[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第43部分

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radeship。　

“We　will　help　each　other；”　he　said；　repeating　her　words；　
seeking　her　eyes　in　an　enthusiasm　of　friendship。　

Her　eyes　were　grave　but　dark　with　sadness　as　they　rested　
on　him。　“He’s　already　gone；”　she　thought；　“far　away—he　
thinks　of　me　no　more。”　And　the　fancy　came　to　her　that；　
as　they　sat　side　by　side；　hand　in　hand；　she　could　hear　the　
earth　pouring　from　above　to　make　a　barrier　between　them；　
so　that；　as　they　sat；　they　were　separated　second　by　second　
by　an　imperable　wall。　The　process；　which　affected　
her　as　that　of　being　sealed　away　and　for　ever　from　all　

panionship　with　the　person　she　cared　for　most；　came　
to　an　end　at　last；　and　by　mon　consent　they　unclasped　
their　fingers；　Rodney　touching　hers　with　his　lips；　as　the　
curtain　parted；　and　Mrs。　Hilbery　peered　through　the　opening　
with　her　benevolent　and　sarcastic　expression　to　ask　
whether　Katharine　could　remember　was　it　Tuesday　or　
Wednesday；　and　did　she　dine　in　Westminster？　

“Dearest　William；”　she　said；　pausing；　as　if　she　could　
not　resist　the　pleasure　of　encroaching　for　a　second　upon　
this　wonderful　world　of　love　and　confidence　and　romance。　
“Dearest　children；”　she　added；　disappearing　with　an　impulsive　
gesture；　as　if　she　forced　herself　to　draw　the　curtain　
upon　a　scene　which　she　refused　all　temptation　to　
interrupt。　

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CHAPTER　XXV　


At　a　quarterpast　three　in　the　afternoon　of　the　following　
Saturday　Ralph　Denham　sat　on　the　bank　of　the　lake　in　
Kew　Gardens；　dividing　the　dialplate　of　his　watch　into　
sections　with　his　forefinger。　The　just　and　inexorable　nature　
of　time　itself　was　reflected　in　his　face。　He　might　
have　been　posing　a　hymn　to　the　unhasting　and　
unresting　march　of　that　divinity。　He　seemed　to　greet　the　
lapse　of　minute　after　minute　with　stern　acquiescence　in　
the　inevitable　order。　His　expression　was　so　severe；　so　
serene；　so　immobile；　that　it　seemed　obvious　that　for　him　
at　least　there　was　a　grandeur　in　the　departing　hour　which　
no　petty　irritation　on　his　part　was　to　mar；　although　the　
wasting　time　wasted　also　high　private　hopes　of　his　own。　

His　face　was　no　bad　index　to　what　went　on　within　him。　
He　was　in　a　condition　of　mind　rather　too　exalted　for　the　
trivialities　of　daily　life。　He　could　not　accept　the　fact　that　
a　lady　was　fifteen　minutes　late　in　keeping　her　appointment　
without　seeing　in　that　accident　the　frustration　of　
his　entire　life。　Looking　at　his　watch；　he　seemed　to　look　

deep　into　the　springs　of　human　existence；　and　by　the　
light　of　what　he　saw　there　altered　his　course　towards　the　
north　and　the　midnight…　。　Yes；　one’s　voyage　must　be　
made　absolutely　without　panions　through　ice　and　
black　water—towards　what　goal？　Here　he　laid　his　finger　
upon　the　halfhour；　and　decided　that　when　the　minute
hand　reached　that　point　he　would　go；　at　the　same　time　
answering　the　question　put　by　another　of　the　many　voices　
of　consciousness　with　the　reply　that　there　was　undoubtedly　
a　goal；　but　that　it　would　need　the　most　relentless　
energy　to　keep　anywhere　in　its　direction。　Still；　still；　one　
goes　on；　the　ticking　seconds　seemed　to　assure　him；　with　
dignity；　with　open　eyes；　with　determination　not　to　accept　
the　secondrate；　not　to　be　tempted　by　the　unworthy；　
not　to　yield；　not　to　promise。　Twentyfive　minutes　
past　three　were　now　marked　upon　the　face　of　the　
watch。　The　world；　he　assured　himself；　since　Katharine　
Hilbery　was　now　half　an　hour　behind　her　time；　offers　no　
happiness；　no　rest　from　struggle；　no　certainty。　In　a　scheme　
of　things　utterly　bad　from　the　start　the　only　unpardonable　
folly　is　that　of　hope。　Raising　his　eyes　for　a　moment　

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from　the　face　of　his　watch；　he　rested　them　upon　the　
opposite　bank；　reflectively　and　not　without　a　certain　wistfulness；　
as　if　the　sternness　of　their　gaze　were　still　capable　
of　mitigation。　Soon　a　look　of　the　deepest　satisfaction　
filled　them；　though；　for　a　moment；　he　did　not　move。　
He　watched　a　lady　who　came　rapidly；　and　yet　with　a　trace　
of　hesitation；　down　the　broad　grasswalk　towards　him。　
She　did　not　see　him。　Distance　lent　her　figure　an　indescribable　
height；　and　romance　seemed　to　surround　her　
from　the　floating　of　a　purple　veil　which　the　light　air　filled　
and　curved　from　her　shoulders。　

“Here　she　es；　like　a　ship　in　full　sail；”　he　said　to　
himself；　half　remembering　some　line　from　a　play　or　poem　
where　the　heroine　bore　down　thus　with　feathers　flying　
and　airs　saluting　her。　The　greenery　and　the　high　presences　
of　the　trees　surrounded　her　as　if　they　stood　forth　
at　her　ing。　He　rose；　and　she　saw　him；　her　little　exclamation　
proved　that　she　was　glad　to　find　him；　and　then　
that　she　blamed　herself　for　being　late。　

“Why　did　you　never　tell　me？　I　didn’t　know　there　was　
this；”　she　remarked；　alluding　to　the　lake；　the　broad　green　

space；　the　vista　of　trees；　with　the　ruffled　gold　of　the　
Thames　in　the　distance　and　the　Ducal　castle　standing　in　
its　meadows。　She　paid　the　rigid　tail　of　the　Ducal　lion　the　
tribute　of　incredulous　laughter。　

“You’ve　never　been　to　Kew？”　Denham　remarked。　

But　it　appeared　that　she　had　e　once　as　a　small　
child；　when　the　geography　of　the　place　was　entirely　different；　
and　the　fauna　included　certainly　flamingoes　and；　
possibly；　camels。　They　strolled　on；　refashioning　these　legendary　
gardens。　She　was；　as　he　felt；　glad　merely　to　stroll　
and　loiter　and　let　her　fancy　touch　upon　anything　her　
eyes　encountered—a　bush；　a　parkkeeper；　a　decorated　
goose—as　if　the　relaxation　soothed　her。　The　warmth　of　
the　afternoon；　the　first　of　spring；　tempted　them　to　sit　
upon　a　seat　in　a　glade　of　beechtrees；　with　forest　drives　
striking　green　paths　this　way　and　that　around　them。　She　
sighed　deeply。　

“It’s　so　peaceful；”　she　said；　as　if　in　explanation　of　her　
sigh。　Not　a　single　person　was　in　sight；　and　the　stir　of　the　
wind　in　the　branches；　that　sound　so　seldom　heard　by　
Londoners；　seemed　to　her　as　if　wafted　from　fathomless　

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oceans　of　sweet　air　in　the　distance。　

While　she　breathed　and　looked；　Denham　was　engaged　
in　uncovering　with　the　point　of　his　stick　a　group　of　green　
spikes　half　smothered　by　the　dead　leaves。　He　did　this　
with　the　peculiar　touch　of　the　botanist。　In　naming　the　
little　green　plant　to　her　he　used　the　Latin　name；　thus　
disguising　some　flower　familiar　even　to　Chelsea；　and　
making　her　exclaim；　half　in　amusement；　at　his　knowledge。　
Her　own　ignorance　was　vast；　she　confessed。　What　
did　one　call　that　tree　opposite；　for　instance；　supposing　
one　condescended　to　call　it　by　its　English　name？　Beech　
or　elm　or　sycamore？　It　chanced；　by　the　testimony　of　a　
dead　leaf；　to　be　oak；　and　a　little　attention　to　a　diagram　
which　Denham　proceeded　to　draw　upon　an　envelope　soon　
put　Katharine　in　possession　of　some　of　the　fundamental　
distinctions　between　our　British　trees。　She　then　asked　
him　to　inform　her　about　flowers。　To　her　they　were　variously　
shaped　and　colored　petals；　poised；　at　different　seasons　
of　the　year；　upon　very　similar　green　stalks；　but　to　
him　they　were；　in　the　first　instance；　bulbs　or　seeds；　and　
later；　living　things　endowed　with　sex；　and　pores；　and　

susceptibilities　which　adapted　themselves　by　all　manner　
of　ingenious　devices　to　live　and　beget　life；　and　could　be　
fashioned　squat　or　tapering；　flamecolored　or　pale；　pure　
or　spotted；　by　processes　which　might　reveal　the　secrets　
of　human　existence。　Denham　spoke　with　increasing　ardor　
of　a　hobby　which　had　long　been　his　in　secret。　No　discourse　
could　have　worn　a　more　wele　sound　in　
Katharine’s　ears。　For　weeks　she　had　heard　nothing　that　
made　such　pleasant　music　in　her　mind。　It　wakened　echoes　
in　all　those　remote　fastnesses　of　her　being　where　
loneliness　had　brooded　so　long　undisturbed。　

She　wished　he　would　go　on　for　ever　talking　of　plants；　
and　showing　her　how　science　felt　not　quite　blindly　for　
the　law　that　ruled　their　endless　variations。　A　law　that　
might　be　inscrutable　but　was　certainly　omnipotent　appealed　
to　her　at　the　moment；　because　she　could　find　
nothing　like　it　in　possession　of　human　lives。　Circumstances　
had　long　forced　her；　as　they　force　most　women　in　the　
flower　of　youth；　to　consider；　painfully　and　minutely；　all　
that　part　of　life　which　is　conspicuously　without　order；　
she　had　had　to　consider　moods　and　wishes；　degrees　of　

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liking　or　disliking；　and　their　effect　upon　the　destiny　of　
people　dear　to　her；　she　had　been　forced　to　deny　herself　
any　contemplation　of　that　other　part　of　life　where　thought　
constructs　a　destiny　which　is　independent　of　human　beings。　
As　Denham　spoke；　she　followed　his　words　and　considered　
their　bearing　with　an　easy　vigor　which　spoke　of　a　
capacity　long　hoarded　and　unspent。　The　very　trees　and　
the　green　merging　into　the　blue　distance　became　symbols　
of　the　vast　external　world　which　recks　so　little　of　the　
happiness；　of　the　marriages　or　deaths　of　individuals。　In　
order　to　give　her　examples　of　what　he　was　saying；　Denham　
led　the　way；　first　to　the　Rock　Garden；　and　then　to　the　
Orchid　House。　

For　him　there　was　safety　in　the　direction　which　the　talk　
had　taken。　His　emphasis　might　e　from　feelings　more　
personal　than　those　science　roused　in　him；　but　it　was　
disguised；　and　naturally　he　found　it　easy　to　expound　and　
explain。　Nevertheless；　when　he　saw　Katharine　among　the　
orchids；　her　beauty　strangely　emphasized　by　the　fantastic　
plants；　which　seemed　to　peer　and　gape　at　her　from　
striped　hoods　and　fleshy　throats；　his　ardor　for　botany　

waned；　and　a　more　plex　feeling　replaced　it。　She　fell　
silent。　The　orchids　seemed　to　suggest　absorbing　reflections。　
In　defiance　of　the　rules　she　stretched　her　ungloved　
hand　and　touched　one。　The　sight　of　the　rubies　upon　her　
finger　affected　him　so　disagreeably　that　he　started　and　
turned　away。　But　next　moment　he　controlled　himself；　he　
looked　at　her　taking　in　one　strange　shape　after　another　
with　the　contemplative；　considering　gaze　of　a　person　who　
sees　not　exactly　what　is　before　him；　but　gropes　in　regions　
that　lie　beyond　it。　The　faraway　look　entirely　lacked　
selfconsciousness。　Denham　doubted　whether　she　remembered　
his　presence。　He　could　recall　himself；　of　course；　by　
a　word　or　a　movement—but　why？　She　was　happier　thus。　
She　needed　nothing　that　he　could　give　her。　And　for　him；　
too；　perhaps；　it　was　best　to　keep　aloof；　only　to　know　that　
she　existed；　to　preserve　what　he　already　had—perfect；　
remote；　and　unbroken。　Further；　her　still　look；　standing　
among　the　orchids　in　that　hot　atmosphere；　strangely　illustrated　
some　scene　that　he　had　imagined　in　his　room　
at　home。　The　sight；　mingling　with　his　recollection；　kept　
him　silent　when　the　door　was　shut　and　they　were　walking　

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on　again。　

But　though　she　did　not　speak；　Katharine　had　an　uneasy　
sense　that　silence　on　her　part　was　selfishness。　It　was　selfish　
of　her　to　continue；　as　she　wished　to　do；　a　discussion　of　
subjects　not　remotely　connected　with　any　human　beings。　
She　roused　herself　to　consider　their　exact　position　upon　
the　turbulent　map　of　the　emotions。　Oh　yes—it　was　a　question　
whether　Ralph　Denham　should　live　in　the　country　and　
write　a　book；　it　was　getting　late；　they　must　waste　no　more　
time；　Cassandra　arrived　tonight　for　dinner；　she　flinched　
and　roused　herself；　and　discovered　that　she　ought　to　be　
holding　something　in　her　hands。　But　they　were　empty。　She　
held　them　out　with　an　exclamation。　

“I’ve　left　my　bag　somewhere—where？”　The　gardens　had　
no　points　of　the　pass；　so　far　as　she　was　concerned。　
She　had　been　walking　for　the　most　part　on　grass—that　
was　all　she　knew。　Even　the　road　to　the　Orchid　House　had　
now　split　itself　into　three。　But　there　was　no　bag　in　the　
Orchid　House。　It　must；　therefore；　have　been　left　upon　the　
seat。　They　retraced　their　steps　in　the　preoccupied　manner　
of　people　who　have　to　think　about　something　that　is　

lost。　What　did　this　bag　look　like？　What　did　it　contain？　

“A　purse—a　ticket—some　letters；　papers；”　Katharine　
counted；　being　more　agitated　as　she　recalled　the　list。　
Denham　went　on　quickly　in　advance　of　her；　and　she　heard　
him　shout　that　he　had　found　it　before　she　reached　the　
seat。　In　order　to　make　sure　that　all　was　safe　she　spread　
the　contents　on　her　knee。　It　was　a　queer　collection；　
Denham　thought；　gazing　with　the　deepest　interest。　Loose　
gold　coins　were　tangled　in　a　narrow　strip　of　lace；　there　
were　letters　which　somehow　suggested　the　extreme　of　
intimacy；　there　were　two　or　three　keys；　and　lists　of　missions　
against　which　crosses　were　set　at　intervals。　But　
she　did　not　seem　satisfied　until　she　had　made　sure　of　a　
certain　paper　so　folded　that　Denham　could　not　judge　what　
it　contained。　In　her　relief　and　gratitude　she　began　at　
once　to　say　that　she　had　been　thinking　over　what　Denham　
had　told　her　of　his　plans。　

He　cut　her　short。　“Don’t　let’s　discuss　that　dreary　business。”　


“But　I　thought—”　

“It’s　a　dreary　business。　I　ought　never　to　have　bothered　

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you—”　

“Have　you　decided；　then？”　

He　made　an　impatient　sound。　“It’s　not　a　thing　that　
matters。”　

She　could　only　say　rather　flatly；　“Oh！”　

“I　mean　it　matters　to　me；　but　it　matters　to　no　one　else。　
Anyhow；”　he　continued；　more　amiably；　“I　see　no　reason　
why　you　should　be　bothered　with　other　people’s　nuisances。”　


She　supposed　that　she　had　let　him　see　too　clearly　her　
weariness　of　this　side　of　life。　

“I’m　afraid　I’ve　been　absentminded；”　she　began；　remembering　
how　often　William　had　brought　this　charge　
against　her。　

“You　have　a　good　deal　to　make　you　absentminded；”　he　
replied。　

“Yes；”　she　replied；　flushing。　“No；”　she　contradicted　herself。　
“Nothing　particular；　I　mean。　But　I　was　thinking　about　
plants。　I　was　enjoying　myself。　In　fact；　I’ve　seldom　enjoyed　
an　afternoon　more。　But　I　want　to　hear　what　you’ve　
settled；　if　you　don’t　mind　telling　me。”　

“Oh；　it’s　all　settled；”　he　replied。　“I’m　going　to　this　infernal　
cottage　to　write　a　worthless　book。”　

“How　I　envy　you；”　she　replied；　with　the　utmost　sincerity。　


“Well；　cottages　are　to　be　had　for　fifteen　shillings　a　
week。”　

“Cottages　are　to　be　had—yes；”　she　replied。　“The　question　
is—”　She　checked　herself。　“Two　rooms　are　all　I　should　
want；”　she　continued；　with　a　curious　sigh；　“one　for　eating；　
one　for　sleeping。　Oh；　but　I　should　like　another；　a　
large　one　at　the　top；　and　a　little　garden　where　one　could　
grow　flowers。　A　path—so—down　to　a　river；　or　up　to　a　
wood；　and　the　sea　not　very　far　off；　so　that　one　could　hear　
the　waves　at　night。　Ships　just　vanishing　on　the　horizon—”　
She　broke　off。　“Shall　you　be　near　the　sea？”　

“My　notion　of　perfect　happiness；”　he　began；　not　replying　
to　her　question；　“is　to　live　as　you’ve　said。”　

“Well；　now　you　can。　You　will　work；　I　suppose；”　she　continued；　
“you’ll　work　all　the　morning　and　again　after　tea　
and　perhaps　at　night。　You　won’t　have　people　always　ing　
about　you　to　interrupt。”　

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“How　far　can　one　live　alone？”　he　asked。　“Have　you　tried　
ever？”　

“Once　for　three　weeks；”　she　replied。　“My　father　and　
mother　were　in　Italy；　and　something　happened　so　that　I　
couldn’t　join　them。　For　three　weeks　I　lived　ent