wessex tales-第5章

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one　of　our　rising　lyrists；　committed　suicide　at　his　lodgings　at
Solentsea　on　Saturday　evening　last　by　shooting　himself　in　the　right
temple　with　a　revolver。　　Readers　hardly　need　to　be　reminded　that　Mr。
Trewe　has　recently　attracted　the　attention　of　a　much　wider　public
than　had　hitherto　known　him；　by　his　new　volume　of　verse；　mostly　of
an　impassioned　kind；　entitled　〃Lyrics　to　a　Woman　Unknown；〃　which　has
been　already　favourably　noticed　in　these　pages　for　the　extraordinary
gamut　of　feeling　it　traverses；　and　which　has　been　made　the　subject
of　a　severe；　if　not　ferocious；　criticism　in　the　　Review。　　It　is
supposed；　though　not　certainly　known；　that　the　article　may　have
partially　conduced　to　the　sad　act；　as　a　copy　of　the　review　in
question　was　found　on　his　writing…table；　and　he　has　been　observed　to
be　in　a　somewhat　depressed　state　of　mind　since　the　critique
appeared。'


Then　came　the　report　of　the　inquest；　at　which　the　following　letter
was　read；　it　having　been　addressed　to　a　friend　at　a　distance：…


'DEAR　…；Before　these　lines　reach　your　hands　I　shall　be　delivered
from　the　inconveniences　of　seeing；　hearing；　and　knowing　more　of　the
things　around　me。　　I　will　not　trouble　you　by　giving　my　reasons　for
the　step　I　have　taken；　though　I　can　assure　you　they　were　sound　and
logical。　　Perhaps　had　I　been　blessed　with　a　mother；　or　a　sister；　or
a　female　friend　of　another　sort　tenderly　devoted　to　me；　I　might　have
thought　it　worth　while　to　continue　my　present　existence。　　I　have
long　dreamt　of　such　an　unattainable　creature；　as　you　know；　and　she；
this　undiscoverable；　elusive　one；　inspired　my　last　volume；　the
imaginary　woman　alone；　for；　in　spite　of　what　has　been　said　in　some
quarters；　there　is　no　real　woman　behind　the　title。　　She　has
continued　to　the　last　unrevealed；　unmet；　unwon。　　I　think　it
desirable　to　mention　this　in　order　that　no　blame　may　attach　to　any
real　woman　as　having　been　the　cause　of　my　decease　by　cruel　or
cavalier　treatment　of　me。　　Tell　my　landlady　that　I　am　sorry　to　have
caused　her　this　unpleasantness；　but　my　occupancy　of　the　rooms　will
soon　be　forgotten。　　There　are　ample　funds　in　my　name　at　the　bank　to
pay　all　expenses。　　R。　TREWE。'


Ella　sat　for　a　while　as　if　stunned；　then　rushed　into　the　adjoining
chamber　and　flung　herself　upon　her　face　on　the　bed。

Her　grief　and　distraction　shook　her　to　pieces；　and　she　lay　in　this
frenzy　of　sorrow　for　more　than　an　hour。　　Broken　words　came　every　now
and　then　from　her　quivering　lips：　　'O；　if　he　had　only　known　of　me
known　of　meme！　。　。　。　O；　if　I　had　only　once　met　himonly　once；　and
put　my　hand　upon　his　hot　foreheadkissed　himlet　him　know　how　I
loved　himthat　I　would　have　suffered　shame　and　scorn；　would　have
lived　and　died；　for　him！　　Perhaps　it　would　have　saved　his　dear　life！
。　。　。　But　noit　was　not　allowed！　　God　is　a　jealous　God；　and　that
happiness　was　not　for　him　and　me！'

All　possibilities　were　over；　the　meeting　was　stultified。　　Yet　it　was
almost　visible　to　her　in　her　fantasy　even　now；　though　it　could　never
be　substantiated　…


'The　hour　which　might　have　been；　yet　might　not　be；
Which　man's　and　woman's　heart　conceived　and　bore；
Yet　whereof　life　was　barren。'


She　wrote　to　the　landlady　at　Solentsea　in　the　third　person；　in　as
subdued　a　style　as　she　could　command；　enclosing　a　postal　order　for　a
sovereign；　and　informing　Mrs。　Hooper　that　Mrs。　Marchmill　had　seen　in
the　papers　the　sad　account　of　the　poet's　death；　and　having　been；　as
Mrs。　Hooper　was　aware；　much　interested　in　Mr。　Trewe　during　her　stay
at　Coburg　House；　she　would　be　obliged　if　Mrs。　Hooper　could　obtain　a
small　portion　of　his　hair　before　his　coffin　was　closed　down；　and
send　it　her　as　a　memorial　of　him；　as　also　the　photograph　that　was　in
the　frame。

By　the　return…post　a　letter　arrived　containing　what　had　been
requested。　　Ella　wept　over　the　portrait　and　secured　it　in　her
private　drawer；　the　lock　of　hair　she　tied　with　white　ribbon　and　put
in　her　bosom；　whence　she　drew　it　and　kissed　it　every　now　and　then　in
some　unobserved　nook。

'What's　the　matter？'　said　her　husband；　looking　up　from　his　newspaper
on　one　of　these　occasions。　　'Crying　over　something？　　A　lock　of　hair？
Whose　is　it？'

'He's　dead！'　she　murmured。

'Who？'

'I　don't　want　to　tell　you；　Will；　just　now；　unless　you　insist！'　she
said；　a　sob　hanging　heavy　in　her　voice。

'O；　all　right。'

'Do　you　mind　my　refusing？　　I　will　tell　you　some　day。'

'It　doesn't　matter　in　the　least；　of　course。'

He　walked　away　whistling　a　few　bars　of　no　tune　in　particular；　and
when　he　had　got　down　to　his　factory　in　the　city　the　subject　came
into　Marchmill's　head　again。

He；　too；　was　aware　that　a　suicide　had　taken　place　recently　at　the
house　they　had　occupied　at　Solentsea。　　Having　seen　the　volume　of
poems　in　his　wife's　hand　of　late；　and　heard　fragments　of　the
landlady's　conversation　about　Trewe　when　they　were　her　tenants；　he
all　at　once　said　to　himself；　'Why　of　course　it's　he！　　How　the　devil
did　she　get　to　know　him？　　What　sly　animals　women　are！'

Then　he　placidly　dismissed　the　matter；　and　went　on　with　his　daily
affairs。　　By　this　time　Ella　at　home　had　come　to　a　determination。
Mrs。　Hooper；　in　sending　the　hair　and　photograph；　had　informed　her　of
the　day　of　the　funeral；　and　as　the　morning　and　noon　wore　on　an
overpowering　wish　to　know　where　they　were　laying　him　took　possession
of　the　sympathetic　woman。　　Caring　very　little　now　what　her　husband
or　any　one　else　might　think　of　her　eccentricities；　she　wrote
Marchmill　a　brief　note；　stating　that　she　was　called　away　for　the
afternoon　and　evening；　but　would　return　on　the　following　morning。
This　she　left　on　his　desk；　and　having　given　the　same　information　to
the　servants；　went　out　of　the　house　on　foot。

When　Mr。　Marchmill　reached　home　early　in　the　afternoon　the　servants
looked　anxious。　　The　nurse　took　him　privately　aside；　and　hinted　that
her　mistress's　sadness　during　the　past　few　days　had　been　such　that
she　feared　she　had　gone　out　to　drown　herself。　　Marchmill　reflected。
Upon　the　whole　he　thought　that　she　had　not　done　that。　　Without
saying　whither　he　was　bound　he　also　started　off；　telling　them　not　to
sit　up　for　him。　　He　drove　to　the　railway…station；　and　took　a　ticket
for　Solentsea。

It　was　dark　when　he　reached　the　place；　though　he　had　come　by　a　fast
train；　and　he　knew　that　if　his　wife　had　preceded　him　thither　it
could　only　have　been　by　a　slower　train；　arriving　not　a　great　while
before　his　own。　　The　season　at　Solentsea　was　now　past：　　the　parade
was　gloomy；　and　the　flys　were　few　and　cheap。　　He　asked　the　way　to
the　Cemetery；　and　soon　reached　it。　　The　gate　was　locked；　but　the
keeper　let　him　in；　declaring；　however；　that　there　was　nobody　within
the　precincts。　　Although　it　was　not　late；　the　autumnal　darkness　had
now　become　intense；　and　he　found　some　difficulty　in　keeping　to　the
serpentine　path　which　led　to　the　quarter　where；　as　the　man　had　told
him；　the　one　or　two　interments　for　the　day　had　taken　place。　　He
stepped　upon　the　grass；　and；　stumbling　over　some　pegs；　stooped　now
and　then　to　discern　if　possible　a　figure　against　the　sky。

He　could　see　none；　but　lighting　on　a　spot　where　the　soil　was
trodden；　beheld　a　crouching　object　beside　a　newly　made　grave。　　She
heard　him；　and　sprang　up。

'Ell；　how　silly　this　is！'　he　said　indignantly。　　'Running　away　from
homeI　never　heard　such　a　thing！　　Of　course　I　am　not　jealous　of
this　unfortunate　man；　but　it　is　too　ridiculous　that　you；　a　married
woman　with　three　children　and　a　fourth　coming；　should　go　losing　your
head　like　this　over　a　dead　lover！　。　。　。　Do　you　know　you　were　locked
in？　　You　might　not　have　been　able　to　get　out　all　night。'

She　did　not　answer。

'I　hope　it　didn't　go　far　between　you　and　him；　for　your　own　sake。'

'Don't　insult　me；　Will。'

'Mind；　I　won't　have　any　more　of　this　sort　of　thing；　do　you　hear？'

'Very　well；'　she　said。

He　drew　her　arm　within　his　own；　and　conducted　her　out　of　the
Cemetery。　　It　was　impossible　to　get　back　that　night；　and　not　wishing
to　be　recognized　in　their　present　sorry　condition；　he　took　her　to　a
miserable　little　coffee…house　close　to　the　station；　whence　they
departed　early　in　the　morning；　travelling　almost　without　speaking；
under　the　sense　that　it　was　one　of　those　dreary　situations　occurring
in　married　life　which　words　could　not　mend；　and　reaching　their　own
door　at　noon。

The　months　passed；　and　neither　of　the　twain　ever　ventured　to　start　a
conversation　upon　this　episode。　　Ella　seemed　to　be　only　too
frequently　in　a　sad　and　listless　mood；　which　might　almost　have　been
called　pining。　　The　time　was　approaching　when　she　would　have　to
undergo　the　stress　of　childbirth　for　a　fourth　time；　and　that
apparently　did　not　tend　to　raise　her　spirits。

'I　don't　think　I　shall　get　over　it　this　time！'　she　said　one　day。

'Pooh！　what　childish　foreboding！　　Why　shouldn't　it　be　as　well　now　as
ever？'

She　shook　her　head。　　'I　feel　almost　sure　I　am　going　to　die；　and　I
should　be　glad；　if　it　were　not　for　Nelly；　and　Frank；　and　Tiny。'

'And　me！'

'You'll　soon　find　somebody　to　fill　my　place；'　she　murmured；　with　a
sad　smile。　　'And　you'll　have　a　perfect　right　to；　I　assure　you　of
that。'

'Ell；　you　are　not　thinking　still　about　thatpoetical　friend　of
yours？'

She　neither　admitted　nor　denied　the　charge。　　'I　am　not　going　to　get
over　my　illness　this　time；'　she　reiterated。　　'Something　tells　me　I
shan't。'

This　view　of　things　was　rather　a　bad　beginning；　as　it　usually　is；
and；　in　fact；　six　weeks　later；　in　the　month　of　May；　she　was　lying　in
her　room；　pulseless　and　bloodless；　with　hardly　strength　enough　left
to　follow　up　one　feeble　breath　with　another；　the　infant　for　whose
unnecessary　life　she　was　slowly　parting　with　her　own　being　fat　and
well。　　Just　before　her　death　she　spoke　to　Marchmill　softly：…

'Will；　I　want　to　confess　to　you　the　entire　circumstances　of　that
about　you　know　whatthat　time　we　visited　Solentsea。　　I　can't　tell
what　possessed　mehow　I　could　forget　you　so；　my　husband！　　But　I　had
got　into　a　morbid　state：　　I　thought　you　had　been　unkind；　that　you
had　neglected　me；　that　you　weren't　up　to　my　intellectual　level；
while　he　was；　and　far　above　it。　　I　wanted　a　fuller　appreciator；
perhaps；　rather　than　another　lover'

She　could　get　no　further　then　for　very　exhaustion；　and　she　went　off
in　sudden　collapse　a　few　hours　later；　without　having　said　anything
more　to　her　husband　on　the　subject　of　her　love　for　the　poet。
William　Marchmill；　in　truth；　like　most　husbands　of　several　years'
standing；　was　little　disturbed　by　retrospective　jealousies；　and　had
not　shown　the　least　anxiety　to　press　her　for　confessions　concerning
a　man　dead　and　gone　beyond　any　power　of　inconveniencing　him　more。

But　when　she　had　been　buried　a　couple　of　years　it　chanced　one　day
that；　in　turning　over　some　forgotten　papers　that　he　wished　to
destroy　before　his　second　wife　entered　the　house；　he　lighted　on　a
lock　of　hair　in　an　envelope；　with　the　photograph　of　the　deceased
poet；　a　date　being　written　on　the　back　in　his　late　wife's　hand。　　It
was　that　of　the　time　they　spent　at　Solentsea。

Marchmill　looked　long　and　musingly　at　the　hair　and　portrait；　for
something　struck　him。　　Fetching　the　little　boy　who　had　been　the
death　of　his　mother；　now　a　noisy　toddler；　he　took　him　on　his　knee；
held　the　lock　of　hair　against　the　child's　head；　and　s