the patrician-第18节
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the Midlands。 One's sorry for the poor devil； too； of course！ They
never see each other； and； so far as I know； they don't correspond。
That； Lady Barbara； is the simple history。〃
Barbara； said； 〃Thank you；〃 and turned away； and he heard her mutter：
〃What a shame！〃
But he could not tell whether it was Mrs。 Noel's fate； or the
husband's fate； or the thought of Miltoun that had moved her to those
words。
She puzzled him by her self…possession； so almost hard； her way of
refusing to show feeling。' Yet what a woman she would make if the
drying curse of high…caste life were not allowed to stereotype and
shrivel her！ If enthusiasm were suffered to penetrate and fertilize
her soul！ She reminded him of a great tawny lily。 He had a vision
of her； as that flower； floating； freed of roots and the mould of its
cultivated soil； in the liberty of the impartial air。 What a
passionate and noble thing she might become！ What radiance and
perfume she would exhale！ A spirit Fleur…de…Lys！ Sister to all the
noble flowers of light that inhabited the wind！
Leaning in the deep embrasure of his window； he looked at anonymous
Night。 He could hear the owls hoot； and feel a heart beating out
there somewhere in the darkness； but there came no answer to his
wondering。 Would shethis great tawny lily of a girlever become
unconscious of her environment； not in manner merely； but in the very
soul； so that she might be just a woman； breathing； suffering；
loving； and rejoicing with the poet soul of all mankind？ Would she
ever be capable of riding out with the little company of big hearts；
naked of advantage？ Courtier had not been inside a church for twenty
years； having long felt that he must not enter the mosques of his
country without putting off the shoes of freedom； but he read the
Bible； considering it a very great poem。 And the old words came
haunting him： 'Verily I say unto you； It is harder for a camel to
pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the
kingdom of Heaven。' And now； looking into the Night； whose darkness
seemed to hold the answer to all secrets； he tried to read the riddle
of this girl's future； with which there seemed so interwoven that
larger enigma； how far the spirit can free itself； in this life； from
the matter that encompasseth。
The Night whispered suddenly； and low down； as if rising from the
sea； came the moon； dropping a wan robe of light till she gleamed out
nude against the sky…curtain。 Night was no longer anonymous。 There
in the dusky garden the statue of Diana formed slowly before his
eyes； and behind heras it were； her templerose the tall spire of
the cypress tree。
CHAPTER XIV
A copy of the Bucklandbury News； containing an account of his evening
adventure； did not reach Miltoun till he was just starting on his
return journey。 It came marked with blue pencil together with a
note。
〃MY DEAR EUSTACE；
〃The enclosedhowever unwarranted and impudentrequires attention。
But we shall do nothing till you come back。
〃Yours ever；
〃WILLIAM SHROPTON。〃
The effect on Miltoun might perhaps have been different had he not
been so conscious of his intention to ask Audrey Noel to be his wife；
but in any circumstances it is doubtful whether he would have done
more than smile； and tear the paper up。 Truly that sort of thing had
so little power to hurt or disturb him personally； that he was
incapable of seeing how it could hurt or disturb others。 If those
who read it were affected； so much the worse for them。 He had a
real； if unobtrusive； contempt for groundlings； of whatever class；
and it never entered his head to step an inch out of his course in
deference to their vagaries。 Nor did it come home to him that Mrs。
Noel； wrapped in the glamour which he cast about her； could possibly
suffer from the meanness of vulgar minds。 Shropton's note； indeed；
caused him the more annoyance of those two documents。 It was like
his brother…in…law to make much of little！
He hardly dozed at all during his swift journey through the sleeping
country； nor when he reached his room at Monkland did he go to bed。
He had the wonderful； upborne feeling of man on the verge of
achievement。 His spirit and senses were both on firefor that was
the quality of this woman； she suffered no part of him to sleep； and
he was glad of her exactions。
He drank some tea； went out； and took a path up to the moor。 It was
not yet eight o'clock when he reached the top of the nearest tor。
And there； below him； around； and above； was a land and sky
transcending even his exaltation。 It was like a symphony of great
music； or the nobility of a stupendous mind laid bare； it was God up
there； in His many moods。 Serenity was spread in the middle heavens；
blue； illimitable； and along to the East； three huge clouds； like
thoughts brooding over the destinies below； moved slowly toward the
sea； so that great shadows filled the valleys。 And the land that lay
under all the other sky was gleaming； and quivering with every
colour； as it were； clothed with the divine smile。 The wind； from
the North； whereon floated the white birds of the smaller clouds； had
no voice； for it was above barriers； utterly free。 Before Miltoun；
turning to this wind； lay the maze of the lower lands； the misty
greens； rose pinks； and browns of the fields； and white and grey dots
and strokes of cottages and church towers； fading into the blue veil
of distance； confined by a far range of hills。 Behind him there was
nothing but the restless surface of the moor； coloured purplish…
brown。 On that untamed sea of graven wildness could be seen no ship
of man； save one； on the far horizonthe grim hulk； Dartmoor Prison。
There was no sound； no scent； and it seemed to Miltoun as if his
spirit had left his body； and become part of the solemnity of God。
Yet； as he stood there； with his head bared； that strange smile which
haunted him in moments of deep feeling； showed that he had not
surrendered to the Universal； that his own spirit was but being
fortified； and that this was the true and secret source of his
delight。 He lay down in a scoop of the stones。 The sun entered
there； but no wind； so that a dry sweet scent exuded from the young
shoots of heather。 That warmth and perfume crept through the shield
of his spirit； and stole into his blood； ardent images rose before
him； the vision of an unending embrace。 Out of an embrace sprang
Life； out of that the World was made； this World； with its
innumerable forms； and naturesno two alike！ And from him and her
would spring forms to take their place in the great pattern。 This
seemed wonderful； and right…for they would be worthy forms； who would
hand on those traditions which seemed to him so necessary and great。
And then there broke on him one of those delirious waves of natural
desire； against which he had so often fought； so often with great
pain conquered。 He got up； and ran downhill； leaping over the
stones； and the thicker clumps of heather。
Audrey Noel； too； had been early astir； though she had gone late
enough to bed。 She dressed languidly； but very carefully； being one
of those women who put on armour against Fate； because they are
proud； and dislike the thought that their sufferings should make
others suffer； because； too； their bodies are to them as it were
sacred； having been given them in trust； to cause delight。 When she
had finished； she looked at herself in the glass rather more
distrustfully than usual。 She felt that her sort of woman was at a
discount in these days； and being sensitive； she was never content
either with her appearance； or her habits。 But； for all that； she
went on behaving in unsatisfactory ways； because she incorrigibly
loved to look as charming as she could； and even if no one were going
to see her； she never felt that she looked charming enough。 She was
as Lady Casterley had shrewdly guessedthe kind of woman who
spoils men by being too nice to them； of no use to those who wish
women to assert themselves； yet having a certain passive stoicism；
very disconcerting。 With little or no power of initiative； she would
do what she was set to do with a thoroughness that would shame an
initiator； temperamentally unable to beg anything of anybody； she
required love as a plant requires water； she could give herself
completely； yet remain oddly incorruptible； in a word； hopeless； and
usually beloved of those who thought her so。
With all this； however； she was not quite what is called a 'sweet
womana phrase she detestedfor there was in her a queer vein of
gentle cynicism。 She 'saw' with extraordinary clearness； as if she
had been born in Italy and still carried that clear dry atmosphere
about her soul。 She loved glow and warmth and colour； such mysticism
as she felt was pagan； and she had few aspirationssufficient to her
were things as they showed themselves to be。
This morning； when she had made herself smell of geraniums； and
fastened all the small contrivances that hold even the best of women
together； she went downstairs to her little dining…room； set the
spirit lamp going； and taking up h
