XIII

Since Kate had begun to write, a hundred--a thousand--half-forgotten

experiences had come back to her. As they returned to her memory, they

acquired significance. They related themselves with other incidents or

with opinions. They illustrated life, and however negligible in

themselves, they attained a value because of their relation to

the whole.

It was seldom that she felt lonely now. Her newly acquired power of

self-expression seemed to extend and supplement her personality. August

von Shierbrand had said that he wished to marry her because she

completed him. It had occurred to her at the time--though she suppressed

her inclination to say so--that she was born for other purposes than

completing him, or indeed anybody. She wished to think of herself as an

individual, not as an addendum. But, after all, she had sympathized with

the man. She was beginning to understand that that "solitude of the

soul," which one of her acquaintances, a sculptor, had put into

passionate marble, was caused from that sense of incompletion. It was

not alone that others failed one--it was self-failure, secret shame, all

the inevitable reticences, which contributed most to that.

She fell into the way of examining the men and women about her and of

asking:--

"Is he satisfied? Is she companioned? Has this one realized himself? Is

that one really living?"

She remembered one person--one only--who had given her the impression of

abounding physical, mental, and spiritual life. True, she had seen him

but a moment--one swift, absurd, curiously haunting moment. That was

Karl Wander, Honora's cousin, and the cousin of Mary Morrison. They were

the children of three sisters, and from what Kate knew of their

descendants' natures, she felt these sisters must have been palpitating

creatures.

Yes, Karl Wander had seemed complete--a happy man, seething with plans,

a wise man who took life as it came; a man of local qualities yet of

cosmopolitan spirit--one who would not have fretted at his environment

or counted it of much consequence, whatever it might have been.

The Precipice: A Novel · 第 22 / 57 题