Белая птичка
A Night-Piece
Icanhavehadnodesiretodeceivehim,butsomereasonwasneededtoaccountformyvigil,andImayhavesaidsomethingthathemisconstrued,forabovemywordshewasalwayslisteningforothersounds.ButhoweveritcameabouthehadconceivedtheideathatIwasanoutcastforareasonsimilartohisown,andIlethismistakepass,itseemedtomattersolittleandtodrawustogethersonaturally.Wetalkedtogetherofmanythings,suchasworldlyambition.Forlongambitionhasbeenlikeanancientmemorytome,somegloriousdayrecalledfrommyspringtime,somuchathingofthepastthatImustmakearailwayjourneytorevisititastolookuponthepleasantfieldsinwhichthatscenewaslaid.Buthehadbeenambitiousyesterday.
Imentionedworldlyambition.“GoodGod!”hesaidwithashudder.
Therewasaclockhardbythatstruckthequarters,andoneo’clockpassedandtwo.Whattimeisitnow?Twentypasttwo.Andnow?Itisstilltwentypasttwo.
Iaskedhimabouthisrelatives,andneitherhenorshehadany.“Wehaveafriend—”hebeganandpaused,andthenrambledintoanotveryunderstandablestoryaboutaletterandadoll’shouseandsomeunknownmanwhohadboughtoneofhispictures,orwassupposedtohavedoneso,inacuriouslyclandestinemanner.Icouldnotquitefollowthestory.
“Itisshewhoinsiststhatitisalwaysthesameperson,”hesaid.“Shethinkshewillmakehimselfknowntomeifanythinghappenstoher.”Hisvoicesuddenlywenthusky.“Shetoldme,”hesaid,“ifshediedandIdiscoveredhim,togivehimherlove.
