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- Фрэнк Норрис
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Abruptly
there
was
presented
to
his
mind
’
s
eye
a
picture
of
the
years
to
come
,
if
he
now
should
follow
his
best
,
his
highest
,
his
most
unselfish
impulse
.
He
saw
Hilma
,
his
own
,
for
better
or
for
worse
,
for
richer
or
for
poorer
,
all
barriers
down
between
them
,
he
giving
himself
to
her
as
freely
,
as
nobly
,
as
she
had
given
herself
to
him
.
By
a
supreme
effort
,
not
of
the
will
,
but
of
the
emotion
,
he
fought
his
way
across
that
vast
gulf
that
for
a
time
had
gaped
between
Hilma
and
the
idea
of
his
marriage
.
Instantly
,
like
the
swift
blending
of
beautiful
colours
,
like
the
harmony
of
beautiful
chords
of
music
,
the
two
ideas
melted
into
one
,
and
in
that
moment
into
his
harsh
,
unlovely
world
a
new
idea
was
born
.
Annixter
stood
suddenly
upright
,
a
mighty
tenderness
,
a
gentleness
of
spirit
,
such
as
he
had
never
conceived
of
,
in
his
heart
strained
,
swelled
,
and
in
a
moment
seemed
to
burst
.
Out
of
the
dark
furrows
of
his
soul
,
up
from
the
deep
rugged
recesses
of
his
being
,
something
rose
,
expanding
.
He
opened
his
arms
wide
.
An
immense
happiness
overpowered
him
.
Actual
tears
came
to
his
eyes
.
Without
knowing
why
,
he
was
not
ashamed
of
it
.
This
poor
,
crude
fellow
,
harsh
,
hard
,
narrow
,
with
his
unlovely
nature
,
his
fierce
truculency
,
his
selfishness
,
his
obstinacy
,
abruptly
knew
that
all
the
sweetness
of
life
,
all
the
great
vivifying
eternal
force
of
humanity
had
burst
into
life
within
him
.
The
little
seed
,
long
since
planted
,
gathering
strength
quietly
,
had
at
last
germinated
.
Then
as
the
realisation
of
this
hardened
into
certainty
,
in
the
growing
light
of
the
new
day
that
had
just
dawned
for
him
,
Annixter
uttered
a
cry
.
Now
at
length
,
he
knew
the
meaning
of
it
all
.
“
Why
—
I
—
I
,
I
LOVE
her
,
”
he
cried
.
Never
until
then
had
it
occurred
to
him
.
Never
until
then
,
in
all
his
thoughts
of
Hilma
,
had
that
great
word
passed
his
lips
.
It
was
a
Memnonian
cry
,
the
greeting
of
the
hard
,
harsh
image
of
man
,
rough
-
hewn
,
flinty
,
granitic
,
uttering
a
note
of
joy
,
acclaiming
the
new
risen
sun
.
By
now
it
was
almost
day
.
The
east
glowed
opalescent
.
All
about
him
Annixter
saw
the
land
inundated
with
light
.
But
there
was
a
change
.
Overnight
something
had
occurred
.
In
his
perturbation
the
change
seemed
to
him
,
at
first
,
elusive
,
almost
fanciful
,
unreal
.
But
now
as
the
light
spread
,
he
looked
again
at
the
gigantic
scroll
of
ranch
lands
unrolled
before
him
from
edge
to
edge
of
the
horizon
.
The
change
was
not
fanciful
.
The
change
was
real
.
The
earth
was
no
longer
bare
.
The
land
was
no
longer
barren
,
—
no
longer
empty
,
no
longer
dull
brown
.
All
at
once
Annixter
shouted
aloud
.
There
it
was
,
the
Wheat
,
the
Wheat
!
The
little
seed
long
planted
,
germinating
in
the
deep
,
dark
furrows
of
the
soil
,
straining
,
swelling
,
suddenly
in
one
night
had
burst
upward
to
the
light
.
The
wheat
had
come
up
.
It
was
there
before
him
,
around
him
,
everywhere
,
illimitable
,
immeasurable
.
The
winter
brownness
of
the
ground
was
overlaid
with
a
little
shimmer
of
green
.
The
promise
of
the
sowing
was
being
fulfilled
.
The
earth
,
the
loyal
mother
,
who
never
failed
,
who
never
disappointed
,
was
keeping
her
faith
again
.
Once
more
the
strength
of
nations
was
renewed
.
Once
more
the
force
of
the
world
was
revivified
Once
more
the
Titan
,
benignant
,
calm
,
stirred
and
woke
,
and
the
morning
abruptly
blazed
into
glory
upon
the
spectacle
of
a
man
whose
heart
leaped
exuberant
with
the
love
of
a
woman
,
and
an
exulting
earth
gleaming
transcendent
with
the
radiant
magnificence
of
an
inviolable
pledge
.
Presley
’
s
room
in
the
ranch
house
of
Los
Muertos
was
in
the
second
story
of
the
building
.
It
was
a
corner
room
;
one
of
its
windows
facing
the
south
,
the
other
the
east
.
Its
appointments
were
of
the
simplest
.
In
one
angle
was
the
small
white
painted
iron
bed
,
covered
with
a
white
counterpane
.
The
walls
were
hung
with
a
white
paper
figured
with
knots
of
pale
green
leaves
,
very
gay
and
bright
.
There
was
a
straw
matting
on
the
floor
.
White
muslin
half
-
curtains
hung
in
the
windows
,
upon
the
sills
of
which
certain
plants
bearing
pink
waxen
flowers
of
which
Presley
did
not
know
the
name
,
grew
in
oblong
green
boxes
.
The
walls
were
unadorned
,
save
by
two
pictures
,
one
a
reproduction
of
the
“
Reading
from
Homer
,
”
the
other
a
charcoal
drawing
of
the
Mission
of
San
Juan
de
Guadalajara
,
which
Presley
had
made
himself
.
By
the
east
window
stood
the
plainest
of
deal
tables
,
innocent
of
any
cloth
or
covering
,
such
as
might
have
been
used
in
a
kitchen
.
It
was
Presley
’
s
work
table
,
and
was
invariably
littered
with
papers
,
half
-
finished
manuscripts
,
drafts
of
poems
,
notebooks
,
pens
,
half
-
smoked
cigarettes
,
and
the
like
.
Near
at
hand
,
upon
a
shelf
,
were
his
books
.
There
were
but
two
chairs
in
the
room
—
the
straight
backed
wooden
chair
,
that
stood
in
front
of
the
table
,
angular
,
upright
,
and
in
which
it
was
impossible
to
take
one
’
s
ease
,
and
the
long
comfortable
wicker
steamer
chair
,
stretching
its
length
in
front
of
the
south
window
.
Presley
was
immensely
fond
of
this
room
.
It
amused
and
interested
him
to
maintain
its
air
of
rigorous
simplicity
and
freshness
.
He
abhorred
cluttered
bric
-
a
-
brac
and
meaningless
objets
d
’
art
.
