the captives-第2节
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erhaps be a yet plainer woman。 In her dress she was not clever。 Her clothes were ugly with the coarse drab grey of their material and the unskilful workmanship that had created them。 And yet there would be some souls who would see in her health； her youth； the kind sympathy of her eyes and mouth； the high nobility of her forehead from which her hair was brushed back； an attraction that might hold them more deeply than an obvious beauty。
Uncle Mathew although he was a silly man was one of these perceptive souls； and had he not been compelled by his circumstances to think continually about himself； would have loved his niece very dearly。 As it was； he thought her a fine girl when he thought of her at all； and wished her more success in life than her 〃poor old uncle〃 had had。 He looked at her now across the fireplace with satisfaction。 She was something sure and pleasant in a world that swayed and was uncertain。 He was drunk enough to feel happy so long as he was not scolded。 He dreaded the moment when his brother Charles would appear； and he strove to arrange in his mind the wise and unanswerable word with which he would defend himself； but his thoughts slipped just as the firelight slipped and the floors with the old threadbare carpet。
Then suddenly the hall door opened with a jangle； there were steps in the hall； and Old Timmie Carthewe the sexton appeared in the dining…room。 He had a goat's face and a body like a hairpin。
〃Rector's not been to service；〃 he said。 〃There's Miss Dunnett and Mrs。 Giles and the two Miss Backshaws。 I'm feared he's forgotten。〃
Maggie started up。 Instantly to her mind came the memory of that fancied sound from her father's room。 She listened now； her head raised； and the two men； their eyes bleared but their noses sniffing as though they were dogs； listened also。 There were certain sounds； clocks ticking； the bough scraping on the wall； a cart's echo on the frozen road； the maid singing far in the depths of the house。 Maggie nodded her head。
〃I'll go and see；〃 she said。
She went into the hall and stood again listening。 Then she called； 〃Father！ Father！〃 but there was no answer。 She had never in all her life been frightened by anything and she was not frightened now； nevertheless； as she went up the stairs； she looked behind her to see whether any one followed her。
She called again 〃Father！〃 then went to his door； pushed it open； and looked in。 The room was cold with a faint scent of tallow candle and damp。
In the twilight she saw her father's body lying like a shadow stretched right across the floor； with the grey dirty fingers of one hand clenched。
After that events followed swiftly。 Maggie herself had no time nor opportunity for any personal emotion save a dumb kind of wonder that she did not feel more。 But she saw all 〃through a glass darkly。〃 There had been first that moment when the sexton and Uncle Mathew； still like dogs sniffing； had peered with their eyes through her father's door。 Then there had been the summoning of Dr。 Bubbage from the village； his self…importance； his continual 〃I warned him。 I warned him。 He can't say I didn't warn him；〃 and then （very dim and far away） 〃Thank you； Miss Cardinal。 I think I will have a glass if you don't mind。〃 There had been cook crying in the kitchen （her red roses intended for Sunday must now be postponed） and the maid sniffing in the hall。 There had been Uncle Mathew； muddled and confused； but clinging to his one idea that 〃the best thing you can do； my dear； is to send for your Aunt Anne。〃 There had been the telegram dispatched to Aunt Anne； and then after that the house had seemed quite filled with peopleladies who hadwished to know whether they could help her in any way and even the village butcher who was there for no reason but stood in the hall rubbing his hands on his thighs and sniffing。 All these persons Maggie surveyed through a mist。 She was calm and collected and empty of all personality； Maggie Cardinal； the real Maggie Cardinal； was away on a visit somewhere and would not be back for a time or two。
Then suddenly as the house had filled so suddenly it emptied。 Maggie found that she was desperately tired。 She went to bed and slept instantly。 On waking next morning she was aware that it was a most beautiful winter's day and that there was something strange in the air。 There came to her then very slowly a sense of her father。 She saw him on the one side； persistently as she had found him in his room； strange； shapeless； with a crumpled face and a dirty beard that seemed to be more dead than the rest of him。 On the other side she saw him as she had found him in the first days of her consciousness of the world。
He must have been 〃jolly〃 then； large and strong； laughing often； tossing her； she remembered； to the ceiling； his beard jet…black and his eyebrows bushy and overhanging。 Once that vigour； afterwards this horror。 She shook away from her last vision of him but it returned again and again； hanging about her over her shoulder like an ill…omened messenger。 And all the life between seemed to be suddenly wiped away as a sponge wipes figures off a slate。 After the death of her mother she had made the best of her circumstances。 There had been many days when life had been unpleasant； and in the last year； as his miserliness had grown upon him； his ill…temper at any fancied extravagance had been almost that of an insane man； but Maggie knew very little of the affairs of other men and it seemed to her that every one had some disadvantage with which to grapple。 She did not pretend to care for her father； she was very lonely because the villagers hated him； but she had always made the best of everything because she had never had an intimate friend to tell her that that was a foolish thing to do。
It was indeed marvellous how isolated her life had been； she knew simply nothing about the world at all。
She could not pretend that she was sorry that her father had died； and yet she missed him because she knew very well that she was now no one's business； that she was utterly and absolutely alone in the universe。 It might be said that she could not be utterly alone when she had her Uncle Mathew； but； although she was ignorant of life； she knew her Uncle Mathew 。 。 。 Nevertheless； he did something to remove the sharp alarm of her sudden isolation。 Upon the day after her father's death he was at his very best； his kindest； and most gentle。 He was rather pathetic； having drunk nothing out of respect to the occasion； he felt； somewhere deep down in him； a persistent exaltation that his brother Charles was dead； but he knew that it was not decent to allow this feeling to conquer him and he was truly anxious to protect and comfort his niece so well as he was able。 Early in the afternoon he suggested that they should go for a walk。 Everything necessary had been done。 An answer to their telegram had been received from his sister Anne that she could not leave London until that night but would arrive at Clinton St。 Mary station at half…past nine to…morrow morning。 That would be in good time for the funeral； a ceremony that was to be conducted by the Rev。 Tom Trefusis； the sporting vicar of Cator Hill； the neighbouring parish。
The house now was empty and silent。 They must escape from that figure； now decent； clean； and solemn； lying upon the bed upstairs。 Mathew took his niece by the hand and said：
〃My dear； a little fresh air is the thing for both of us。 It will cheer you up。〃
So they went out for a walk together。 Maggie knew； with a deep and intimate experience； every lane and road within twenty miles' radius of St。 Dreot's； There was the high…road that went through Gator Hill to Clinton and then to Polwint； here were the paths across the fields to Lucent； the lanes that led to the valley of the Lisp； all the paths like spiders' webs through Rothin Wood； from whose curve you could see Polchester； grey and white； with its red…brown roofs and the spires of the Cathedral thrusting like pointing fingers into the heaven。 It was the Polchester View that she chose to…day； but as they started through the deep lanes down the St。 Dreot's hill she was startled and disturbed by the strange aspect which everything wore to her。 She had not as yet realised the great shock her father's death had been； she was exhausted； spiritually and physically； in spite of the deep sleep of the night before。 The form and shape of the world was a little strained and fantastic； the colours uncertain； now vivid； now vanishing； the familiar trees； hedges； clouds； screens； as it were； concealing some scene that was being played behind them。 But beyond and above all other sensations she was conscious of her liberty。 She struggled against this； she should be conscious； before everything； of her father's loss。 But she was not。 It meant to her at present not so much the loss of a familiar figure as the sudden juggling； by an outside future； of all the regular incidents and scenes of her daily life； as at a pantomime one sees by a transformation of the scenery； the tables； the chairs； and pictures the walls dance to an unexpected jig。 She was free； free； freealone but free。 What form her life would take she did not know； what troubles and sorrows in the future there m
