the quest of the golden girl-第30节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


wer。

〃Vous　allez　m'oublier；　et　ne　plus　penser　a　moini　me　voir。　　Les　hommesegoistes　menteurs；　pas　dire　la　verite　。　。　。〃　so　ran　the　questions；　considerably　devoid　of　auxiliary　verbs　and　such　details　of　construction。

〃Je　serais　jamais　t'oublier；〃　ran　the　frightful　answers！

Dear　Pauline！　　Shall　I　ever　see　her　again？　　She　was　but　twenty…six。　　She　may　still　live。



CHAPTER　XIV


END　OF　BOOK　THREE

So　ended　my　pilgrimage。　　I　had　wandered　far；　had　loved　many；　but　I　came　back　to　London　without　the　Golden　Girl。　　I　had　begun　my　pilgrimage　with　a　vision；　and　it　was　with　a　vision　that　I　ended　it。　　From　all　my　goings　to　and　fro　upon　the　earth；　I　had　brought　back　only　the　image　of　a　woman's　face；the　face　of　that　strange　woman　of　the　moorland；　still　haunting　my　dreams　of　the　night　and　the　day。

It　was　autumn　in　my　old　garden；　damp　and　forsaken；　and　the　mulberry…tree　was　hung　with　little　yellow　shields。　　My　books　looked　weary　of　awaiting　me；　and　they　and　the　whole　lonely　house　begged　me　to　take　them　where　sometimes　they　might　be　handled　by　human　fingers；　mellowed　by　lamplight；　cheered　by　friendly　laughter。

The　very　chairs　begged　mutely　to　be　sat　upon；　the　chill　white　beds　to　be　slept　in。　　Yes；　the　very　furniture　seemed　even　lonelier　than　myself。

So　I　took　heed　of　their　dumb　appeal。

〃I　know；〃　I　answered　them　tenderly；〃I　too；　with　you；　have　looked　on　better　days；　I　too　have　been　where　bells　have　knoll'd　to　church；　I　too　have　sat　at　many　a　good　man's　feast；yes！　　I　miss　human　society；　even　as　you；　my　books；　my　bedsteads；　and　my　side…　boards；so　let　it　be。　　It　is　plain　our　little　Margaret　is　not　coming　back；　our　little　Margaret；　dear　haunted　rooms；　will　never　come　back；　no　longer　shall　her　little　silken　figure　flit　up　and　down　your　quiet　staircases；　her　hands　filled　with　flowers；　and　her　heart　humming　with　little　songs。　　Yes；　let　us　go；　it　is　very　lonely；　we　shall　die　if　we　stay　here　all　so　lonely　together；　it　is　time；　let　us　go。〃

So　thereon　I　wrote　to　a　furniture…remover；　and　went　out　to　walk　round　the　mossy　old　garden　for　the　last　time；　and　say　good…bye　to　the　great　mulberry；　under　whose　Dodonaesque　shade　we　had　sat　half　frightened　on　starry　nights；　to　the　apple…trees　whose　blossom　had　seemed　like　fairy…land　to　Margaret　and　me；　town…bred　folk；　to　the　apricots　and　the　peaches　and　the　nectarines　that　it　had　seemed　almost　wicked　to　own；as　though　we　had　gone　abroad　in　silk　and　velvet；to　the　little　grassy　orchard；　and　to　the　little　green　corner　of　it；　where　Margaret　had　fallen　asleep　that　summer　afternoon；　in　the　great　wicker…chair；　and　I　had　brought　a　dear　friend　on　tiptoe　to　gaze　on　her　asleep；　with　her　olive　cheeks　delicately　flushed；　her　great　eyelids　closed　like　the　cheeks　of　roses；　and　her　gold　hair　tumbled　about　her　neck　。　。　。

Well；　well；　good…bye；tears　are　foolish　things。　　They　will　not　bring　Margaret　back。　Good…bye；　old　garden；　good…bye；　I　shall　never　see　you　again；good…bye。




BOOK　IV

THE　POSTSCRIPT　TO　A　PILGRIMAGE


CHAPTER　I


SIX　YEARS　AFTER

This　book　is　like　a　woman's　letter。　　The　most　important　part　of　it　is　the　postscript

Six　years　lie　between　the　end　of　the　last　chapter　and　the　beginning　of　this。　Meanwhile；　I　had　moved　to　sociable　chambers　within　sound　of　the　city　clocks；　and　had　lived　the　life　of　a　lonely　man　about　town；　sinking　more　and　more　into　the　comfortable　sloth　of　bachelorhood。　　I　had　long　come　to　look　back　upon　my　pilgrimage　as　a　sort　of　Indian…summer　youth；　being；　as　the　reader　can　reckon　for　himself；　just　on　thirty…seven。　　As　one　will；　with　one's　most　serious　experiences；　hastening　to　laugh　lest　one　should　weep；　as　the　old　philosopher　said；　I　had　made　some　fun　out　of　my　quest；　in　the　form　of　a　paper　for　a　bookish　society　to　which　I　belonged；　on　〃Woman　as　a　Learned　Pursuit。〃　　It　is　printed　among　the　transactions　of　the　society；　and　is　accessible　to　the　curious　only　by　loan　from　the　members；　and　I　regret　that　I　am　unable　to　print　any　extracts　here。　　Perhaps　when　I　am　dead　the　society　will　see　the　criminal　selfishness　of　reserving　for　itself　what　was　meant　for　mankind。

Meanwhile；　however；　it　is　fast　locked　and　buried　deep　in　the　archives　of　the　club。　I　have　two　marriages　to　record　in　the　interval：　one　that　of　a　young　lady　whom　I　must　still　think　of　as　‘Nicolete'　to　Sir　Marmaduke　Pettigrew；　Bart。；　of　Dultowers　Hall；　and　the　other　the　well…known　marriage　of　Sylvia　Joy　。　。　。

Sylvia　Joy　married　after　all　her　fine　protestations！　　Yes！　but　I'm　sure　you　will　forgive　her；　for　she　was　married　to　a　lord。　When　one　is　twenty　and　romantic　one　would　scorn　a　woman　who　would　jilt　us　for　wealth　and　position；　at　thirty；　one　would　scorn　any　woman　who　didn't。　　Ah　me！　how　one　changes！　　No　one；　I　can　honestly　say；　was　happier　over　these　two　weddings　than　I；　and　I　sent　Sylvia　her　petticoat　as　a　wedding　present。


But　it　was　to　tell　of　other　matters　that　I　reopen　this　book　and　once　more　take　up　my　penmatters　so　near　to　my　heart　that　I　shrink　from　writing　of　them；　and　am　half　afraid　that　the　attempt　may　prove　too　hard　for　me　after　all；　and　my　book　end　on　a　broken　cry　of　pain。　　Yet；　at　the　same　time；　I　want　to　write　of　them；　for　they　are　beautiful　and　solemn；　and　good　food　for　the　heart。

Besides；　though　my　pilgrimage　had　been　ended　so　long；　they　are　really　a　part；　yea；　the　part　for　which；　though　I　knew　it　not；　all　the　rest　has　been　writtenfor　they　tell　how　I　came　to　find　by　accident　her　whom　so　long　I　had　sought　of　design。

How　shall　I　tell　of　Thee　who；　first　and　last　of　all　women；　gave　and　awoke　in　me　that　love　which　is　the　golden　key　of　the　world；　the　mystic　revelation　of　the　holy　meaning　of　life；　love　that　alone　may　pass　through　the　awful　gates　of　the　stars；　and　gaze　unafraid　into　the　blue　abysses　beyond？

Ah！　　Love；　it　seemed　far　away　indeed　from　the　stars；　the　place　where　we　met；　and　only　by　the　light　of　love's　eyes　might　we　have　found　each　otheras　only　by　the　light　of　love's　eyes　。　。　。　　But　enough；　my　Heart；　the　world　waits　to　hear　our　story；the　world　once　so　unloving　to　you；　the　world　with　a　heart　so　hard　and　anon　so　soft　for　love。　When　the　story　is　ended；　my　love；　when　the　story　is　ended



CHAPTER　II


GRACE　O'　GOD

It　was　a　hard　winter's　night　four　years　ago；　lovely　and　merciless；　and　towards　midnight　I　walked　home　from　a　theatre　to　my　rooms　in　St。　James's　Street。　　The　Venusberg　of　Piccadilly　looked　white　as　a　nun　with　snow　and　moonlight；　but　the　melancholy　music　of　pleasure；　and　the　sad　daughters　of　joy；　seemed　not　to　heed　the　cold。　　For　another　hour　death　and　pleasure　would　dance　there　beneath　the　electric　lights。

Through　the　strange　women　clustering　at　the　corners　I　took　my　way；women　of　the　Moabites；　Ammonites；　Edomites；　Zidonians；　and　Hittites；and　I　thought；　as　I　looked　into　their　poor　painted　faces；faces　but　half　human；　vampirish　faces；　faces　already　waxen　with　the　look　of　the　grave；I　thought；　as　I　often　did；　of　the　poor　little　girl　whom　De　Quincey　loved；　the　good…hearted　little　‘peripatetic'　as　he　called　her；　who　had　succoured　him　during　those　nights；　when；　as　a　young　man；　he　wandered　homeless　about　these　very　streets；that　good；　kind　little　Ann　whom　De　Quincey　had　loved；　then　so　strangely　lost；　and　for　whose　face　he　looked　into　women's　faces　as　long　as　he　lived。　　Often　have　I　stood　at　the　corner　of　Titchfield　Street；　and　thought　how　De　Quincey　had　stood　there　night　after　night　waiting　for　her　to　come；　but　all　in　vain；　and　how　from　the　abyss　of　oblivion　into　which　some　cruel　chance　had　swept　her；　not　one　cry　from　her　ever　reached　him　again。

I　thought；　too；　as　I　often　did；　what　if　the　face　I　seek　should　be　here　among　these　poor　outcasts；golden　face　hidden　behind　a　mask　of　shame；　true　heart　still　beating　true　even　amidst　this　infernal　world！

Thus　musing；　I　had　walked　my　way　out　of　the　throng；　and　only　a　figure　here　and　there　in　the　shadows　of　doorways　waited　and　waited　in　the　cold。

It　was　something　about　one　of　these　waiting　figures；some　movement；　some　chance　posture；that　presently　surprised　my　attention　and　awakened　a　sudden　sense　of　half　recognition。　　She　stood　well　in　the　shadow；　seeming　rather　to　shrink　from　than　to　court　attention。　　As　I　walked　close　by　her　and　looked　keenly　into　her　face；　she　cast　down　her　eyes　and　half　turned　away。　　Surely；　I　had　seen　that　tall；　noble　figure　somewhere　before；　that　haughty　head；　and　then　with　the　apparition　a　thought　struck　mebut；　no！　it　couldn't　be　she！　not　HERE！

〃It　is；〃　said　my　soul；　as　I　turned　and　walked　past　her　again；　〃you　missed　her　once；　are　you　going　to　miss　her　again？〃

〃It　is；〃　said　my　eyes；　as　they　swept　her　for　the　third　time；　〃but　she　had　glorious　chestnut　hair；　and　the　hair　of　this　woman　isgilded。〃

〃It　is　she；〃　said　my　heart；　〃thank　God；　it　is　she！〃

So　it　was　that　I　went　up　to　that　tall；　shy　figure。

〃It　must　be　very　cold　here；〃　I　said；　〃will　you　not　join　me　in　some　supper？〃

She　assented；　and　we　sought　one　of　the　many　radiating　centres　of　festivity　in　the　neighbourhood。　　She　was　very　tired　and　cold；　so　tired　she　seemed　hardly　to　have　the　spirit　to　eat；　and　evidently　the　cold　had　taken　tight　clutch　of　her　lungs；　for　she　had　a　cough　that　went　to　my　heart　to　hear；　and　her　face　was　ghastly　pale。　　When　I　had　persuaded　her　to　drink　a　little　wine；　she　grew　more　animated　and　spots　of　suspicious　c