the dark flower-第13部分

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Oxford　meant；　his　roaming　fancy；　like　a　bird　hypnotized　by　a　hawk；
fluttered；　stayed　suspended；　and　dived　back　to　earth。　　And　that
feeling　of　wanting　to　make　things　suddenly　left　him。　　It　was　as
though　he　had　woken　up；　his　real　self；　thenlost　that　self　again。
Very　quietly　he　made　his　way　downstairs。　　The　garden　door　was　not
shuttered；　not　even　lockedit　must　have　been　forgotten　overnight。
Last　night！　　He　had　never　thought　he　would　feel　like　this　when　she
cameso　bewildered；　and　confused；　drawn　towards　her；　but　by
something　held　back。　　And　he　felt　impatient；　angry　with　himself；
almost　with　her。　　Why　could　he　not　be　just　simply　happy；　as　this
morning　was　happy？　　He　got　his　field…glasses　and　searched　the
meadow　that　led　down　to　the　river。　　Yes；　there　were　several　rabbits
out。　　With　the　white　marguerites　and　the　dew　cobwebs；　it　was　all
moon…flowery　and　white；　and　the　rabbits　being　there　made　it
perfect。　　He　wanted　one　badly　to　model　from；　and　for　a　moment　was
tempted　to　get　his　rook　riflebut　what　was　the　good　of　a　dead
rabbitbesides；　they　looked　so　happy！　　He　put　the　glasses　down　and
went　towards　his　greenhouse　to　get　a　drawing　block；　thinking　to　sit
on　the　wall　and　make　a　sort　of　Midsummer　Night's　Dream　sketch　of
flowers　and　rabbits。　　Someone　was　there；　bending　down　and　doing
something　to　his　creatures。　　Who　had　the　cheek？　　Why；　it　was
Sylviain　her　dressing…gown！　　He　grew　hot；　then　cold；　with　anger。
He　could　not　bear　anyone　in　that　holy　place！　　It　was　hateful　to
have　his　things　even　looked　at；　and　sheshe　seemed　to　be　fingering
them。　　He　pulled　the　door　open　with　a　jerk；　and　said：　〃What　are　you
doing？〃　　He　was　indeed　so　stirred　by　righteous　wrath　that　he　hardly
noticed　the　gasp　she　gave；　and　the　collapse　of　her　figure　against
the　wall。　　She　ran　past　him；　and　vanished　without　a　word。　　He　went
up　to　his　creatures　and　saw　that　she　had　placed　on　the　head　of　each
one　of　them　a　little　sprig　of　jessamine　flower。　　Why！　　It　was
idiotic！　　He　could　see　nothing　at　first　but　the　ludicrousness　of
flowers　on　the　heads　of　his　beasts！　　Then　the　desperation　of　this
attempt　to　imagine　something　graceful；　something　that　would　give
him　pleasure　touched　him；　for　he　saw　now　that　this　was　a　birthday
decoration。　　From　that　it　was　only　a　second　before　he　was　horrified
with　himself。　　Poor　little　Sylvia！　　What　a　brute　he　was！　　She　had
plucked　all　that　jessamine；　hung　out　of　her　window　and　risked
falling　to　get　hold　of　it；　and　she　had　woken　up　early　and　come　down
in　her　dressing…gown　just　to　do　something　that　she　thought　he　would
like！　　Horriblewhat　he　had　done！　　Now；　when　it　was　too　late；　he
saw；　only　too　clearly；　her　startled　white　face　and　quivering　lips；
and　the　way　she　had　shrunk　against　the　wall。　　How　pretty　she　had
looked　in　her　dressing…gown　with　her　hair　all　about　her；　frightened
like　that！　　He　would　do　anything　now　to　make　up　to　her　for　having
been　such　a　perfect　beast！　　The　feeling；　always　a　little　with　him；
that　he　must　look　after　herdating；　no　doubt；　from　days　when　he
had　protected　her　from　the　bulls　that　were　not　there；　and　the
feeling　of　her　being　so　sweet　and　decent　to　him　always；　and　some
other　feeling　tooall　these　suddenly　reached　poignant　climax。　　He
simply　must　make　it　up　to　her！　　He　ran　back　into　the　house　and
stole　upstairs。　　Outside　her　room　he　listened　with　all　his　might；
but　could　hear　nothing；　then　tapped　softly　with　one　nail；　and；
putting　his　mouth　to　the　keyhole；　whispered：　〃Sylvia！〃　　Again　and
again　he　whispered　her　name。　　He　even　tried　the　handle；　meaning　to
open　the　door　an　inch；　but　it　was　bolted。　　Once　he　thought　he　heard
a　noise　like　sobbing；　and　this　made　him　still　more　wretched。　　At
last　he　gave　it　up；　she　would　not　come；　would　not　be　consoled。　　He
deserved　it；　he　knew；　but　it　was　very　hard。　　And　dreadfully
dispirited　he　went　up　to　his　room；　took　a　bit　of　paper；　and　tried
to　write：


〃DEAREST　SYLVIA；

〃It　was　most　awfully　sweet　of　you　to　put　your　stars　on　my　beasts。
It　was　just　about　the　most　sweet　thing　you　could　have　done。　　I　am
an　awful　brute；　but；　of　course；　if　I　had　only　known　what　you　were
doing；　I　should　have　loved　it。　　Do　forgive　me；　I　deserve　it；　I
knowonly　it　IS　my　birthday。

〃Your　sorrowful

〃MARK。〃


He　took　this　down；　slipped　it　under　her　door；　tapped　so　that　she
might　notice　it；　and　stole　away。　　It　relieved　his　mind　a　little；
and　he　went　downstairs　again。

Back　in　the　greenhouse；　sitting　on　a　stool；　he　ruefully
contemplated　those　chapletted　beasts。　　They　consisted　of　a　crow；　a
sheep；　a　turkey；　two　doves；　a　pony；　and　sundry　fragments。　　She　had
fastened　the　jessamine　sprigs　to　the　tops　of　their　heads　by　a　tiny
daub　of　wet　clay；　and　had　evidently　been　surprised　trying　to　put　a
sprig　into　the　mouth　of　one　of　the　doves；　for　it　hung　by　a　little
thread　of　clay　from　the　beak。　　He　detached　it　and　put　it　in　his
buttonhole。　　Poor　little　Sylvia！　she　took　things　awfully　to　heart。
He　would　be　as　nice　as　ever　he　could　to　her　all　day。　　And；
balancing　on　his　stool；　he　stared　fixedly　at　the　wall　against　which
she　had　fallen　back；　the　line　of　her　soft　chin　and　throat　seemed
now　to　be　his　only　memory。　　It　was　very　queer　how　he　could　see
nothing　but　that；　the　way　the　throat　moved；　swallowedso　white；　so
soft。　　And　HE　had　made　it　go　like　that！　　It　seemed　an　unconscionable
time　till　breakfast。

As　the　hour　approached　he　haunted　the　hall；　hoping　she　might　be
first　down。　　At　last　he　heard　footsteps；　and　waited；　hidden　behind
the　door　of　the　empty　dining…room；　lest　at　sight　of　him　she　should
turn　back。　　He　had　rehearsed　what　he　was　going　to　dobend　down　and
kiss　her　hand　and　say：　〃Dulcinea　del　Toboso　is　the　most　beautiful
lady　in　the　world；　and　I　the　most　unfortunate　knight　upon　the
earth；〃　from　his　favourite　passage　out　of　his　favourite　book；　'Don
Quixote。'　　She　would　surely　forgive　him　then；　and　his　heart　would
no　longer　hurt　him。　　Certainly　she　could　never　go　on　making　him　so
miserable　if　she　knew　his　feelings！　　She　was　too　soft　and　gentle
for　that。　　Alas！　it　was　not　Sylvia　who　came；　but　Anna；　fresh　from
sleep；　with　her　ice…green　eyes　and　bright　hair；　and　in　sudden
strange　antipathy　to　her；　that　strong；　vivid　figure；　he　stood　dumb。
And　this　first　lonely　moment；　which　he　had　so　many　times　in　fancy
spent　locked　in　her　arms；　passed　without　even　a　kiss；　for　quickly
one　by　one　the　others　came。　　But　of　Sylvia　only　news　through　Mrs。
Doone　that　she　had　a　headache；　and　was　staying　in　bed。　　Her　present
was　on　the　sideboard；　a　book　called　'Sartor　Resartus。'　　〃Markfrom
Sylvia；　August　1st；　1880；〃　together　with　Gordy's　cheque；　Mrs。
Doone's　pearl　pin；　old　Tingle's　'Stones　of　Venice；'　and　one　other
little　parcel　wrapped　in　tissue…paperfour　ties　of　varying　shades
of　green；　red；　and　blue；　hand…knitted　in　silka　present　of　how
many　hours　made　short　by　the　thought　that　he　would　wear　the　produce
of　that　clicking。　　He　did　not　fail　in　outer　gratitude；　but　did　he
realize　what　had　been　knitted　into　those　ties？　　Not　then。

Birthdays；　like　Christmas　days；　were　made　for　disenchantment。
Always　the　false　gaiety　of　gaiety　arrangedalways　that　pistol　to
the　head：　'Confound　you！　enjoy　yourself！'　　How　could　he　enjoy
himself　with　the　thought　of　Sylvia　in　her　room；　made　ill　by　his
brutality！　　The　vision　of　her　throat　working；　swallowing　her　grief；
haunted　him　like　a　little　white；　soft　spectre　all　through　the　long
drive　out　on　to　the　moor；　and　the　picnic　in　the　heather；　and　the
long　drive　homehaunted　him　so　that　when　Anna　touched　or　looked　at
him　he　had　no　spirit　to　answer；　no　spirit　even　to　try　and　be　with
her　alone；　but　almost　a　dread　of　it　instead。

And　when　at　last　they　were　at　home　again；　and　she　whispered：

〃What　is　it？　　What　have　I　done？〃　he　could　only　mutter：

〃Nothing！　　Oh；　nothing！　　It's　only　that　I've　been　a　brute！〃

At　that　enigmatic　answer　she　might　well　search　his　face。

〃Is　it　my　husband？〃

He　could　answer　that；　at　all　events。

〃Oh；　no！〃

〃What　is　it；　then？　　Tell　me。〃

They　were　standing　in　the　inner　porch；　pretending　to　examine　the
ancestral　chartdotted　and　starred　with　dolphins　and　little　full…
rigged　galleons　sailing　into　harbourswhich　always　hung　just
there。

〃Tell　me；　Mark；　I　don't　like　to　suffer！〃

What　could　he　say；　since　he　did　not　know　himself？　　He　stammered；
tried　to　speak；　could　not　get　anything　out。

〃Is　it　that　girl？〃

Startled；　he　looked　away；　and　said：

〃Of　course　not。〃

She　shivered；　and　went　into　the　house。　　But　he　stayed；　staring　at
the　chart　with　a　dreadful　stirred…up　feelingof　shame　and
irritation；　pity；　impatience；　fear；　all　mixed。　　What　had　he　done；
said；　lost？　　It　was　that　horrid　feeling　of　when　one　has　not　been
kind　and　not　quite　true；　yet　might　have　been　kinder　if　one　had　been
still　less　true。　　Ah！　but　it　was　all　so　mixed　up。　　It　felt　all
bleak；　too；　and　wintry　in　him；　as　if　he　had　suddenly　lost
everybody's　love。　　Then　he　was　conscious　of　his　tutor。

〃Ah！　friend　Lennanlooking　deeply　into　the　past　from　the　less
romantic　present？　　Nice　things；　those　old　charts。　　The　dolphins　are
extremely　jolly。〃

It　was　difficult　to　remember　not　to　be　ill…mannered　then。　　Why　did
Stormer　jeer　like　that？　　He　just　managed　to　answer：

〃Yes；　sir；　I　wish　we　had　some　now。〃

〃There　are　so　many　moons　we　wish　for；　Lennan；　and　they　none　of　them
come　tumbling　down。〃

The　voice　was　almost　earnest；　and　the　boy's　resentment　fled。　　He
felt　sorry；　but　why　he　did　not　know。

〃In　the　meantime；〃　he　heard　his　tutor　say；　〃let　us　dress　for
dinner。〃

When　he　came　down　to　the　drawing…room；　Anna　in　her　moonlight…
coloured　frock　was　sitting　on　the　sofa　talking　toSylvia。　　He　kept
away　from　them；　they　could　neither　of　them　want　him。　　But　it　did
seem　odd　to　him；　who　knew　not　too　much　concerning　women；　that　she
could　be　talking　so　gaily；　when　only　half　an　hour　ago　she　had　said：
〃Is　it　that　girl？〃

He　sat　next　her　at　dinner。　　Again　it　was　puzzling　that　she　should
be　laughing　so　serenely　at　Gordy's　stories。　　Did　the　whispering　in
the　porch；　then；　mean　nothing？　　And　Sylvia　would　not　look　at　him；
he　felt　sure　that　she　turned　her　eyes　away　simply　because　she　knew
he　was　going　to　look　in　her　direction。　　And　this　roused　in　him　a
sore　feelingeverything　that　night　seemed　to　rouse　that　feeling
of　injustice；　he