第16章

"Yes，"saidWestover，"butthewrongthingsdon’thappenfrompeoplewhoareinthehabitofmeaningtherightones。"

"Ibelievetheydo，fullyhalfthetime，"Jeffreturned；"and，asfarasthegrandresultisconcerned，youmightaswellthinkthemandintendthemasnot。Idon’tmeanthatyououghttodoit；that’sanotherthing，andifIhadtriedtogetLyndedrunk，andthengonetodancewithhissister，IshouldhavebeenwhatyousayIam。ButIsawhimgettingworsewithoutmeaningtomakehimso；andIwentbacktoherbecause——I

wantedto。"

"Andyouthink，Isuppose，"saidWestover，"thatshewouldn’thavecaredanymorethanyoucaredifshehadknownwhatyoudid。"

"Ican’tsayanythingaboutthat。"

Thepaintercontinued，bitterly："Youusedtocomeinhere，thefirstyear，withnotionsofsocietywomenthatwouldhavedisgracedaGoth，oragorilla。DidyouformyourestimateofMissLyndefromthosepremises？"

"I’mnotaboynow，"Jeffanswered，"andIhaven’tstayedallthekindsofafoolIwas。"

"Thenyoudon’tthinkMissLyndewouldspeaktoyou，orlookatyou，aftersheknewwhatyouhaddone？"

"Ishouldliketotellherandsee，"saidJeff，withahardylaugh。

"ButIguessIsha’n’thavethechance。I’veneverbeenafavoriteinsociety，andIdon’texpecttomeetheragain。"

"Perhapsyou’dliketohavemetellher？"

"Why，yes，IbelieveIshould，ifyoucouldtellmewhatshethought——notwhatshesaidaboutit。"

"Youareabrute，"answeredWestover，withapuzzledair。Whatpuzzledhimmostandpleasedhimleastwasthefellow’spatienceunderhisseverity，whichheseemedeithernottofeelornottomind。ItwasofapiecewiththebehavioroftherascallyboywhomhehadcuffedforfrighteningCynthiaandherlittlebrotherlongago，andhewonderedwhatfinalmalevolenceitportended。

Jeffsaid，asiftheircontroversywereatanendandtheymightnowturntomorepersonalthings："Youlookprettyslim，Mr。Westover。A’n’ttheresomethingIcandoforyou—getyou？I’vecomeinwithamessagefrommother。ShesaysifyoueverwanttogetthatwinterviewofLion’sHead，now’syourtime。Shewantsyoutocomeupthere；sheandCynthiabothdo。Theycanmakeyouascomfortableasyouplease，andthey’dliketohaveavisitfromyou。Can’tyougo？"

Westovershookhisheadruefully。"It’sgoodofthem，andIwantyoutothankthemforme。ButIdon’tknowwhenI’mgoingtogetoutagain。"

"Oh，you’llsoongetout，"saidJeff。"I’mgoingtolookafteryoualittle，"andthistimeWestoverwastooweaktoprotest。HedidnotforbidJeff’stakingoffhisovercoat；hesufferedhimtolighthisspirit—lampandmakeapunchofthewhiskeywhichheownedthedoctorwasgivinghim；andwhenJeffhandedhimthesteamingglass，andaskedhim，"How’sthat？"heanswered，withapleasureinitwhichheknewtobedeplorable，"It’sfine。"

Jeffstayedthewholeeveningwithhim，andmadehimmorecomfortablethanhehadbeensincehiscoldbegan。Westovernowtalkedseriouslyandfranklywithhim，butnolongersoharshly，andinhisrelentinghefeltareturnofhisoldillogicallikingforhim。HefanciedinDurgin’skindnesstohimselfanindirectregret，andadesiretoatoneforwhathehaddone，andhesaid："Theeffectisinyou——theworsteffect。Idon’tthinkeitheroftheyoungLyndesveryexemplarypeople。Butyou’dbedoingyourselfagreaterwrongthanyou’vedonethenifyoudidn’trecognizethatyouhadbeenguiltytowardthem。"

Jeffseemedstruckbythisnotion。"Whatdoyouwantmetodo？WhatcanIdo？Chasemyselfoutofsociety？Somethinglikethat？I’mwilling。

It’stooeasy，though。AsIsaid，I’veneverbeenwantedmuch，there，andIshouldn’tbemissed。"

"Well，then，howwouldyouliketoleaveittothepeopleatLion’sHeadtosaywhatyoushoulddo？"Westoversuggested。

Ishouldn’tlikeit，"saidJeff，promptly。"They’djudgeitasyoudo——asifthey’ddoneitthemselves。That’sthereasonwomenarenotfittojudge。"Hisgayfacedarkened。"Buttell’emifyouwantto。"

"Bah！"criedthepainter。"WhyshouldIwanttoI’mnotawomanineverything。"

"Ibegyourpardon，Mr。Westover。Ididn’tmeanthat。Ionlymeantthatyou’reanidealist。Ilookatthisthingasifsomeoneelsehaddoneit；Ibelievethat’sthepracticalway；andIshouldn’tgoinforpunishinganyoneelseforsuchathingveryseverely。"Hemadeanotherpunch——forhimselfthistime，hesaid；butWestoverjoinedhiminaglassofit。

"Itwon’tdototakethatviewofyourfaults，Jeff，"hesaid，gravely。

"What’sthereason？"Jeffdemanded；andnoweitherthepunchhadbeguntoworkinWestover’sbrain，orsomeotherinfluenceoflikeforceandquality。Heperceivedthatinthisearth—boundtemperamentwasthepotentialityofallthesuccessitaimedat。Theacceptanceofthemoralfactasitwas，withouttheunconsciousefforttobetterit，ortoholdhimselfstrictlytoaccountforit，wasthesecretofthepowerinthemanwhichwouldbringaboutthematerialresultshedesired；andthissimplicityofthemotiveinvolvedhaditscharm。

WestoverwasawareoflikingDurginatthatmomentmuchmorethanheought，andoflikinghimhelplessly。Inthelightofhisgood—naturedselfishness，theinjurytotheLyndesshowedmuchlessasacrilegethanithadseemed；WestoverbegantoseeitwithJeff’seyes，andtoseeitwithreferencetowhatmightbelowandmeaninthem，insteadofwhatmightbefineandhigh。

HewassensibleofthegrowthJeffhadmadeintellectually。HehadnotbeenatHarvardnearlyfouryearsfornothing。Hehadphrasesandcouldhandlethem。Inwhateverobscureorperversefashion，hehadprofitedbyhisopportunities。Thefellowwhocouldaccusehimofbeinganidealist，andcouldinsomesortproveit，wasnolongeranaughtyboytobetutoredandpunished。Therevoltlatentinhimwouldbeviolentinproportiontothepressureputuponhim，andWestoverbegantobewithoutthewishtopresshisfaulthometohimsostrongly。Intheoptimismgeneratedbythepunch，hefeltthathemightleavethecasetoJeffhimself；orelseinthecomfortweallexperienceinsinkingtoalowerlevel，hewasunwillingtomaketheefforttokeephisownmoralelevation。Buthedidmakeanefforttosavehimselfbysaying："Youcan’tgetwhatyou’vedonebeforeyourselfasyoucantheactionofsomeoneelse。It’spartofyou，andyouhavetojudgethemotiveaswellastheeffect。"

"Well，that’swhatI’mdoing，"saidJeff；"butitseemstomethatyou’retryingtohavemejudgeoftheeffectfromamotiveIdidn’thave。AsfarasIcanmakeout，Ihadn’tanymotiveatall。"

Helaughed，andallthatWestovercouldsaywas，"Thenyou’restillresponsiblefortheresult。"Butthisnolongerappearedsotruetohim。

XXXVIII。

ItwasnotaconditionofWestover’swelcomeatLion’sHeadthatheshouldseempeculiarlythefriendofJeffDurgin，buthecouldnothelpmakingitso，andhebegantooveractthepartassoonashemetJeff’smother。HehadtospeakofhiminthankingherforrememberinghiswishtopaintLion’sHeadinthewinter，andhehadtotellherofJeff’sthoughtfulnessduringthepastfortnight；hehadtosaythathedidnotbelieveheshouldeverhavegotawayifithadnotbeenforhim。Thiswastrue；DurginhadevencomeinfromCambridgetoseehimoffonthetrain；hebehavedasiftheincidentwithLyndeandalltheirtalkaboutithadcementedthefriendshipbetweenWestoverandhimself，andhecouldnotbetoodevoted。ItnowcameoutthathehadwrittenhomeallaboutWestover，andmadehismotherputupastoveinthepainter’soldroom，sothatheshouldhavetheinstantuseofitwhenhearrived。

Itwasanair—tightwood—stove，anditfilledthechamberwithaheatinwhichWestoverdrowsedassoonasheenteredit。Hethrewhimselfonthebed，andsleptawaythefatigueofhisrailroadjourneyandthecoldofhisdrivewithJombateestefromthestation。Hisnapwaslong，andhewokefromitinapleasantlanguor，withthedream—cloudsstillhanginginhisbrain。Heopenedthedamperofhisstove，andsetitroaringagain；thenhepulleddowntheuppersashofhiswindowandlookedoutonaworldwhoseelementsofwoodandsnowandstonehetriedtoco—

ordinate。Therewasnothingelseinthatworldbutthesethings，sorepellentofoneanother。Hesufferedfromtheincongruityofthewoodenbulkofthehotel，withthewhitedriftsdeepaboutit，andwiththegranitecliffsofLion’sHeadbeforeit，wherethegraycragsdarkenedunderthepinkafternoonlightwhichwasbeginningtoplayuponitscrestfromtheearlysunset。Thewindthathadseemedtoborethroughhisthickcapandhisskullitself，andthathadtossedthedrysnowlikedustagainsthiseyesonhiswayfromtherailroad，hadnowfallen，andanincomparablequietwrappedthesolitudeofthehills。A

teasingsenseoftheimpossibilityofthescene，asfarashisartwasconcerned，filledhimfullofafonddespairofrenderingitsfeeling。

Hecouldgiveitslightandcolorandforminasufficientlyvividsuggestionofthefact，buthecouldnotmakethatpinkflushseemtoexhale，likealongbreath，uponthoseruggedshapes；hecouldnotimpartthatsentimentofdelicately，almostofelegance，whichhefoundinthewilderness，whileeverydetailofcivilizationphysicallydistressedhim。

Inoneplacethesnowhadbeendugdowntothepineplankingofthepathwayroundthehouse；andthecontactofthiswoodennesswiththefrozengroundpiercedhisnervesandsethisteethonedgelikeaharshnoise。Whenoncehesawithehadtomakeanefforttotakehiseyesfromit，andinasortunknowntohiminsummerheperceivedtheoffenceofthehotelitselfamidthepureandlonelybeautyofthewinterlandscape。Itwasanoteofintolerablebanality，ofphilistinepretenceandvulgarconvention，suchasWhitwell’slow，unpaintedcottageatthefootofthehilldidnotgive，northelittleredschool—house，ontheotherhand，showingthroughthenakedtrees。Thereshouldhavebeenreallynohumanhabitationvisibleexceptawigwamintheshelterofthepines，hereandthere；andwhenhesawWhitwellmakinghiswayupthehill—sideroad，Westoverfeltthatiftheremustbeanyhumanpresenceitshouldbesomesavagecladinskins，insteadofthephilosopherinhisrubberbootsandhisclothing—storeulster。Hepreferredthesmall，wiryshapeofJombateeste，inhisbluewoollencapandhisCanadianfootgear，asheranroundthecornerofthehousetowardthebarn，andleftthebreathofhispipeinthefineairbehindhim。

Thelightbegantodeepenfromthepalepinktoacrimsonwhichstainedthetopsandsteepsofsnow，anddeepenedthedarkofthewoodsmassedonthemountainslopesbetweentheirregularfieldsofwhite。Theburnishedbrownofthehard—woodtrees，thedullcarbonshadowsoftheevergreens，seemedtowithertooneblackastheredstrengthenedinthesky。

Westoverrealizedthathehadlostthebestofanypossiblepictureinlettingthatfirstdelicatecolorescapehim。Thiscrimsonwasharshandvulgarincomparison；itwouldhavealmostachromoquality；hecensuredhispleasureinitassomethinggrossandmaterial，likethatofeating；

andonasuddenhefelthungry。Hewonderedwhattimetheywouldgivehimsupper，andhetookslightaccountofthefactthatacapriceofthewindhadtornitshoodofsnowfromthemountainsummit，andthattheprofileoftheLion’sHeadshowedalmostasdistinctlyasinsummer。Hestoodbeforethepicturewhichforthatdayatleastwaslosttohim，andquestionedwhethertherewouldbeaheartymeal，somethinglikeadinner，orwhethertherewouldbesomethinglikeafarmhousesupper，mainlyofdoughnutsandtea。

Hepulleduphiswindowandwasgoingtoliedownagain，whensomeoneknocked，andFrankWhitwellstoodatthedoor。"Doyouwantweshouldbringyoursuppertoyouhere，Mr。Westover，orwillyou——"

"Oh，letmejoinyouall！"criedthepainter，eagerly。"Isitready——

shallIcomenow？"

"Well，inaboutfiveminutesorso。"Frankwentaway，aftersettingdownintheroomthelamphehadbrought。ItwasalampwhichWestoverthoughtherememberedfromthefarm—houseperiod，andonhiswaydownherealizedashehadsomehownotdoneinhissummersojourns，theentiretyoftheoldhouseinthehotelwhichhadencompassedit。Theprimitivecoldofitsstairwaysandpassagesstruckuponhimassoonashelefthisownroom，andhefoundtheparlordoorclosedagainstthechill。Therewasahotstove—firewithin，andakerosene—lampturnedlow，buttherewasnoonethere，andhehadthephotographofhisfirstpictureofLion’sHeadtohimselfinthedimlight。ThevoicesofMrs。DurginandCynthiacametohimfromthedining—room，andfromthekitchenbeyond，withtheoccasionalclashofcrockery，andtheclangofironuponironaboutthestove，andthequicktreadofwomen’sfeetuponthebarefloor。

Withthesepleasantnoisescamethesmellofcooking，andlatertherewasanopeningandshuttingofdoors，withathrillofthefreezingairfromwithout，andthedullthumpingofWhitwell’srubberboots，andthequickerflappingofJombateeste’ssoftleathernsoles。Thentherewasthesweepofskirtedfeetattheparlordoor，andCynthiaWhitwellcameinwithoutperceivinghim。Shewenttothetablebythedarkeningwindow，andquicklyturnedupthelightofthelamp。Inherignoranceofhispresence，hesawherasifshehadbeenalone，almostasifshewereoutofthebody；hereceivedfromherunconsciousnesstheimpressionofsomethingrarelypureandfine，andhehadasuddencompassionforher，asforsomethingpreciousthatisfatedtobewastedormisprized。Atalittlemovementwhichhemadetorelievehimselffromasenseofeavesdropping，shegaveastart，andshutherlipsuponthelittlecrythatwouldhaveescapedfromanothersortofwoman。

"Ididn’tknowyouwerehere，"shesaid；andsheflushedwiththeshynessofhimwhichshealwaysshowedatfirst。Shehadmethimalreadywiththerest，buttheyhadscarcelyspokentogether；andheknewofthestruggleshemustnowbemakingwithherselfwhenshewenton："Ididn’tknowyouhadbeencalled。Ithoughtyouwerestillsleeping。"

"Yes。Iseemedtosleepforcenturies，"saidWestover，"andIwokeupfeelingcoevalwithLion’sHead。ButIhopetogrowyoungeragain。"

Shefaltered，andthensheasked："Didyouseethelightonitwhenthesunwentdown？"

"IwishIhadn’t。Icouldnevergetthatlight——evenifitevercameagain。"

"It’sthereeveryafternoon，whenit’sclear。"

"I’msorryforthat；Ishallhavetotryforit，then。"

"Wasn’tthatwhatyoucamefor？"sheasked，byoneoftheeffortsshewasmakingwitheverythingshesaid。Hecouldhavebelievedhesawthepulsethrobbinginherneck。Butsheheldherselfstone—still，andhedivinedherresolutiontoconquerherself，ifsheshoulddieforit。

"Yes，Icameforthat，"saidWestover。"That’swhatmakesitsodismaying。IfIhadonlyhappenedonit，Ishouldn’thavebeenresponsibleforthefailureIshallmakeofit。"

Shesmiled，asifshelikedhislightness，butdoubtedifsheought。

"Wedon’toftengetLion’sHeadclearofsnow。"

"Yes；that’sanotherhardship，"saidthepainter。"Everythingisagainstme！Ifwedon’thaveasnowovernight，andacloudydayto—morrow，I

shallbeindespair。"

Sheplayedwiththelittlewheelofthewick；shelookeddown，andthen，withaglanceflashedathim，shegasped："Ishallhavetotakeyourlampforthetableteaisready。"

"Oh，well，ifyouwillonlytakemewithit。I’mfrightfullyhungry。"

Apparentlyshecouldnotsayanythingtothat。Hetriedtogetthelamptocarryitoutforher，butshewouldnotlethim。"Itisn’theavy，"

shesaid，andhurriedoutbeforehim。

Itwasallnothing，butitwasallverycharming，andWestoverwasrichlycontentwithit；andyetnotcontent，forhefeltthatthepleasureofitwasnottrulyhis，butwasamomentofmerelyborrowedhappiness。

Thetablewaslaidintheoldfarm—housesitting—roomwherehehadbeenservedalonewhenhefirstcametoLion’sHead。Butnowhesatdownwiththewholefamily，eventoJombateeste，whobroughtinafaintodorofthebarnwithhim。

Theyhadeachbeenincontactwiththefinerworldwhichrevisitsnatureinthesummer—time，andtheymustallhaveknownsomethingofitsusages，buttheyhadrevertedinformandsubstancetotherusticlivingoftheirneighbors。TheyhadsteakforWestover，andbakedpotatoes；butforthemselvestheyhadsuchfarmfareasMrs。Durginhadgivenhimthefirsttimehesuppedthere。Theymadetheirmealchieflyofdoughnutsandtea，andhotbiscuit，withsomesweetdishesofafestivesortaddedinrecognitionofhispresence；andtherewasmince—pieforall。Mrs。

DurginandWhitwellatewiththeirknives，andJombateestefilledhimselfsosoonwitheveryimplementathandthathewasabletoaskexcuseoftheothersifheleftthemforthehorsesbeforetheyhadhalffinished。

FrankWhitwellfedwithakindofofficialorfunctionalconformitytothewaysofsummerfolks；butCynthia，atwhomWestoverglancedwithanxiety，onlydranksometeaandatealittlebreadandbutter。Hewasashamedofhisanxiety，forhehadownedthatitoughtnottohavematteredifshehadusedherknifelikeherfather；anditseemedtohimasifhehadpromptedMrs。Durginbyhiscuriousglancetosay："Wedon’tknowhalfthetimehowthechildlives。Cynthy！Takesomethingtoeat！"

Cynthiapleadedthatshewasnothungry；Mrs。Durgindeclaredthatshewoulddieifshekeptonasshewasgoing；andthenthegirlescapedtothekitchenononeoftheerrandswhichshemadefromtimetotimebetweenthestoveandthetable。

"Ipresumeit’syourcoming，Mr。Westover，"Mrs。Durginwenton，withthecomfortablesuperiorityofelderlypeopletoallthetrialsoftheyoung。

"Idon’tknowwhysheshouldmakeastrangerofyou，everytime。You’veknownherprettymuchallherlife。"

"EversinceyougiveJeffwhathedeservedforscaringherandFrankwithhisdog，"saidWhitwell。

"PoorFox！"Mrs。Durginsighed。"HedidhavetheleastsenseforadogI

eversaw。AndJeffusedtobesofondofhim！Well，Iguesshegottiredofhim，too，towardthelast。"

"He’sgonetothehappyhunting—groundsnow。Coloradydidn’tagreewithhim—oroldage，"saidWhitwell。"Idon’tseewhytheInjunswa’n’tright，"hepursued，thoughtfully。"Ifthey’vegotsouls，whyha’n’ttheirdogs？IsupposeMr。Westoverherewouldsaytherewa’n’tanycertaintyabouttheInjunsthemselves！"

"Youknowmyweakpoint，Mr。Whitwell，"thepainterconfessed。"ButI

can’tprovetheyhaven’t。"

"Nordogs，neither，Iguess，"saidWhitwell，tolerantly。"It’scurious，though，ifanimalshavegotsouls，thatweha’n’teverhadanycommunicationsfrom’em。Youmightsaythatag’in’theidea。"

"No，I’llletyousayit，"returnedWestover。"Butagoodmanyofthecommunicationsseemtocomefromthelowerintelligences，ifnottheloweranimals。"

Whitwelllaughedouthisdelightinthethrust。"Well，Iguessthat’ssomethingso。AndthemoldEgyptiandevils，overthere，thatyousaydiscoveredthedoctrineofimmortality，seemedtothinkacatwasaboutasgoodasaman。What’sthat，"heappealedtoMrs。Durgin，"Jacksonsaidinhislastletterabouttheircatmummies？"

"Well，IguessI’llfinishmysupperfirst，"saidMrs。Durgin，whosenervesWestoverwouldnototherwisehavesuspectedoffaintness。"ButJackson’sletters，"shecontinued，loyally，"areaboutthebestletters！"

"Knowthey’dgotsomeof’eminthepapers？"Whitwellasked；andatthesurprisethatWestovershowedhetoldhimhowafellowwhowastryingtomakeapapergooverattheHuddle，hadheardofJackson’slettersandteasedforsomeofthem，andhadprintedthemasneighborhoodnewsinthatsideofhispaperwhichhedidnotbuyreadyprintedinBoston。

Mrs。DurginstudiedwithmodestdeprecationtheeffectofthefactuponWestover，andseemedsatisfiedwithit。"Well，ofcourse，it’sinterestin’toJackson’soldfriendsinthecountry，here。Theyknowhe’dlookatthings，overthere，prettymuchastheywould。Well，Ihadtolendthelettersroundsomuch，anyway，itwasakindofarelieftohave’eminthepaper，whereeverybodycouldsee’em，andbedonewithit。Mr。Whit’ellhere，hefixes’emupso’stoleaveoutthefamilypart，andIguessthey’reprettywellthoughtof。"

Westoversaidhehadnodoubttheywere，andheshouldwanttoseealltheletterstheycouldshowhim，inprintandoutofprint。

"IfJacksononlyhadJeff’shealthandopportunities——"themotherbegan，withasuppressedpassioninherregret。

FrankWhitwellpushedbackhischair。"IguessI’llasktobeexcused，"

hesaidtotheheadoftable。

"There！Ia’n’tgoin’tosayanymoreaboutthat，ifthat’swhatyou’reafraidof，Frank，"saidMrs。Durgin。"Well，IpresumeIdotalkagooddealaboutJacksonwhenIgetgoin’，andIpresumeit’snaturalCynthyshouldn’twantIshouldtalkaboutJeffbeforefolks。Frank，a’n’tyougoin’towaitforthatplateofhotbiscuit？——ifsheevergitsithere！"

"IguessIdon’tcareforanythingmore，"saidFrank，andhegothimselfoutoftheroommoreinarticulatelythanheneed，Westoverthought。

His，fatherfollowedhisretreatwithaneyeofhumorousintelligence。

"IguessFrankdon’twanttokeeptheyoungladieswaitin’agreatwhile。

There’sachurchsociableover’ttheHuddle，"heexplainedtoWestover。

"Oh，that’sit，isit？"Mrs。Durginputin。"Whydidn’thesayso。"

"Well，theyoungfolksdon’tanyof’emseemtowanttotalkaboutsuchthingsnowadays，andIdon’tknowastheyeverdid。"WhitwelltookWestoverintohisconfidencewithawink。

ThebiscuitthatCynthiabroughtinwereburnedalittleontop，andMrs。

Durginrecognizedthefactwiththequestion，"Didyougettostudyin’，outthere？Takeone，do，Mr。Westover！Youha’n’tmadehalfameal！

IfIdidn’tkeeproundafterher，Idon’tknowwhatwouldbecomeofusall。TheyoungladiesdownatBoston，anyof’em，trytokeepupwiththefellowsincollege？"

"IsupposetheydointheHarvardAnnex，"saidWestover，simply，inspiteoftheglancewithwhichMrs。Durgintriedtoconveyacovertmeaning。

Heunderstooditafterward，butforthepresenthissingle—mindednesssparedthegirl。