[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第47部分

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“Absolutely　no　one。”　

“Henry？”　he　demanded。　

“Henry？　I　should　have　thought；　William；　even　you—”　

“There　is　some　one；”　he　persisted。　“There　has　been　a　
change　in　the　last　few　weeks。　You　owe　it　to　me　to　be　
honest；　Katharine。”　

“If　I　could；　I　would；”　she　replied。　

“Why　did　you　tell　me　you　would　marry　me；　then？”　he　
demanded。　

Why；　indeed？　A　moment　of　pessimism；　a　sudden　con


viction　of　the　undeniable　prose　of　life；　a　lapse　of　the　
illusion　which　sustains　youth　midway　between　heaven　
and　earth；　a　desperate　attempt　to　reconcile　herself　with　
facts—she　could　only　recall　a　moment；　as　of　waking　from　
a　dream；　which　now　seemed　to　her　a　moment　of　surrender。　
But　who　could　give　reasons　such　as　these　for　doing　
what　she　had　done？　She　shook　her　head　very　sadly。　

“But　you’re　not　a　child—you’re　not　a　woman　of　moods；”　
Rodney　persisted。　“You　couldn’t　have　accepted　me　if　you　
hadn’t　loved　me！”　he　cried。　

A　sense　of　her　own　misbehavior；　which　she　had　succeeded　
in　keeping　from　her　by　sharpening　her　consciousness　
of　Rodney’s　faults；　now　swept　over　her　and　almost　
overwhelmed　her。　What　were　his　faults　in　parison　with　
the　fact　that　he　cared　for　her？　What　were　her　virtues　in　
parison　with　the　fact　that　she　did　not　care　for　him？　
In　a　flash　the　conviction　that　not　to　care　is　the　uttermost　
sin　of　all　stamped　itself　upon　her　inmost　thought；　and　
she　felt　herself　branded　for　ever。　

He　had　taken　her　arm；　and　held　her　hand　firmly　in　his；　
nor　had　she　the　force　to　resist　what　now　seemed　to　her　

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his　enormously　superior　strength。　Very　well；　she　would　
submit；　as　her　mother　and　her　aunt　and　most　women；　
perhaps；　had　submitted；　and　yet　she　knew　that　every　
second　of　such　submission　to　his　strength　was　a　second　
of　treachery　to　him。　

“I　did　say　I　would　marry　you；　but　it　was　wrong；”　she　
forced　herself　to　say；　and　she　stiffened　her　arm　as　if　to　
annul　even　the　seeming　submission　of　that　separate　part　
of　her；　“for　I　don’t　love　you；　William；　you’ve　noticed　it；　
every　one’s　noticed　it；　why　should　we　go　on　pretending？　
When　I　told　you　I　loved　you；　I　was　wrong。　I　said　what　I　
knew　to　be　untrue。”　

As　none　of　her　words　seemed　to　her　at　all　adequate　to　
represent　what　she　felt；　she　repeated　them；　and　emphasized　
them　without　realizing　the　effect　that　they　might　
have　upon　a　man　who　cared　for　her。　She　was　pletely　
taken　aback　by　finding　her　arm　suddenly　dropped；　then　
she　saw　his　face　most　strangely　contorted；　was　he　laughing；　
it　flashed　across　her？　In　another　moment　she　saw　
that　he　was　in　tears。　In　her　bewilderment　at　this　apparition　
she　stood　aghast　for　a　second。　With　a　desperate　

sense　that　this　horror　must；　at　all　costs；　be　stopped；　she　
then　put　her　arms　about　him；　drew　his　head　for　a　moment　
upon　her　shoulder；　and　led　him　on；　murmuring　words　of　
consolation；　until　he　heaved　a　great　sigh。　They　held　fast　
to　each　other；　her　tears；　too；　ran　down　her　cheeks；　and　
were　both　quite　silent。　Noticing　the　difficulty　with　which　
he　walked；　and　feeling　the　same　extreme　lassitude　in　her　
own　limbs；　she　proposed　that　they　should　rest　for　a　moment　
where　the　bracken　was　brown　and　shriveled　beneath　
an　oaktree。　He　assented。　Once　more　he　gave　a　
great　sigh；　and　wiped　his　eyes　with　a　childlike　unconsciousness；　
and　began　to　speak　without　a　trace　of　his　
previous　anger。　The　idea　came　to　her　that　they　were　like　
the　children　in　the　fairy　tale　who　were　lost　in　a　wood；　
and　with　this　in　her　mind　she　noticed　the　scattering　of　
dead　leaves　all　round　them　which　had　been　blown　by　the　
wind　into　heaps；　a　foot　or　two　deep；　here　and　there。　

“When　did　you　begin　to　feel　this；　Katharine？”　he　said；　
“for　it　isn’t　true　to　say　that　you’ve　always　felt　it。　I　admit　
I　was　unreasonable　the　first　night　when　you　found　that　
your　clothes　had　been　left　behind。　Still；　where’s　the　fault　

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in　that？　I　could　promise　you　never　to　interfere　with　your　
clothes　again。　I　admit　I　was　cross　when　I　found　you　upstairs　
with　Henry。　Perhaps　I　showed　it　too　openly。　But　
that’s　not　unreasonable　either　when　one’s　engaged。　Ask　
your　mother。　And　now　this　terrible　thing—”　He　broke　off；　
unable　for　the　moment　to　proceed　any　further。　“This　decision　
you　say　you’ve　e　to—have　you　discussed　it　
with　any　one？　Your　mother；　for　example；　or　Henry？”　

“No；　no；　of　course　not；”　she　said；　stirring　the　leaves　with　
her　hand。　“But　you　don’t　understand　me；　William—”　

“Help　me　to　understand　you—”　

“You　don’t　understand；　I　mean；　my　real　feelings；　how　
could　you？　I’ve　only　now　faced　them　myself。　But　I　haven’t　
got　the　sort　of　feeling—love；　I　mean—I　don’t　know　what　
to　call　it”—she　looked　vaguely　towards　the　horizon　sunk　
under　mist—”but；　anyhow；　without　it　our　marriage　would　
be　a　farce—”　

“How　a　farce？”　he　asked。　“But　this　kind　of　analysis　is　
disastrous！”　he　exclaimed。　

“I　should　have　done　it　before；”　she　said　gloomily。　

“You　make　yourself　think　things　you　don’t　think；”　he　

continued；　being　demonstrative　with　his　hands；　as　
his　manner　was。　“Believe　me；　Katharine；　before　we　came　
here　we　were　perfectly　happy。　You　were　full　of　plans　for　
our　house—the　chaircovers；　don’t　you　remember？—like　
any　other　woman　who　is　about　to　be　married。　Now；　for　no　
reason　whatever；　you　begin　to　fret　about　your　feeling　
and　about　my　feeling；　with　the　usual　result。　I　assure　you；　
Katharine；　I’ve　been　through　it　all　myself。　At　one　time　I　
was　always　asking　myself　absurd　questions　which　came　
to　nothing　either。　What　you　want；　if　I　may　say　so；　is　
some　occupation　to　take　you　out　of　yourself　when　this　
morbid　mood　es　on。　If　it　hadn’t　been　for　my　poetry；　I　
assure　you；　I　should　often　have　been　very　much　in　the　
same　state　myself。　To　let　you　into　a　secret；”　he　continued；　
with　his　little　chuckle；　which　now　sounded　almost　
assured；　“I’ve　often　gone　home　from　seeing　you　in　such　a　
state　of　nerves　that　I　had　to　force　myself　to　write　a　page　
or　two　before　I　could　get　you　out　of　my　head。　Ask　Denham；　
he’ll　tell　you　how　he　met　me　one　night；　he’ll　tell　you　what　
a　state　he　found　me　in。”　

Katharine　started　with　displeasure　at　the　mention　of　

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Ralph’s　name。　The　thought　of　the　conversation　in　which　
her　conduct　had　been　made　a　subject　for　discussion　with　
Denham　roused　her　anger；　but；　as　she　instantly　felt；　she　
had　scarcely　the　right　to　grudge　William　any　use　of　her　
name；　seeing　what　her　fault　against　him　had　been　from　
first　to　last。　And　yet　Denham！　She　had　a　view　of　him　as　a　
judge。　She　figured　him　sternly　weighing　instances　of　her　
levity　in　this　masculine　court　of　inquiry　into　feminine　
morality　and　gruffly　dismissing　both　her　and　her　family　
with　some　halfsarcastic；　halftolerant　phrase　which　sealed　
her　doom；　as　far　as　he　was　concerned；　for　ever。　Having　
met　him　so　lately；　the　sense　of　his　character　was　strong　
in　her。　The　thought　was　not　a　pleasant　one　for　a　proud　
woman；　but　she　had　yet　to　learn　the　art　of　subduing　her　
expression。　Her　eyes　fixed　upon　the　ground；　her　brows　
drawn　together；　gave　William　a　very　fair　picture　of　the　
resentment　that　she　was　forcing　herself　to　control。　A　certain　
degree　of　apprehension；　occasionally　culminating　in　
a　kind　of　fear；　had　always　entered　into　his　love　for　her；　
and　had　increased；　rather　to　his　surprise；　in　the　greater　
intimacy　of　their　engagement。　Beneath　her　steady；　ex


emplary　surface　ran　a　vein　of　passion　which　seemed　to　
him　now　perverse；　now　pletely　irrational；　for　it　never　
took　the　normal　channel　of　glorification　of　him　and　his　
doings；　and；　indeed；　he　almost　preferred　the　steady　good　
sense；　which　had　always　marked　their　relationship；　to　a　
more　romantic　bond。　But　passion　she　had；　he　could　not　
deny　it；　and　hitherto　he　had　tried　to　see　it　employed　in　
his　thoughts　upon　the　lives　of　the　children　who　were　to　
be　born　to　them。　

“She　will　make　a　perfect　mother—a　mother　of　sons；”　
he　thought；　but　seeing　her　sitting　there；　gloomy　and　silent；　
he　began　to　have　his　doubts　on　this　point。　“A　farce；　
a　farce；”　he　thought　to　himself。　“She　said　that　our　marriage　
would　be　a　farce；”　and　he　became　suddenly　aware　
of　their　situation；　sitting　upon　the　ground；　among　the　
dead　leaves；　not　fifty　yards　from　the　main　road；　so　that　it　
was　quite　possible　for　some　one　passing　to　see　and　recognize　
them。　He　brushed　off　his　face　any　trace　that　might　
remain　of　that　unseemly　exhibition　of　emotion。　But　he　
was　more　troubled　by　Katharine’s　appearance；　as　she　sat　
rapt　in　thought　upon　the　ground；　than　by　his　own；　there　

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was　something　improper　to　him　in　her　selfforgetfulness。　
A　man　naturally　alive　to　the　conventions　of　society；　he　
was　strictly　conventional　where　women　were　concerned；　
and　especially　if　the　women　happened　to　be　in　any　way　
connected　with　him。　He　noticed　with　distress　the　long　
strand　of　dark　hair　touching　her　shoulder　and　two　or　three　
dead　beechleaves　attached　to　her　dress；　but　to　recall　
her　mind　in　their　present　circumstances　to　a　sense　of　
these　details　was　impossible。　She　sat　there；　seeming　unconscious　
of　everything。　He　suspected　that　in　her　silence　
she　was　reproaching　herself；　but　he　wished　that　she　would　
think　of　her　hair　and　of　the　dead　beechleaves；　which　
were　of　more　immediate　importance　to　him　than　anything　
else。　Indeed；　these　trifles　drew　his　attention　
strangely　from　his　own　doubtful　and　uneasy　state　of　mind；　
for　relief；　mixing　itself　with　pain；　stirred　up　a　most　curious　
hurry　and　tumult　in　his　breast；　almost　concealing　his　
first　sharp　sense　of　bleak　and　overwhelming　disappointment。　
In　order　to　relieve　this　restlessness　and　close　a　
distressingly　illordered　scene；　he　rose　abruptly　and　helped　
Katharine　to　her　feet。　She　smiled　a　little　at　the　minute　

care　with　which　he　tidied　her　and　yet；　when　he　brushed　
the　dead　leaves　from　his　own　coat；　she　flinched；　seeing　
in　that　action　the　gesture　of　a　lonely　man。　

“William；”　she　said；　“I　will　marry　you。　I　will　try　to　make　
you　happy。”　

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CHAPTER　XIX　


The　afternoon　was　already　growing　d