the dark flower-第10章

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in　the　roof；　and　down　in　the　pews；　and　the　sunlight　brightening　the
South　windows。　　All　the　same；　it　would　have　been　much　jollier　just
taking　hands　by　themselves　somewhere；　and　saying　out　before　God
what　they　really　feltbecause；　after　all；　God　was　everything；
everywhere；　not　only　in　stuffy　churches。　　That　was　how　HE　would
like　to　be　married；　out　of　doors　on　a　starry　night　like　this；　when
everything　felt　wonderful　all　round　you。　　Surely　God　wasn't　half　as
small　as　people　seemed　always　making　Hima　sort　of　superior　man　a
little　bigger　than　themselves！　　Even　the　very　most　beautiful　and
wonderful　and　awful　things　one　could　imagine　or　make；　could　only　be
just　nothing　to　a　God　who　had　a　temple　like　the　night　out　there。
But　then　you　couldn't　be　married　alone；　and　no　girl　would　ever　like
to　be　married　without　rings　and　flowers　and　dresses；　and　words　that
made　it　all　feel　small　and　cosy！　　Cis　might　have；　perhaps；　only　she
wouldn't；　because　of　not　hurting　other　people's　feelings；　but
Sylvianevershe　would　be　afraid。　　Only；　of　course；　she　was
young！　　And　the　thread　of　his　thoughts　brokeand　scattered　like
beads　from　a　string。

Leaning　out；　and　resting　his　chin　on　his　hands；　he　drew　the　night
air　into　his　lungs。　　Honeysuckle；　or　was　it　the　scent　of　lilies
still？　　The　stars　all　out；　and　lots　of　owls　to…nightfour　at
least。　　What　would　night　be　like　without　owls　and　stars？　　But　that
was　ityou　never　could　think　what　things　would　be　like　if　they
weren't　just　what　and　where　they　were。　　You　never　knew　what　was
coming；　either；　and　yet；　when　it　came；　it　seemed　as　if　nothing　else
ever　could　have　come。　　That　was　queer…you　could　do　anything　you
liked　until　you'd　done　it；　but　when　you　HAD　done　it；　then　you　knew；
of　course；　that　you　must　always　have　had　to　。　。　。　　What　was　that
light；　below　and　to　the　left？　　Whose　room？　　Old　Tingle'sno；　the
little　spare　roomSylvia's！　　She　must　be　awake；　then！　　He　leaned
far　out；　and　whispered　in　the　voice　she　had　said　was　still　furry：

〃Sylvia！〃

The　light　flickered；　he　could　just　see　her　head　appear；　with　hair
all　loose；　and　her　face　turning　up　to　him。　　He　could　only　half　see；
half　imagine　it；　mysterious；　blurry；　and　he　whispered：

〃Isn't　this　jolly？〃

The　whisper　travelled　back：

〃Awfully。〃

〃Aren't　you　sleepy？〃

〃No；　are　you？〃

〃Not　a　bit。　　D'you　hear　the　owls？〃

〃Rather。〃

〃Doesn't　it　smell　good？〃

〃Perfect。　　Can　you　see　me？〃

〃Only　just；　not　too　much。　　Can　you？〃

〃I　can't　see　your　nose。　　Shall　I　get　the　candle？〃

〃Nothat'd　spoil　it。　　What　are　you　sitting　on？〃

〃The　window　sill。〃

〃It　doesn't　twist　your　neck；　does　it？〃

〃Nooonly　a　little　bit。〃

〃Are　you　hungry？〃

〃Yes。〃

〃Wait　half　a　shake。　　I'll　let　down　some　chocolate　in　my　big　bath
towel；　it'll　swing　along　to　youreach　out。〃

A　dim　white　arm　reached　out。

〃Catch！　　I　say；　you　won't　get　cold？〃

〃Rather　not。〃

〃It's　too　jolly　to　sleep；　isn't　it？〃

〃Mark！〃

〃Yes。〃

〃Which　star　is　yours？　　Mine　is　the　white　one　over　the　top　branch　of
the　big　sycamore；　from　here。〃

〃Mine　is　that　twinkling　red　one　over　the　summer　house。　　Sylvia！〃

〃Yes。〃

〃Catch！〃

〃Oh！　　I　couldn'twhat　was　it？〃

〃Nothing。〃

〃No；　but　what　WAS　it？〃

〃Only　my　star。　　It's　caught　in　your　hair。〃

〃Oh！〃

〃Listen！〃

Silence；　then；　until　her　awed　whisper：

〃What？〃

And　his　floating　down；　dying　away：

〃CAVE！〃

What　had　stirredsome　window　opened？　　Cautiously　he　spied　along
the　face　of　the　dim　house。　　There　was　no　light　anywhere；　nor　any
shifting　blur　of　white　at　her　window　below。　　All　was　dark；　remote
still　sweet　with　the　scent　of　something　jolly。　　And　then　he　saw
what　that　something　was。　　All　over　the　wall　below　his　window　white
jessamine　was　in　flowerstars；　not　only　in　the　sky。　　Perhaps　the
sky　was　really　a　field　of　white　flowers；　and　God　walked　there；　and
plucked　the　stars。　。　。　。

The　next　morning　there　was　a　letter　on　his　plate　when　he　came　down
to　breakfast。　　He　couldn't　open　it　with　Sylvia　on　one　side　of　him；
and　old　Tingle　on　the　other。　　Then　with　a　sort　of　anger　he　did　open
it。　　He　need　not　have　been　afraid。　　It　was　written　so　that　anyone
might　have　read；　it　told　of　a　climb；　of　bad　weather；　said　they　were
coming　home。　　Was　he　relieved；　disturbed；　pleased　at　their　coming
back；　or　only　uneasily　ashamed？　　She　had　not　got　his　second　letter
yet。　　He　could　feel　old　Tingle　looking　round　at　him　with　those
queer　sharp　twinkling　eyes　of　hers；　and　Sylvia　regarding　him　quite
frankly。　　And　conscious　that　he　was　growing　red；　he　said　to
himself：　'I　won't！'　　And　did　not。　　In　three　days　they　would　be　at
Oxford。　　Would　they　come　on　here　at　once？　　Old　Tingle　was　speaking。
He　heard　Sylvia　answer：　〃No；　I　don't　like　'bopsies。'　　They're　so
hard！〃　　It　was　their　old　name　for　high　cheekbones。　　Sylvia
certainly　had　none；　her　cheeks　went　softly　up　to　her　eyes。

〃Do　you；　Mark？〃

He　said　slowly：

〃On　some　people。〃

〃People　who　have　them　are　strong…willed；　aren't　they？〃

Was　SHEAnnastrong…willed？　　It　came　to　him　that　he　did　not　know
at　all　what　she　was。

When　breakfast　was　over　and　he　had　got　away　to　his　old　greenhouse；
he　had　a　strange；　unhappy　time。　　He　was　a　beast；　he　had　not　been
thinking　of　her　half　enough！　　He　took　the　letter　out；　and　frowned
at　it　horribly。　　Why　could　he　not　feel　more？　　What　was　the　matter
with　him？　　Why　was　he　such　a　brutenot　to　be　thinking　of　her　day
and　night？　　For　long　he　stood；　disconsolate；　in　the　little　dark
greenhouse　among　the　images　of　his　beasts；　the　letter　in　his　hand。

He　stole　out　presently；　and　got　down　to　the　river　unobserved。
Comfortingthat　crisp；　gentle　sound　of　water；　ever　so　comforting
to　sit　on　a　stone；　very　still；　and　wait　for　things　to　happen　round
you。　　You　lost　yourself　that　way；　just　became　branches；　and　stones；
and　water；　and　birds；　and　sky。　　You　did　not　feel　such　a　beast。
Gordy　would　never　understand　why　he　did　not　care　for　fishingone
thing　trying　to　catch　anotherinstead　of　watching　and
understanding　what　things　were。　　You　never　got　to　the　end　of
looking　into　water；　or　grass　or　fern；　always　something　queer　and
new。　　It　was　like　that；　too；　with　yourself；　if　you　sat　down　and
looked　properlymost　awfully　interesting　to　see　things　working　in
your　mind。

A　soft　rain　had　begun　to　fall；　hissing　gently　on　the　leaves；　but　he
had　still　a　boy's　love　of　getting　wet；　and　stayed　where　he　was；　on
the　stone。　　Some　people　saw　fairies　in　woods　and　down　in　water；　or
said　they　did；　that　did　not　seem　to　him　much　fun。　　What　was　really
interesting　was　noticing　that　each　thing　was　different　from　every
other　thing；　and　what　made　it　so；　you　must　see　that　before　you
could　draw　or　model　decently。　　It　was　fascinating　to　see　your
creatures　coming　out　with　shapes　of　their　very　own；　they　did　that
without　your　understanding　how。　　But　this　vacation　he　was　no　good
couldn't　draw　or　model　a　bit！

A　jay　had　settled　about　forty　yards　away；　and　remained　in　full
view；　attending　to　his　many…coloured　feathers。　　Of　all　things；
birds　were　the　most　fascinating！　　He　watched　it　a　long　time；　and
when　it　flew　on；　followed　it　over　the　high　wall　up　into　the　park。
He　heard　the　lunch…bell　ring　in　the　far　distance；　but　did　not　go
in。　　So　long　as　he　was　out　there　in　the　soft　rain　with　the　birds
and　trees　and　other　creatures；　he　was　free　from　that　unhappy
feeling　of　the　morning。　　He　did　not　go　back　till　nearly　seven；
properly　wet　through；　and　very　hungry。

All　through　dinner　he　noticed　that　Sylvia　seemed　to　be　watching
him；　as　if　wanting　to　ask　him　something。　　She　looked　very　soft　in
her　white　frock；　open　at　the　neck；　and　her　hair　almost　the　colour
of　special　moonlight；　so　goldy…pale；　and　he　wanted　her　to
understand　that　it　wasn't　a　bit　because　of　her　that　he　had　been　out
alone　all　day。　　After　dinner；　when　they　were　getting　the　table
ready　to　play　'red　nines；'　he　did　murmur：

〃Did　you　sleep　last　nightafter？〃

She　nodded　fervently　to　that。

It　was　raining　really　hard　now；　swishing　and　dripping　out　in　the
darkness；　and　he　whispered：

〃Our　stars　would　be　drowned　to…night。〃

〃Do　you　really　think　we　have　stars？〃

〃We　might。　　But　mine's　safe；　of　course；　your　hair　IS　jolly；
Sylvia。〃

She　gazed　at　him；　very　sweet　and　surprised。


XIV


Anna　did　not　receive　the　boy's　letter　in　the　Tyrol。　　It　followed
her　to　Oxford。　　She　was　just　going　out　when　it　came；　and　she　took
it　up　with　the　mingled　beatitude　and　almost　sickening　tremor　that　a
lover　feels　touching　the　loved　one's　letter。　　She　would　not　open　it
in　the　street；　but　carried　it　all　the　way　to　the　garden　of　a
certain　College；　and　sat　down　to　read　it　under　the　cedar…tree。
That　little　letter；　so　short；　boyish；　and　dry；　transported　her
halfway　to　heaven。　　She　was　to　see　him　again　at　once；　not　to　wait
weeks；　with　the　fear　that　he　would　quite　forget　her！　　Her　husband
had　said　at　breakfast　that　Oxford　without　'the　dear　young　clowns'
assuredly　was　charming；　but　Oxford　'full　of　tourists　and　other
strange　bodies'　as　certainly　was　not。　　Where　should　they　go？　　Thank
heaven；　the　letter　could　be　shown　him！　　For　all　that；　a　little　stab
of　pain　went　through　her　that　there　was　not　one　word　which　made　it
unsuitable　to　show。　　Still；　she　was　happy。　　Never　had　her　favourite
College　garden　seemed　so　beautiful；　with　each　tree　and　flower　so
cared　for；　and　the　very　wind　excluded；　never　had　the　birds　seemed
so　tame　and　friendly。　　The　sun　shone　softly；　even　the　clouds　were
luminous　and　joyful。　　She　sat　a　long　time；　musing；　and　went　back
forgetting　all　she　had　come　out　to　do。　　Having　both　courage　and
decision；　she　did　not　leave　the　letter　to　burn　a　hole　in　her
corsets；　but　gave　it　to　her　husband　at　lunch；　looking　him　in　the
face；　and　saying　carelessly：

〃Providence；　you　see；　answers　your　question。〃

He　read　it；　raised　his　eyebrows；　smiled；　and；　without　looking　up；
murmured：

〃You　wish　to　prosecute　this　romantic　episode？〃

Did　he　mean　anythingor　was　it　simply　his　way　of　putting　things？

〃I　naturally　want　to　be　anywhere　but　here。〃

〃Perhaps　you　would　like　to　go　alone？〃

He　said　that；　of　course；　knowing　she　could　not　say：　Yes。　　And　she
answered　simply：　〃No。〃

〃Then　let　us　both　goon　Monday。　　I　will　catch　the　young　man's
trout；　thou　shalt　catchh'm！he　shall　catch　　What　is　it　he
catchestrees？　　Good！　　That's　settled。〃

And；　three　days　later；　without　another　word　exchanged　on　the
subject；　they　started。

Was　she　grateful　to　him？　　No。　　Afraid　of　him？　　No。　　Scornful　of
him？　　Not　quite。　　But　she　was　afraid　of　HERSELF；　horribly。　　How
would　she　ever　be　able　to　keep　herself　in　hand；　how　disguise　from
these　people　that　she　loved　their　boy？　　It　was　her　desperate　mood
that　she　feared。　　But　since　she　so　much　wanted　all　the　best　for　him
that　life　could　give；　surely　she　would　have　the　strength　to　do
nothing　that　might　harm　him。　　Yet　she　was　afraid。

He　was　there　at　the　station　to　meet　them；　in　riding　things　and　a
nice　rough　Norfolk　jacket　that　she　did　not　recognize；　though　she
thought　she　knew　his　clothes　by　heart；　and　as　the　train　came　slowly
to　a　standstill　the　memory　of　her　last　moment　with　him；　up　in　his
room　amid　the　luggage　that　she　had　helped　to　pack；　very　nearly
overcame　her。　　It　seemed　so　hard　to　have　to　meet　him　coldly；
formally；　to　have　to　waitwho　knew　how　longfor　a　minute　with　him
al