the beast in the jungle-第10部分

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end；　and　there　were　the　facts　of　the　past；　there　the　truth　of　his　life；　there　the　backward　reaches　in　which　he　could　lose　himself。　　He　did　this　from　time　to　time　with　such　effect　that　he　seemed　to　wander　through　the　old　years　with　his　hand　in　the　arm　of　a　companion　who　was；　in　the　most　extraordinary　manner；　his　other；　his　younger　self；　and　to　wander；　which　was　more　extraordinary　yet；　round　and　round　a　third　presencenot　wandering　she；　but　stationary；　still；　whose　eyes；　turning　with　his　revolution；　never　ceased　to　follow　him；　and　whose　seat　was　his　point；　so　to　speak；　of　orientation。　　Thus　in　short　he　settled　to　livefeeding　all　on　the　sense　that　he　once　HAD　lived；　and　dependent　on　it　not　alone　for　a　support　but　for　an　identity。

It　sufficed　him　in　its　way　for　months　and　the　year　elapsed；　it　would　doubtless　even　have　carried　him　further　but　for　an　accident；　superficially　slight；　which　moved　him；　quite　in　another　direction；　with　a　force　beyond　any　of　his　impressions　of　Egypt　or　of　India。　It　was　a　thing　of　the　merest　chancethe　turn；　as　he　afterwards　felt；　of　a　hair；　though　he　was　indeed　to　live　to　believe　that　if　light　hadn't　come　to　him　in　this　particular　fashion　it　would　still　have　come　in　another。　　He　was　to　live　to　believe　this；　I　say；　though　he　was　not　to　live；　I　may　not　less　definitely　mention；　to　do　much　else。　　We　allow　him　at　any　rate　the　benefit　of　the　conviction；　struggling　up　for　him　at　the　end；　that；　whatever　might　have　happened　or　not　happened；　he　would　have　come　round　of　himself　to　the　light。　　The　incident　of　an　autumn　day　had　put　the　match　to　the　train　laid　from　of　old　by　his　misery。　　With　the　light　before　him　he　knew　that　even　of　late　his　ache　had　only　been　smothered。　　It　was　strangely　drugged；　but　it　throbbed；　at　the　touch　it　began　to　bleed。　And　the　touch；　in　the　event；　was　the　face　of　a　fellow…mortal。　　This　face；　one　grey　afternoon　when　the　leaves　were　thick　in　the　alleys；　looked　into　Marcher's　own；　at　the　cemetery；　with　an　expression　like　the　cut　of　a　blade。　　He　felt　it；　that　is；　so　deep　down　that　he　winced　at　the　steady　thrust。　　The　person　who　so　mutely　assaulted　him　was　a　figure　he　had　noticed；　on　reaching　his　own　goal；　absorbed　by　a　grave　a　short　distance　away；　a　grave　apparently　fresh；　so　that　the　emotion　of　the　visitor　would　probably　match　it　for　frankness。　This　fact　alone　forbade　further　attention；　though　during　the　time　he　stayed　he　remained　vaguely　conscious　of　his　neighbour；　a　middle…　aged　man　apparently；　in　mourning；　whose　bowed　back；　among　the　clustered　monuments　and　mortuary　yews；　was　constantly　presented。　Marcher's　theory　that　these　were　elements　in　contact　with　which　he　himself　revived；　had　suffered；　on　this　occasion；　it　may　be　granted；　a　marked；　an　excessive　check。　　The　autumn　day　was　dire　for　him　as　none　had　recently　been；　and　he　rested　with　a　heaviness　he　had　not　yet　known　on　the　low　stone　table　that　bore　May　Bartram's　name。　　He　rested　without　power　to　move；　as　if　some　spring　in　him；　some　spell　vouchsafed；　had　suddenly　been　broken　for　ever。　　If　he　could　have　done　that　moment　as　he　wanted　he　would　simply　have　stretched　himself　on　the　slab　that　was　ready　to　take　him；　treating　it　as　a　place　prepared　to　receive　his　last　sleep。　　What　in　all　the　wide　world　had　he　now　to　keep　awake　for？　　He　stared　before　him　with　the　question；　and　it　was　then　that；　as　one　of　the　cemetery　walks　passed　near　him；　he　caught　the　shock　of　the　face。

His　neighbour　at　the　other　grave　had　withdrawn；　as　he　himself；　with　force　enough　in　him；　would　have　done　by　now；　and　was　advancing　along　the　path　on　his　way　to　one　of　the　gates。　　This　brought　him　close；　and　his　pace；　was　slow；　so　thatand　all　the　more　as　there　was　a　kind　of　hunger　in　his　lookthe　two　men　were　for　a　minute　directly　confronted。　　Marcher　knew　him　at　once　for　one　of　the　deeply　strickena　perception　so　sharp　that　nothing　else　in　the　picture　comparatively　lived；　neither　his　dress；　his　age；　nor　his　presumable　character　and　class；　nothing　lived　but　the　deep　ravage　of　the　features　that　he　showed。　　He　SHOWED　themthat　was　the　point；　he　was　moved；　as　he　passed；　by　some　impulse　that　was　either　a　signal　for　sympathy　or；　more　possibly；　a　challenge　to　an　opposed　sorrow。　　He　might　already　have　been　aware　of　our　friend；　might　at　some　previous　hour　have　noticed　in　him　the　smooth　habit　of　the　scene；　with　which　the　state　of　his　own　senses　so　scantly　consorted；　and　might　thereby　have　been　stirred　as　by　an　overt　discord。　　What　Marcher　was　at　all　events　conscious　of　was　in　the　first　place　that　the　image　of　scarred　passion　presented　to　him　was　conscious　tooof　something　that　profaned　the　air；　and　in　the　second　that；　roused；　startled；　shocked；　he　was　yet　the　next　moment　looking　after　it；　as　it　went；　with　envy。　　The　most　extraordinary　thing　that　had　happened　to　himthough　he　had　given　that　name　to　other　matters　as　well　took　place；　after　his　immediate　vague　stare；　as　a　consequence　of　this　impression。　　The　stranger　passed；　but　the　raw　glare　of　his　grief　remained；　making　our　friend　wonder　in　pity　what　wrong；　what　wound　it　expressed；　what　injury　not　to　be　healed。　　What　had　the　man　HAD；　to　make　him　by　the　loss　of　it　so　bleed　and　yet　live？

Somethingand　this　reached　him　with　a　pangthat　HE；　John　Marcher；　hadn't；　the　proof　of　which　was　precisely　John　Marcher's　arid　end。　No　passion　had　ever　touched　him；　for　this　was　what　passion　meant；　he　had　survived　and　maundered　and　pined；　but　where　had　been　HIS　deep　ravage？　　The　extraordinary　thing　we　speak　of　was　the　sudden　rush　of　the　result　of　this　question。　　The　sight　that　had　just　met　his　eyes　named　to　him；　as　in　letters　of　quick　flame；　something　he　had　utterly；　insanely　missed；　and　what　he　had　missed　made　these　things　a　train　of　fire；　made　them　mark　themselves　in　an　anguish　of　inward　throbs。　　He　had　seen　OUTSIDE　of　his　life；　not　learned　it　within；　the　way　a　woman　was　mourned　when　she　had　been　loved　for　herself：　　such　was　the　force　of　his　conviction　of　the　meaning　of　the　stranger's　face；　which　still　flared　for　him　as　a　smoky　torch。　It　hadn't　come　to　him；　the　knowledge；　on　the　wings　of　experience；　it　had　brushed　him；　jostled　him；　upset　him；　with　the　disrespect　of　chance；　the　insolence　of　accident。　　Now　that　the　illumination　had　begun；　however；　it　blazed　to　the　zenith；　and　what　he　presently　stood　there　gazing　at　was　the　sounded　void　of　his　life。　　He　gazed；　he　drew　breath；　in　pain；　he　turned　in　his　dismay；　and；　turning；　he　had　before　him　in　sharper　incision　than　ever　the　open　page　of　his　story。　　The　name　on　the　table　smote　him　as　the　passage　of　his　neighbour　had　done；　and　what　it　said　to　him；　full　in　the　face；　was　that　she　was　what　he　had　missed。　　This　was　the　awful　thought；　the　answer　to　all　the　past；　the　vision　at　the　dread　clearness　of　which　he　turned　as　cold　as　the　stone　beneath　him。　　Everything　fell　together；　confessed；　explained；　overwhelmed；　leaving　him　most　of　all　stupefied　at　the　blindness　he　had　cherished。　　The　fate　he　had　been　marked　for　he　had　met　with　a　vengeancehe　had　emptied　the　cup　to　the　lees；　he　had　been　the　man　of　his　time；　THE　man；　to　whom　nothing　on　earth　was　to　have　happened。　　That　was　the　rare　stroke　that　was　his　visitation。　　So　he　saw　it；　as　we　say；　in　pale　horror；　while　the　pieces　fitted　and　fitted。　　So　SHE　had　seen　it　while　he　didn't；　and　so　she　served　at　this　hour　to　drive　the　truth　home。　　It　was　the　truth；　vivid　and　monstrous；　that　all　the　while　he　had　waited　the　wait　was　itself　his　portion。　　This　the　companion　of　his　vigil　had　at　a　given　moment　made　out；　and　she　had　then　offered　him　the　chance　to　baffle　his　doom。　　One's　doom；　however；　was　never　baffled；　and　on　the　day　she　told　him　his　own　had　come　down　she　had　seen　him　but　stupidly　stare　at　the　escape　she　offered　him。

The　escape　would　have　been　to　love　her；　then；　THEN　he　would　have　lived。　　SHE　had　livedwho　could　say　now　with　what　passion？since　she　had　loved　him　for　himself；　whereas　he　had　never　thought　of　her　（ah　how　it　hugely　glared　at　him！）　but　in　the　chill　of　his　egotism　and　the　light　of　her　use。　　Her　spoken　words　came　back　to　himthe　chain　stretched　and　stretched。　　The　Beast　had　lurked　indeed；　and　the　Beast；　at　its　hour；　had　sprung；　it　had　sprung　in　that　twilight　of　the　cold　April　when；　pale；　ill；　wasted；　but　all　beautiful；　and　perhaps　even　then　recoverable；　she　had　risen　from　her　chair　to　stand　before　him　and　let　him　imaginably　guess。　　It　had　sprung　as　he　didn't　guess；　it　had　sprung　as　she　hopelessly　turned　from　him；　and　the　mark；　by　the　time　he　left　her；　had　fallen　where　it　WAS　to　fall。　He　had　justified　his　fear　and　achieved　his　fate；　he　had　failed；　with　the　last　exactitude；　of　all　he　was　to　fail　of；　and　a　moan　now　rose　to　his　lips　as　he　remembered　she　had　prayed　he　mightn't　know。　This　horror　of　wakingTHIS　was　knowledge；　knowledge　under　the　breath　of　which　the　very　tears　in　his　eyes　seemed　to　freeze。　Through　them；　none　the　less；　he　tried　to　fix　it　and　hold　it；　he　kept　it　there　before　him　so　that　he　might　feel　the　pain。　　That　at　least；　belated　and　bitter；　had　something　of　the　taste　of　life。　　But　the　bitterness　suddenly　sickened　him；　and　it　was　as　if；　horribly；　he　saw；　in　the　truth；　in　the　cruelty　of　his　image；　what　had　been　appointed　and　done。　　He　saw　the　Jungle　of　his　life　and　saw　the　lurking　Beast；　then；　while　he　looked；　perceived　it；　as　by　a　stir　of　the　air；　rise；　huge　and　hideous；　for　the　leap　that　was　to　settle　him。　　His　eyes　darkenedit　was　close；　and；　instinctively　turning；　in　his　hallucination；　to　avoid　it；　he　flung　himself；　face　down；　on　the　tomb。





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