliness： 〃There's a good fellow！ I will send instructions； so
glad to see you well。〃 Conferring on Scorrier a lookfine to the
verge of vulgarityhe withdrew。 Scorrier remained； seated； heavy
with insignificance and vague oppression； as if he had drunk a
tumbler of sweet port。
A week later； in company with Pippin； he was on board a liner。
The 〃King〃 Pippin of his school…days was now a man of forty…four。 He
awakened in Scorrier the uncertain wonder with which men look
backward at their uncomplicated teens； and staggering up and down the
decks in the long Atlantic roll； he would steal glances at his
companion； as if he expected to find out from them something about
himself。 Pippin had still 〃King〃 Pippin's bright； fine hair； and
dazzling streaks in his short beard； he had still a bright colour and
suave voice； and what there were of wrinkles suggested only
subtleties of humour and ironic sympathy。 From the first； and
apparently without negotiation； he had his seat at the captain's
table； to which on the second day Scorrier too found himself
translated； and had to sit； as he expressed it ruefully； 〃among the
big…wigs。〃
During the voyage only one incident impressed itself on Scorrier's
memory； and that for a disconcerting reason。 In the forecastle were
the usual complement of emigrants。 One evening； leaning across the
rail to watch them； he felt a touch on his arm； and； looking round；
saw Pippin's face and beard quivering in the lamplight。 〃Poor
people！〃 he said。 The idea flashed on Scorrier that he was like some
fine wire sound…recording instrument。
'Suppose he were to snap！' he thought。 Impelled to justify this
fancy；