the patrician-第22节

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thin　silk　covering。　　From　what　corner　of　the　room　was　that　mute
tremor　coming？　　Stealing　to　the　window；　she　parted　the　curtains；　and
stared　back　into　the　shadows。　　There；　on　the　far　side；　lying　on　the
floor　with　his　arms　pressed　tightly　round　his　head　and　his　face　to
the　wall；　was　Miltoun。　　Barbara　let　fall　the　curtains；　and　stood
breathless；　with　such　a　queer　sensation　in　her　breast　as　she　had
never　felt；　a　sense　of　something　outraged…of　scarred　pride。　　It　was
gone　at　once；　in　a　rush　of　pity。　　She　stepped　forward　quickly　in　the
darkness；　was　visited　by　fear；　and　stopped。　　He　had　seemed　absolutely
himself　all　the　evening。　　A　little　more　talkative；　perhaps；　a　little
more　caustic　than　usual。　　And　now　to　find　him　like　this！　　There　was
no　great　share　of　reverence　in　Barbara；　but　what　little　she　possessed
had　always　been　kept　for　her　eldest　brother。　　He　had　impressed　her；
from　a　child；　with　his　aloofness；　and　she　had　been　proud　of　kissing
him　because　he　never　seemed　to　let　anybody　else　do　so。　　Those
caresses；　no　doubt；　had　the　savour　of　conquest；　his　face　had　been　the
undiscovered　land　for　her　lips。　　She　loved　him　as　one　loves　that
which　ministers　to　one's　pride；　had　for　him；　too；　a　touch　of　motherly
protection；　as　for　a　doll　that　does　not　get　on　too　well　with　the
other　dolls；　and　withal　a　little　unaccustomed　awe。

Dared　she　now　plunge　in　on　this　private　agony？　　Could　she　have　borne
that　anyone　should　see　herself　thus　prostrate？　　He　had　not　heard　her；
and　she　tried　to　regain　the　door。　　But　a　board　creaked；　she　heard　him
move；　and　flinging　away　her　fears；　said：　〃It's　me！　Babs！〃　and　dropped
on　her　knees　beside　him。　　If　it　had　not　been　so　pitch　dark　she　could
never　have　done　that。　　She　tried　at　once　to　take　his　head　into　her
arms；　but　could　not　see　it；　and　succeeded　indifferently。　　She　could
but　stroke　his　arm　continually；　wondering　whether　he　would　hate　her
ever　afterwards；　and　blessing　the　darkness；　which　made　it　all　seem　as
though　it　were　not　happening；　yet　so　much　more　poignant　than　if　it
had　happened。　　Suddenly　she　felt　him　slip　away　from　her；　and　getting
up；　stole　out。　　After　the　darkness　of　that　room；　the　corridor　seemed
full　of　grey　filmy　light；　as　though　dream…spiders　had　joined　the
walls　with　their　cobwebs；　in　which　innumerable　white　moths；　so　tiny
that　they　could　not　be　seen；　were　struggling。　　Small　eerie　noises
crept　about。　　A　sudden　frightened　longing　for　warmth；　and　light；　and
colour　came　to　Barbara。　　She　fled　back　to　her　room。　　But　she　could
not　sleep。　　That　terrible　mute　unseen　vibration　in　the　unlighted
room…like　the　noiseless　licking　of　a　flame　at　bland　air；　the　touch　of
Miltoun's　hand；　hot　as　fire　against　her　cheek　and　neck；　the　whole
tremulous　dark　episode；　possessed　her　through　and　through。　　Thus　had
the　wayward　force　of　Love　chosen　to　manifest　itself　to　her　in　all　its
wistful　violence。　　At　this　fiat　sight　of　the　red　flower　of　passion
her　cheeks　burned；　up　and　down　her；　between　the　cool　sheets；　little
hot　cruel　shivers　ran；　she　lay；　wide…eyed；　staring　at　the　ceiling。
She　thought；　of　the　woman　whom　he　so　loved；　and　wondered　if　she　too
were　lying　sleepless；　flung　down　on　a　bare　floor；　trying　to　cool　her
forehead　and　lips　against　a　cold　wall。

Not　for　hours　did　she　fall　asleep；　and　then　dreamed　of　running
desperately　through　fields　full　of　tall　spiky　asphodel…like　flowers；
and　behind　her　was　running　herself。

In　the　morning　she　dreaded　to　go　down。　　Could　she　meet　Miltoun　now
that　she　knew　of　the　passion　in　him；　and　he　knew　that　she　knew　it？
She　had　her　breakfast　brought　upstairs。　　Before　she　had　finished
Miltoun　himself　came　in。　　He　looked　more　than　usually　self…contained；
not　to　say　ironic；　and　only　remarked：　〃If　you're　going　to　ride　you
might　take　this　note　for　me　over　to　old　Haliday　at　Wippincott。〃　　By
his　coming　she　knew　that　he　was　saying　all　he　ever　meant　to　say　about
that　dark　incident。　　And　sympathizing　completely　with　a　reticence
which　she　herself　felt　to　be　the　only　possible　way　out　for　both　of
them；　Barbara　looked　at　him　gratefully；　took　the　note　and　said：　〃All
right！〃

Then；　after　glancing　once　or　twice　round　the　room；　Miltoun　went　away。

He　left　her　restless；　divested　of　the　cloak　'of　course；'　in　a　strange
mood　of　questioning；　ready　as　it　were　for　the　sight　of　the　magpie
wings　of　Life；　and　to　hear　their　quick　flutterings。　　Talk　jarred　on
her　that　morning；　with　its　sameness　and　attachment　to　the　facts　of
the　present　and　the　future；　its　essential　concern　with　the　world　as
it　was…she　avoided　all　companionship　on　her　ride。　　She　wanted　to　be
told　of　things　that　were　not；　yet　might　be；　to　peep　behind　the
curtain；　and　see　the　very　spirit　of　mortal　happenings　escaped　from
prison。　　And　this　was　all　so　unusual　with　Barbara；　whose　body　was　too
perfect；　too　sanely　governed　by　the　flow　of　her　blood　not　to　revel　in
the　moment　and　the　things　thereof。　　She　knew　it　was　unusual。　　After
her　ride　she　avoided　lunch；　and　walked　out　into　the　lanes。　　But　about
two　o'clock；　feeling　very　hungry；　she　went　into　a　farmhouse；　and
asked　for　milk。　　There；　in　the　kitchen；　like　young　jackdaws　in　a　row
with　their　mouths　a　little　open；　were　the　three　farm　boys；　seated　on
a　bench　gripped　to　the　alcove　of　the　great　fire…way；　munching　bread
and　cheese。　　Above　their　heads　a　gun　was　hung；　trigger　upwards；　and
two　hams　were　mellowing　in　the　smoke。　　At　the　feet　of　a　black…haired
girl；　who　was　slicing　onions；　lay　a　sheep　dog　of　tremendous　age；　with
nose　stretched　out　on　paws；　and　in　his　little　blue　eyes　a　gleam　of
approaching　immortality。　　They　all　stared　at；　Barbara。　　And　one　of
the　boys；　whose　face　had　the　delightful　look　of　him　who　loses　all
sense　of　other　things　in　what　he　is　seeing　at　the　moment；　smiled；　and
continued　smiling；　with　sheer　pleasure。　　Barbara　drank　her　milk；　and
wandered　out　again；　passing　through　a　gate　at　the　bottom　of　a　steep；
rocky　tor；　she　sat　down　on　a　sun…warmed　stone。　　The　sunlight　fell
greedily　on　her　here；　like　an　invisible　swift　hand　touching　her　all
over；　and　specially　caressing　her　throat　and　face。　　A　very　gentle
wind；　which　dived　over　the　tor　tops　into　the　young　fern；　stole　down
at　her；　spiced　with　the　fern　sap。　　All　was　warmth　and　peace；　and　only
the　cuckoos　on　the　far　thorn　treesas　though　stationed　by　the
Wistful　Master　himselfwere　there　to　disturb　her　heart：　But　all　the
sweetness　and　piping　of　the　day　did　not　soothe　her。　　In　truth；　she
could　not　have　said　what　was　the　matter；　except　that　she　felt　so
discontented；　and　as　it　were　empty　of　all　but　a　sort　of　aching
impatience　withwhat　exactly　she　could　not　say。　　She　had　that　rather
dreadful　feeling　of　something　slipping　by　which　she　could　not　catch。
It　was　so　new　to　her　to　feel　like　thatfor　no　girl　was　less　given　to
moods　and　repinings。　　And　all　the　time　a　sort　of　contempt　for　this
soft　and　almost　sentimental　feeling　made　her　tighten　her　lips　and
frown。　　She　felt　distrustful　and　sarcastic　towards　a　mood　so　utterly
subversive　of　that　fetich　'Hardness；'　to　the　unconscious　worship　of
which　she　had　been　brought　up。　　To　stand　no　sentiment　or　nonsense
either　in　herself　or　others　was　the　first　article　of　faith；　not　to
slop…over　anywhere。　　So　that　to　feel　as　she　did　was　almost　horrible
to　Barbara。　　Yet　she　could　not　get　rid　of　the　sensation。　　With　sudden
recklessness　she　tried　giving　herself　up　to　it　entirely。　　Undoing　the
scarf　at　her　throat；　she　let　the　air　play　on　her　bared　neck；　and
stretched　out　her　arms　as　if　to　hug　the　wind　to　her；　then；　with　a
sigh；　she　got　up；　and　walked　on。　　And　now　she　began　thinking　of
'Anonyma'；　turning　her　position　over　and　over。　　The　idea　that　anyone
young　and　beautiful　should　thus　be　clipped　off　in　her　life；　roused
her　impatient　indignation。　　Let　them　try　it　with　her！　　They　would
soon　see！　　For　all　her　cultivated　'hardness；'　Barbara　really　hated
anything　to　suffer。　　It　seemed　to　her　unnatural。　　She　never　went　to
that　hospital　where　Lady　Valleys　had　a　ward；　nor　to　their　summer　camp
for　crippled　children；　nor　to　help　in　their　annual　concert　for
sweated　workers；　without　a　feeling　of　such　vehement　pity　that　it　was
like　being　seized　by　the　throat：　Once；　when　she　had　been　singing　to
them；　the　rows　of　wan；　pinched　faces　below　had　been　too　much　for　her；
she　had　broken　down；　forgotten　her　words；　lost　memory　of　the　tune；
and　just　ended　her　performance　with　a　smile；　worth　more　perhaps　to
her　audience　than　those　lost　verses。　　She　never　came　away　from　such
sights　and　places　without　a　feeling　of　revolt　amounting　almost　to
rage；　and　she　only　continued　to　go　because　she　dimly　knew　that　it　was
expected　of　her　not　to　turn　her　back　on　such　things；　in　her　section
of　Society。

But　it　was　not　this　feeling　which　made　her　stop　before　Mrs。　Noel's
cottage；　nor　was　it　curiosity。　　It　was　a　quite　simple　desire　to
squeeze　her　hand。

'Anonyma'　seemed　taking　her　trouble　as　only　those　women　who　are　no
good　at　self…assertion　can　take　thingsdoing　exactly　as　she　would
have　done　if　nothing　had　happened；　a　little　paler　than　usual；　with
lips　pressed　rather　tightly　together。

They　neither　of　them　spoke　at　first；　but　stood　looking；　not　at　each
other's　faces；　but　at　each　other's　breasts。　　At　last　Barbara　stepped
forward　impulsively　and　kissed　her。