wessex tales-第4章

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before　we　came；　though　I've　never　seen　him。'

'How　do　you　know；　if　you've　never　seen　him？'

'Mrs。　Hooper　told　me　when　she　showed　me　the　photograph。'

'O；　well；　I　must　up　and　be　off。　　I　shall　be　home　rather　early。
Sorry　I　can't　take　you　to…day；　dear。　　Mind　the　children　don't　go
getting　drowned。'

That　day　Mrs。　Marchmill　inquired　if　Mr。　Trewe　were　likely　to　call　at
any　other　time。

'Yes；'　said　Mrs。　Hooper。　　'He's　coming　this　day　week　to　stay　with　a
friend　near　here　till　you　leave。　　He'll　be　sure　to　call。'

Marchmill　did　return　quite　early　in　the　afternoon；　and；　opening　some
letters　which　had　arrived　in　his　absence；　declared　suddenly　that　he
and　his　family　would　have　to　leave　a　week　earlier　than　they　had
expected　to　doin　short；　in　three　days。

'Surely　we　can　stay　a　week　longer？'　she　pleaded。　　'I　like　it　here。'

'I　don't。　　It　is　getting　rather　slow。'

'Then　you　might　leave　me　and　the　children！'

'How　perverse　you　are；　Ell！　　What's　the　use？　　And　have　to　come　to
fetch　you！　　No：　　we'll　all　return　together；　and　we'll　make　out　our
time　in　North　Wales　or　Brighton　a　little　later　on。　　Besides；　you've
three　days　longer　yet。'

It　seemed　to　be　her　doom　not　to　meet　the　man　for　whose　rival　talent
she　had　a　despairing　admiration；　and　to　whose　person　she　was　now
absolutely　attached。　　Yet　she　determined　to　make　a　last　effort；　and
having　gathered　from　her　landlady　that　Trewe　was　living　in　a　lonely
spot　not　far　from　the　fashionable　town　on　the　Island　opposite；　she
crossed　over　in　the　packet　from　the　neighbouring　pier　the　following
afternoon。

What　a　useless　journey　it　was！　　Ella　knew　but　vaguely　where　the
house　stood；　and　when　she　fancied　she　had　found　it；　and　ventured　to
inquire　of　a　pedestrian　if　he　lived　there；　the　answer　returned　by
the　man　was　that　he　did　not　know。　　And　if　he　did　live　there；　how
could　she　call　upon　him？　　Some　women　might　have　the　assurance　to　do
it；　but　she　had　not。　　How　crazy　he　would　think　her。　　She　might　have
asked　him　to　call　upon　her；　perhaps；　but　she　had　not　the　courage　for
that；　either。　　She　lingered　mournfully　about　the　picturesque　seaside
eminence　till　it　was　time　to　return　to　the　town　and　enter　the
steamer　for　recrossing；　reaching　home　for　dinner　without　having　been
greatly　missed。

At　the　last　moment；　unexpectedly　enough；　her　husband　said　that　he
should　have　no　objection　to　letting　her　and　the　children　stay　on
till　the　end　of　the　week；　since　she　wished　to　do　so；　if　she　felt
herself　able　to　get　home　without　him。　　She　concealed　the　pleasure
this　extension　of　time　gave　her；　and　Marchmill　went　off　the　next
morning　alone。

But　the　week　passed；　and　Trewe　did　not　call。

On　Saturday　morning　the　remaining　members　of　the　Marchmill　family
departed　from　the　place　which　had　been　productive　of　so　much　fervour
in　her。　　The　dreary；　dreary　train；　the　sun　shining　in　moted　beams
upon　the　hot　cushions；　the　dusty　permanent　way；　the　mean　rows　of
wirethese　things　were　her　accompaniment：　　while　out　of　the　window
the　deep　blue　sea…levels　disappeared　from　her　gaze；　and　with　them
her　poet's　home。　　Heavy…hearted；　she　tried　to　read；　and　wept
instead。

Mr。　Marchmill　was　in　a　thriving　way　of　business；　and　he　and　his
family　lived　in　a　large　new　house；　which　stood　in　rather　extensive
grounds　a　few　miles　outside　the　city　wherein　he　carried　on　his
trade。　　Ella's　life　was　lonely　here；　as　the　suburban　life　is　apt　to
be；　particularly　at　certain　seasons；　and　she　had　ample　time　to
indulge　her　taste　for　lyric　and　elegiac　composition。　　She　had　hardly
got　back　when　she　encountered　a　piece　by　Robert　Trewe　in　the　new
number　of　her　favourite　magazine；　which　must　have　been　written
almost　immediately　before　her　visit　to　Solentsea；　for　it　contained
the　very　couplet　she　had　seen　pencilled　on　the　wallpaper　by　the　bed；
and　Mrs。　Hooper　had　declared　to　be　recent。　　Ella　could　resist　no
longer；　but　seizing　a　pen　impulsively；　wrote　to　him　as　a　brother…
poet；　using　the　name　of　John　Ivy；　congratulating　him　in　her　letter
on　his　triumphant　executions　in　metre　and　rhythm　of　thoughts　that
moved　his　soul；　as　compared　with　her　own　brow…beaten　efforts　in　the
same　pathetic　trade。

To　this　address　there　came　a　response　in　a　few　days；　little　as　she
had　dared　to　hope　for　ita　civil　and　brief　note；　in　which　the　young
poet　stated　that；　though　he　was　not　well　acquainted　with　Mr。　Ivy's
verse；　he　recalled　the　name　as　being　one　he　had　seen　attached　to
some　very　promising　pieces；　that　he　was　glad　to　gain　Mr。　Ivy's
acquaintance　by　letter；　and　should　certainly　look　with　much　interest
for　his　productions　in　the　future。

There　must　have　been　something　juvenile　or　timid　in　her　own　epistle；
as　one　ostensibly　coming　from　a　man；　she　declared　to　herself；　for
Trewe　quite　adopted　the　tone　of　an　elder　and　superior　in　this　reply。
But　what　did　it　matter？　he　had　replied；　he　had　written　to　her　with
his　own　hand　from　that　very　room　she　knew　so　well；　for　he　was　now
back　again　in　his　quarters。

The　correspondence　thus　begun　was　continued　for　two　months　or　more；
Ella　Marchmill　sending　him　from　time　to　time　some　that　she
considered　to　be　the　best　of　her　pieces；　which　he　very　kindly
accepted；　though　he　did　not　say　he　sedulously　read　them；　nor　did　he
send　her　any　of　his　own　in　return。　　Ella　would　have　been　more　hurt
at　this　than　she　was　if　she　had　not　known　that　Trewe　laboured　under
the　impression　that　she　was　one　of　his　own　sex。

Yet　the　situation　was　unsatisfactory。　　A　flattering　little　voice
told　her　that；　were　he　only　to　see　her；　matters　would　be　otherwise。
No　doubt　she　would　have　helped　on　this　by　making　a　frank　confession
of　womanhood；　to　begin　with；　if　something　had　not　happened；　to　her
delight；　to　render　it　unnecessary。　　A　friend　of　her　husband's；　the
editor　of　the　most　important　newspaper　in　the　city　and　county；　who
was　dining　with　them　one　day；　observed　during　their　conversation
about　the　poet　that　his　（the　editor's）　brother　the　landscape…painter
was　a　friend　of　Mr。　Trewe's；　and　that　the　two　men　were　at　that　very
moment　in　Wales　together。

Ella　was　slightly　acquainted　with　the　editor's　brother。　　The　next
morning　down　she　sat　and　wrote；　inviting　him　to　stay　at　her　house
for　a　short　time　on　his　way　back；　and　requesting　him　to　bring　with
him；　if　practicable；　his　companion　Mr。　Trewe；　whose　acquaintance　she
was　anxious　to　make。　　The　answer　arrived　after　some　few　days。　　Her
correspondent　and　his　friend　Trewe　would　have　much　satisfaction　in
accepting　her　invitation　on　their　way　southward；　which　would　be　on
such　and　such　a　day　in　the　following　week。

Ella　was　blithe　and　buoyant。　　Her　scheme　had　succeeded；　her　beloved
though　as　yet　unseen　one　was　coming。　　〃Behold；　he　standeth　behind
our　wall；　he　looked　forth　at　the　windows；　showing　himself　through
the　lattice；〃　she　thought　ecstatically。　　〃And；　lo；　the　winter　is
past；　the　rain　is　over　and　gone；　the　flowers　appear　on　the　earth；
the　time　of　the　singing　of　birds　is　come；　and　the　voice　of　the
turtle　is　heard　in　our　land。〃

But　it　was　necessary　to　consider　the　details　of　lodging　and　feeding
him。　　This　she　did　most　solicitously；　and　awaited　the　pregnant　day
and　hour。

It　was　about　five　in　the　afternoon　when　she　heard　a　ring　at　the　door
and　the　editor's　brother's　voice　in　the　hall。　　Poetess　as　she　was；
or　as　she　thought　herself；　she　had　not　been　too　sublime　that　day　to
dress　with　infinite　trouble　in　a　fashionable　robe　of　rich　material；
having　a　faint　resemblance　to　the　chiton　of　the　Greeks；　a　style　just
then　in　vogue　among　ladies　of　an　artistic　and　romantic　turn；　which
had　been　obtained　by　Ella　of　her　Bond　Street　dressmaker　when　she　was
last　in　London。　　Her　visitor　entered　the　drawing…room。　　She　looked
towards　his　rear；　nobody　else　came　through　the　door。　　Where；　in　the
name　of　the　God　of　Love；　was　Robert　Trewe？

'O；　I'm　sorry；'　said　the　painter；　after　their　introductory　words　had
been　spoken。　　'Trewe　is　a　curious　fellow；　you　know；　Mrs。　Marchmill。
He　said　he'd　come；　then　he　said　he　couldn't。　　He's　rather　dusty。
We've　been　doing　a　few　miles　with　knapsacks；　you　know；　and　he　wanted
to　get　on　home。'

'Hehe's　not　coming？'

'He's　not；　and　he　asked　me　to　make　his　apologies。'

'When　did　you　p…p…part　from　him？'　she　asked；　her　nether　lip　starting
off　quivering　so　much　that　it　was　like　a　tremolo…stop　opened　in　her
speech。　　She　longed　to　run　away　from　this　dreadful　bore　and　cry　her
eyes　out。

'Just　now；　in　the　turnpike　road　yonder　there。'

'What！　he　has　actually　gone　past　my　gates？'

'Yes。　　When　we　got　to　themhandsome　gates　they　are；　too；　the　finest
bit　of　modern　wrought…iron　work　I　have　seenwhen　we　came　to　them　we
stopped；　talking　there　a　little　while；　and　then　he　wished　me　good…
bye　and　went　on。　　The　truth　is；　he's　a　little　bit　depressed　just
now；　and　doesn't　want　to　see　anybody。　　He's　a　very　good　fellow；　and
a　warm　friend；　but　a　little　uncertain　and　gloomy　sometimes；　he
thinks　too　much　of　things。　　His　poetry　is　rather　too　erotic　and
passionate；　you　know；　for　some　tastes；　and　he　has　just　come　in　for　a
terrible　slating　from　the　　Review　that　was　published　yesterday；　he
saw　a　copy　of　it　at　the　station　by　accident。　　Perhaps　you've　read
it？'

'No。'

'So　much　the　better。　　O；　it　is　not　worth　thinking　of；　just　one　of
those　articles　written　to　order；　to　please　the　narrow…minded　set　of
subscribers　upon　whom　the　circulation　depends。　　But　he's　upset　by
it。　　He　says　it　is　the　misrepresentation　that　hurts　him　so；　that；
though　he　can　stand　a　fair　attack；　he　can't　stand　lies　that　he's
powerless　to　refute　and　stop　from　spreading。　　That's　just　Trewe's
weak　point。　　He　lives　so　much　by　himself　that　these　things　affect
him　much　more　than　they　would　if　he　were　in　the　bustle　of
fashionable　or　commercial　life。　　So　he　wouldn't　come　here；　making
the　excuse　that　it　all　looked　so　new　and　moniedif　you'll　pardon'

'Buthe　must　have　knownthere　was　sympathy　here！　　Has　he　never
said　anything　about　getting　letters　from　this　address？'

'Yes；　yes；　he　has；　from　John　Ivyperhaps　a　relative　of　yours；　he
thought；　visiting　here　at　the　time？'

'Did　helike　Ivy；　did　he　say？'

'Well；　I　don't　know　that　he　took　any　great　interest　in　Ivy。'

'Or　in　his　poems？'

'Or　in　his　poemsso　far　as　I　know；　that　is。'

Robert　Trewe　took　no　interest　in　her　house；　in　her　poems；　or　in
their　writer。　　As　soon　as　she　could　get　away　she　went　into　the
nursery　and　tried　to　let　off　her　emotion　by　unnecessarily　kissing
the　children；　till　she　had　a　sudden　sense　of　disgust　at　being
reminded　how　plain…looking　they　were；　like　their　father。

The　obtuse　and　single…minded　landscape…painter　never　once　perceived
from　her　conversation　that　it　was　only　Trewe　she　wanted；　and　not
himself。　　He　made　the　best　of　his　visit；　seeming　to　enjoy　the
society　of　Ella's　husband；　who　also　took　a　great　fancy　to　him；　and
showed　him　everywhere　about　the　neighbourhood；　neither　of　them
noticing　Ella's　mood。

The　painter　had　been　gone　only　a　day　or　two　when；　while　sitting
upstairs　alone　one　morning；　she　glanced　over　the　London　paper　just
arrived；　and　read　the　following　paragraph：…


'SUICIDE　OF　A　POET

'Mr。　Robert　Trewe；　who　has　been　favourably　known　for　some　years　as
one　of　our　rising　lyrists；　committed　suicide　at　his　lodgings　at
Solentsea　on　Saturday　evening　last　by　shooting　hi