[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第38部分

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with　reddishyellow　light；　suggested　a　portly　threedecker；　
sailing　seas　where　those　dolphins　and　narwhals　who　disport　
themselves　upon　the　edges　of　old　maps　were　scattered　
with　an　impartial　hand。　A　semicircular　flight　of　shallow　
steps　led　to　a　very　large　door；　which　Katharine　had　
left　ajar。　She　hesitated；　cast　her　eyes　over　the　front　of　
the　house；　marked　that　a　light　burnt　in　one　small　window　

upon　an　upper　floor；　and　pushed　the　door　open。　For　a　
moment　she　stood　in　the　square　hall；　among　many　horned　
skulls；　sallow　globes；　cracked　oilpaintings；　and　stuffed　
owls；　hesitating；　it　seemed；　whether　she　should　open　the　
door　on　her　right；　through　which　the　stir　of　life　reached　
her　ears。　Listening　for　a　moment；　she　heard　a　sound　which　
decided　her；　apparently；　not　to　enter；　her　uncle；　Sir　Francis；　
was　playing　his　nightly　game　of　whist；　it　appeared　probable　
that　he　was　losing。　

She　went　up　the　curving　stairway；　which　represented　
the　one　attempt　at　ceremony　in　the　otherwise　rather　dilapidated　
mansion；　and　down　a　narrow　passage　until　she　
came　to　the　room　whose　light　she　had　seen　from　the　
garden。　Knocking；　she　was　told　to　e　in。　A　young　man；　
Henry　Otway；　was　reading；　with　his　feet　on　the　fender。　
He　had　a　fine　head；　the　brow　arched　in　the　Elizabethan　
manner；　but　the　gentle；　honest　eyes　were　rather　skeptical　
than　glowing　with　the　Elizabethan　vigor。　He　gave　the　
impression　that　he　had　not　yet　found　the　cause　which　
suited　his　temperament。　

He　turned；　put　down　his　book；　and　looked　at　her。　He　

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noticed　her　rather　pale；　dewdrenched　look；　as　of　one　
whose　mind　is　not　altogether　settled　in　the　body。　He　had　
often　laid　his　difficulties　before　her；　and　guessed；　in　some　
ways　hoped；　that　perhaps　she　now　had　need　of　him。　At　
the　same　time；　she　carried　on　her　life　with　such　independence　
that　he　scarcely　expected　any　confidence　to　be　
expressed　in　words。　

“You　have　fled；　too；　then？”　he　said；　looking　at　her　cloak。　
Katharine　had　forgotten　to　remove　this　token　of　her　stargazing。　


“Fled？”　she　asked。　“From　whom　d’you　mean？　Oh；　the　
family　party。　Yes；　it　was　hot　down　there；　so　I　went　into　
the　garden。”　

“And　aren’t　you　very　cold？”　Henry　inquired；　placing　coal　
on　the　fire；　drawing　a　chair　up　to　the　grate；　and　laying　
aside　her　cloak。　Her　indifference　to　such　details　often　
forced　Henry　to　act　the　part　generally　taken　by　women　in　
such　dealings。　It　was　one　of　the　ties　between　them。　

“Thank　you；　Henry；”　she　said。　“I’m　not　disturbing　you？”　

“I’m　not　here。　I’m　at　Bungay；”　he　replied。　“I’m　giving　a　
music　lesson　to　Harold　and　Julia。　That　was　why　I　had　to　

leave　the　table　with　the　ladies—I’m　spending　the　night　
there；　and　I　shan’t　be　back　till　late　on　Christmas　Eve。”　

“How　I　wish—”　Katharine　began；　and　stopped　short。　“I　
think　these　parties　are　a　great　mistake；”　she　added　briefly；　
and　sighed。　

“Oh；　horrible！”　he　agreed；　and　they　both　fell　silent。　

Her　sigh　made　him　look　at　her。　Should　he　venture　to　
ask　her　why　she　sighed？　Was　her　reticence　about　her　own　
affairs　as　inviolable　as　it　had　often　been　convenient　for　
rather　an　egoistical　young　man　to　think　it？　But　since　her　
engagement　to　Rodney；　Henry’s　feeling　towards　her　had　
bee　rather　plex；　equally　divided　between　an　impulse　
to　hurt　her　and　an　impulse　to　be　tender　to　her；　and　
all　the　time　he　suffered　a　curious　irritation　from　the　sense　
that　she　was　drifting　away　from　him　for　ever　upon　unknown　
seas。　On　her　side；　directly　Katharine　got　into　his　
presence；　and　the　sense　of　the　stars　dropped　from　her；　
she　knew　that　any　intercourse　between　people　is　extremely　
partial；　from　the　whole　mass　of　her　feelings；　only　one　or　
two　could　be　selected　for　Henry’s　inspection；　and　therefore　
she　sighed。　Then　she　looked　at　him；　and　their　eyes　

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meeting；　much　more　seemed　to　be　in　mon　between　them　
than　had　appeared　possible。　At　any　rate　they　had　a　grandfather　
in　mon；　at　any　rate　there　was　a　kind　of　loyalty　
between　them　sometimes　found　between　relations　who　have　
no　other　cause　to　like　each　other；　as　these　two　had。　

“Well；　what’s　the　date　of　the　wedding？”　said　Henry；　the　
malicious　mood　now　predominating。　

“I　think　some　time　in　March；”　she　replied。　

“And　afterwards？”　he　asked。　

“We　take　a　house；　I　suppose；　somewhere　in　Chelsea。”　

“It’s　very　interesting；”　he　observed；　stealing　another　
look　at　her。　

She　lay　back　in　her　armchair；　her　feet　high　upon　the　
side　of　the　grate；　and　in　front　of　her；　presumably　to　screen　
her　eyes；　she　held　a　newspaper　from　which　she　picked　up　
a　sentence　or　two　now　and　again。　Observing　this；　Henry　
remarked：　

“Perhaps　marriage　will　make　you　more　human。”　

At　this　she　lowered　the　newspaper　an　inch　or　two；　but　
said　nothing。　Indeed；　she　sat　quite　silent　for　over　a　
minute。　

“When　you　consider　things　like　the　stars；　our　affairs　
don’t　seem　to　matter　very　much；　do　they？”　she　said　suddenly。　


“I　don’t　think　I　ever　do　consider　things　like　the　stars；”　
Henry　replied。　“I’m　not　sure　that　that’s　not　the　explanation；　
though；”　he　added；　now　observing　her　steadily。　

“I　doubt　whether　there　is　an　explanation；”　she　replied　
rather　hurriedly；　not　clearly　understanding　what　he　meant。　

“What？　No　explanation　of　anything？”　he　inquired；　with　
a　smile。　

“Oh；　things　happen。　That’s　about　all；”　she　let　drop　in　
her　casual；　decided　way。　

“That　certainly　seems　to　explain　some　of　your　actions；”　
Henry　thought　to　himself。　

“One　thing’s　about　as　good　as　another；　and　one’s　got　to　
do　something；”　he　said　aloud；　expressing　what　he　supposed　
to　be　her　attitude；　much　in　her　accent。　Perhaps　
she　detected　the　imitation；　for　looking　gently　at　him；　
she　said；　with　ironical　posure：　

“Well；　if　you　believe　that　your　life　must　be　simple；　
Henry。”　

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“But　I　don’t　believe　it；”　he　said　shortly。　

“No　more　do　I；”　she　replied。　

“What　about　the　stars？”　he　asked　a　moment　later。　“I　
understand　that　you　rule　your　life　by　the　stars？”　

She　let　this　pass；　either　because　she　did　not　attend　to　
it；　or　because　the　tone　was　not　to　her　liking。　

Once　more　she　paused；　and　then　she　inquired：　

“But　do　you　always　understand　why　you　do　everything？　
Ought　one　to　understand？　People　like　my　mother　understand；”　
she　reflected。　“Now　I　must　go　down　to　them；　I　
suppose；　and　see　what’s　happening。”　

“What　could　be　happening？”　Henry　protested。　

“Oh；　they　may　want　to　settle　something；”　she　replied　
vaguely；　putting　her　feet　on　the　ground；　resting　her　chin　
on　her　hands；　and　looking　out　of　her　large　dark　eyes　
contemplatively　at　the　fire。　

“And　then　there’s　William；”　she　added；　as　if　by　an　afterthought。　


Henry　very　nearly　laughed；　but　restrained　himself。　

“Do　they　know　what　coals　are　made　of；　Henry？”　she　
asked；　a　moment　later。　

“Mares’　tails；　I　believe；”　he　hazarded。　
“Have　you　ever　been　down　a　coalmine？”　she　went　on。　
“Don’t　let’s　talk　about　coalmines；　Katharine；”　he　pro


tested。　“We　shall　probably　never　see　each　other　again。　
When　you’re　married—”　
Tremendously　to　his　surprise；　he　saw　the　tears　stand　in　

her　eyes。　
“Why　do　you　all　tease　me？”　she　said。　“It　isn’t　kind。”　
Henry　could　not　pretend　that　he　was　altogether　igno


rant　of　her　meaning；　though；　certainly；　he　had　never　
guessed　that　she　minded　the　teasing。　But　before　he　knew　
what　to　say；　her　eyes　were　clear　again；　and　the　sudden　
crack　in　the　surface　was　almost　filled　up。　

“Things　aren’t　easy；　anyhow；”　she　stated。　
Obeying　an　impulse　of　genuine　affection；　Henry　spoke。　
“Promise　me；　Katharine；　that　if　I　can　ever　help　you；　


you　will　let　me。”　

She　seemed　to　consider；　looking　once　more　into　the　red　
of　the　fire；　and　decided　to　refrain　from　any　explanation。　
“Yes；　I　promise　that；”　she　said　at　length；　and　Henry　felt　
himself　gratified　by　her　plete　sincerity；　and　began　to　

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tell　her　now　about　the　coalmine；　in　obedience　to　her　
love　of　facts。　

They　were；　indeed；　descending　the　shaft　in　a　small　cage；　
and　could　hear　the　picks　of　the　miners；　something　like　
the　gnawing　of　rats；　in　the　earth　beneath　them；　when　
the　door　was　burst　open；　without　any　knocking。　

“Well；　here　you　are！”　Rodney　exclaimed。　Both　Katharine　
and　Henry　turned　round　very　quickly　and　rather　guiltily。　
Rodney　was　in　evening　dress。　It　was　clear　that　his　temper　
was　ruffled。　

“That’s　where　you’ve　been　all　the　time；”　he　repeated；　
looking　at　Katharine。　

“I’ve　only　been　here　about　ten　minutes；”　she　replied。　

“My　dear　Katharine；　you　left　the　drawingroom　over　an　
hour　ago。”　

She　said　nothing。　

“Does　it　very　much　matter？”　Henry　asked。　

Rodney　found　it　hard　to　be　unreasonable　in　the　presence　
of　another　man；　and　did　not　answer　him。　

“They　don’t　like　it；”　he　said。　“It　isn’t　kind　to　old　people　
to　leave　them　alone—although　I’ve　no　doubt　it’s　much　

more　amusing　to　sit　up　here　and　talk　to　Henry。”　

“We　were　discussing　coalmines；”　said　Henry　urbanely。　

“Yes。　But　we　were　talking　about　much　more　interesting　
things　before　that；”　said　Katharine。　

From　the　apparent　determination　to　hurt　him　with　which　
she　spoke；　Henry　thought　that　some　sort　of　explosion　on　
Rodney’s　part　was　about　to　take　place。　

“I　can　quite　understand　that；”　said　Rodney；　with　his　
little　chuckle；　leaning　over　the　back　of　his　chair　and　tapping　
the　woodwork　lightly　with　his　fingers。　They　were　all　
silent；　and　the　silence　was　acutely　unfortable　to　Henry；　
at　least。　

“Was　it　very　dull；　William？”　Katharine　suddenly　asked；　
with　a　plete　change　of　tone　and　a　little　gesture　of　
her　hand。　

“Of　course　it　was　dull；”　William　said　sulkily。　

“Well；　you　stay　and　talk　to　Henry；　and　I’ll　go　down；”　
she　replied。　

She　rose　as　she　spoke；　and　as　she　turned　to　leave　the　
room；　she　laid　her　hand；　with　a　curiously　caressing　gesture；　
upon　Rodney’s　shoulder。　Instantly　Rodney　clasped　

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her　hand　in　his；　with　such　an　impulse　of　emotion　that　
Henry　was　annoyed；　and　rather　ostentatiously　opened　a　
book。