RODERICK HUDSON
his hair. "Why, he's youth, you know; he's inno cence, he's health, he's strength, he 's curiosity. Yes, he's a lot of grand things."
"And is the cup also a symbol?"
"The cup is knowledge, pleasure, experience. Anything of that kind."
"Then he 's drinking very deep," said Rowland. Hudson gave an approving nod. "Well, poor wretch, you would n't have him die of thirst, would you?" But without awaiting a reply he called good night from the garden-path and lost himself in the darkness.
"Well, what do you make of him?" asked Cecilia, returning a short time afterwards from a visit of investigation in respect to the number of Bessie's blankets. Rowland replied after a little by a question of his own. "Isn't he a case of what 's called the artistic temperament? That 's interesting to see, for the 'likes' of us."
"Speak for your own temperament! But he's a very odd creature," Cecilia conceded.
"Who are his people? what has been his education?" Rowland asked.
"He has had no education beyond what he has picked up with little trouble for himself. His mother is a widow, of a Massachusetts country family, a little timid, tremulous woman, always troubled, always on pins and needles about her son. She had some property herself and married a Virginia gentleman—an owner of lands and slaves. He turned out, I believe, quite a dreadful sort of person and made
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