the dark flower-第21章

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be　seen　by　Cramier。　　Is　there　need　for　fear　that　a　swallow　should
dash　itself　against　the　wall　over　which　it　skims？　　But　he　got　up；
unable　to　bear　it　longer。

〃Going？〃　　That　one　suave　word　had　an　inimitable　insolence。

He　could　hardly　see　his　hand　touching　Cramier's　heavy　fist。　　Then
he　realized　that　she　was　standing　so　that　their　faces　when　they
must　say　good…bye　could　not　be　seen。　　Her　eyes　were　smiling；　yet
imploring；　her　lips　shaped　the　word：　〃To…morrow！〃　　And　squeezing
her　hand　desperately；　he　got　away。

He　had　never　dreamed　that　to　see　her　in　the　presence　of　the　man　who
owned　her　would　be　so　terrible。　　For　a　moment　he　thought　that　he
must　give　her　up；　give　up　a　love　that　would　drive　him　mad。

He　climbed　on　to　an　omnibus　travelling　West。　　Another　twenty…four
hours　of　starvation　had　begun。　　It　did　not　matter　at　all　what　he
did　with　them。　　They　were　simply　so　much　aching　that　had　to　be　got
through　somehowso　much　aching；　and　what　relief　at　the　end？　　An
hour　or　two　with　her；　desperately　holding　himself　in。

Like　most　artists；　and　few　Englishmen；　he　lived　on　feelings　rather
than　on　facts；　so；　found　no　refuge　in　decisive　resolutions。　　But　he
made　manythe　resolution　to　give　her　up；　to　be　true　to　the　ideal
of　service　for　no　reward；　to　beseech　her　to　leave　Cramier　and　come
to　himand　he　made　each　many　times。

At　Hyde　Park　Corner　he　got　down；　and　went　into　the　Park；　thinking
that　to　walk　would　help　him。

A　great　number　of　people　were　sitting　there；　taking　mysterious
anodyne；　doing　the　right　thing；　to　avoid　them；　he　kept　along　the
rails；　and　ran　almost　into　the　arms　of　Colonel　and　Mrs。　Ercott；　who
were　coming　from　the　direction　of　Knightsbridge；　slightly　flushed；
having　lunched　and　talked　of　'Monte'　at　the　house　of　a　certain
General。

They　greeted　him　with　the　surprise　of　those　who　had　said　to　each
other　many　times：　〃That　young　man　will　come　rushing　back！〃　　It　was
very　nicethey　saidto　run　across　him。　　When　did　he　arrive？　　They
had　thought　he　was　going　on　to　Italyhe　was　looking　rather　tired。
They　did　not　ask　if　he　had　seen　herbeing　too　kind；　and　perhaps
afraid　that　he　would　say　'Yes；'　which　would　be　embarrassing；　or
that　he　would　say　'No；'　which　would　be　still　more　embarrassing　when
they　found　that　he　ought　to　have　said　'Yes。'　　Would　he　not　come　and
sit　with　them　a　littlethey　were　going　presently　to　see　how　Olive
was？　　Lennan　perceived　that　they　were　warning　him。　　And；　forcing
himself　to　look　at　them　very　straight；　he　said：　〃I　have　just　been
there。〃

Mrs。　Ercott　phrased　her　impressions　that　same　evening：　〃He　looks
quite　hunted；　poor　young　man！　　I'm　afraid　there's　going　to　be
fearful　trouble　there。　　Did　you　notice　how　quickly　he　ran　away　from
us？　　He's　thin；　too；　if　it　wasn't　for　his　tan；　he'd　look　really
ill。　　The　boy's　eyes　are　so　pathetic；　and　he　used　to　have　such　a
nice　smile　in　them。〃

The　Colonel；　who　was　fastening　her　hooks；　paused　in　an　operation
that　required　concentration。

〃It's　a　thousand　pities；〃　he　muttered；　〃that　he　hasn't　any　work　to
do。　　That　puddling　about　with　clay　or　whatever　he　does　is　no　good
at　all。〃　　And　slowly　fastening　one　hook；　he　unhooked　several
others。

Mrs。　Ercott　went　on：

〃And　I　saw　Olive；　when　she　thought　I　wasn't　looking；　it　was　just　as
if　she'd　taken　off　a　mask。　　But　Robert　Cramier　will　never　put　up
with　it。　　He's　in　love　with　her　still；　I　watched　him。　　It's　tragic；
John。〃

The　Colonel　let　his　hands　fall　from　the　hooks。

〃If　I　thought　that；〃　he　said；　〃I'd　do　something。〃

〃If　you　could；　it　would　not　be　tragic。〃

The　Colonel　stared。　　There　was　always　SOMETHING　to　be　done。

〃You　read　too　many　novels；〃　he　said；　but　without　spirit。

Mrs。　Ercott　smiled；　and　made　no　answer　to　an　aspersion　she　had
heard　before。


XI


When　Lennan　reached　his　rooms　again　after　that　encounter　with　the
Ercotts；　he　found　in　his　letterbox　a　visiting　card：　〃Mrs。　Doone〃
〃Miss　Sylvia　Doone；〃　and　on　it　pencilled　the　words：　〃Do　come　and
see　us　before　we　go　down　to　HayleSylvia。〃　　He　stared　blankly　at
the　round　handwriting　he　knew　so　well。

Sylvia！　　Nothing　perhaps　could　have　made　so　plain　to　him　how　in
this　tornado　of　his　passion　the　world　was　drowned。　　Sylvia！　　He　had
almost　forgotten　her　existence；　and　yet；　only　last　year；　after　he
definitely　settled　down　in　London；　he　had　once　more　seen　a　good
deal　of　her；　and　even　had　soft　thoughts　of　her　againwith　her
pale…gold　hair；　her　true　look；　her　sweetness。　　Then　they　had　gone
for　the　winter　to　Algiers　for　her　mother's　health。

When　they　came　back；　he　had　already　avoided　seeing　her；　though　that
was　before　Olive　went　to　Monte　Carlo；　before　he　had　even　admitted
his　own　feeling。　　And　sincehe　had　not　once　thought　of　her。　　Not
once！　　The　world　had　indeed　vanished。　　〃Do　come　and　see　us
Sylvia。〃　　The　very　notion　was　an　irritation。　　No　rest　from　aching
and　impatience　to　be　had　that　way。

And　then　the　idea　came　to　him：　Why　not　kill　these　hours　of　waiting
for　to…morrow's　meeting　by　going　on　the　river　passing　by　her
cottage？　　There　was　still　one　train　that　he　could　catch。

He　reached　the　village　after　dark；　and　spent　the　night　at　the　inn；
got　up　early　next　morning；　took　a　boat；　and　pulled　down…stream。
The　bluffs　of　the　opposite　bank　were　wooded　with　high　trees。　　The
sun　shone　softly　on　their　leaves；　and　the　bright　stream　was　ruffled
by　a　breeze　that　bent　all　the　reeds　and　slowly　swayed　the　water…
flowers。　　One　thin　white　line　of　wind　streaked　the　blue　sky。　　He
shipped　his　sculls　and　drifted；　listening　to　the　wood…pigeons；
watching　the　swallows　chasing。　　If　only　she　were　here！　　To　spend
one　long　day　thus；　drifting　with　the　stream！　　To　have　but　one　such
rest　from　longing！　　Her　cottage；　he　knew；　lay　on　the　same　side　as
the　village；　and　just　beyond　an　island。　　She　had　told　him　of　a
hedge　of　yew…trees；　and　a　white　dovecote　almost　at　the　water's
edge。　　He　came　to　the　island；　and　let　his　boat　slide　into　the
backwater。　　It　was　all　overgrown　with　willow…trees　and　alders；　dark
even　in　this　early　morning　radiance；　and　marvellously　still。　　There
was　no　room　to　row；　he　took　the　boathook　and　tried　to　punt；　but　the
green　water　was　too　deep　and　entangled　with　great　roots；　so　that　he
had　to　make　his　way　by　clawing　with　the　hook　at　branches。　　Birds
seemed　to　shun　this　gloom；　but　a　single　magpie　crossed　the　one
little　clear　patch　of　sky；　and　flew　low　behind　the　willows。　　The
air　here　had　a　sweetish；　earthy　odour　of　too　rank　foliage；　all
brightness　seemed　entombed。　　He　was　glad　to　pass　out　again　under　a
huge　poplar…tree　into　the　fluttering　gold　and　silver　of　the
morning。　　And　almost　at　once　he　saw　the　yew…hedge　at　the　border　of
some　bright　green　turf；　and　a　pigeon…house；　high　on　its　pole；
painted　cream…white。　　About　it　a　number　of　ring…doves　and　snow…
white　pigeons　were　perched　or　flying；　and　beyond　the　lawn　he　could
see　the　dark　veranda　of　a　low　house；　covered　by　wistaria　just　going
out　of　flower。　　A　drift　of　scent　from　late　lilacs；　and　new…mown
grass；　was　borne　out　to　him；　together　with　the　sound　of　a　mowing…
machine；　and　the　humming　of　many　bees。　　It　was　beautiful　here；　and
seemed；　for　all　its　restfulness；　to　have　something　of　that　flying
quality　he　so　loved　about　her　face；　about　the　sweep　of　her　hair；
the　quick；　soft　turn　of　her　eyesor　was　that　but　the　darkness　of
the　yew…trees；　the　whiteness　of　the　dovecote；　and　the　doves
themselves；　flying？

He　lay　there　a　long　time　quietly　beneath　the　bank；　careful　not　to
attract　the　attention　of　the　old　gardener；　who　was　methodically
pushing　his　machine　across　and　across　the　lawn。　　How　he　wanted　her
with　him　then！　　Wonderful　that　there　could　be　in　life　such　beauty
and　wild　softness　as　made　the　heart　ache　with　the　delight　of　it；
and　in　that　same　life　grey　rules　and　rigid　barrierscoffins　of
happiness！　　That　doors　should　be　closed　on　love　and　joy！　　There　was
not　so　much　of　it　in　the　world！　　She；　who　was　the　very　spirit　of
this　flying；　nymph…like　summer；　was　untimely　wintered…up　in　bleak
sorrow。　　There　was　a　hateful　unwisdom　in　that　thought；　it　seemed　so
grim　and　violent；　so　corpse…like；　gruesome；　narrow　and　extravagant！
What　possible　end　could　it　serve　that　she　should　be　unhappy！　　Even
if　he　had　not　loved　her；　he　would　have　hated　her　fate　just　as　much
all　such　stories　of　imprisoned　lives　had　roused　his　anger　even　as
a　boy。

Soft　white　cloudsthose　bright　angels　of　the　river；　never　very
long　awayhad　begun　now　to　spread　their　wings　over　the　woods；　and
the　wind　had　dropped　so　that　the　slumbrous　warmth　and　murmuring　of
summer　gathered　full　over　the　water。　　The　old　gardener　had　finished
his　job　of　mowing；　and　came　with　a　little　basket　of　grain　to　feed
the　doves。　　Lennan　watched　them　going　to　him；　the　ring…doves；　very
dainty；　and　capricious；　keeping　to　themselves。　　In　place　of　that
old　fellow；　he　was　really　seeing　HER；　feeding　from　her　hands　those
birds　of　Cypris。　　What　a　group　he　could　have　made　of　her　with　them
perching　and　flying　round　her！　　If　she　were　his；　what　could　he　not
achieveto　make　her　immortallike　the　old　Greeks　and　Italians；
who；　in　their　work；　had　rescued　their　mistresses　from　Time！　。　。　。

He　was　back　in　his　rooms　in　London　two　hours　before　he　dared　begin
expecting　her。　　Living　alone　there　but　for　a　caretaker　who　came
every　morning　for　an　hour　or　two；　made　dust；　and　departed；　he　had
no　need　for　caution。　　And　when　he　had　procured　flowers；　and　the
fruits　and　cakes　which　they　certainly　would　not　eatwhen　he　had
arranged　the　tea…table；　and　made　the　grand　tour　at　least　twenty
times；　he　placed　himself　with　a　book　at　the　little　round　window；　to
watch　for　her　approach。　　There；　very　still；　he　sat；　not　reading　a
word；　continually　moistening　his　dry　lips　and　sighing；　to　relieve
the　tension　of　his　heart。　　At　last　he　saw　her　coming。　　She　was
walking　close　to　the　railings　of　the　houses；　looking　neither　to
right　nor　left。　　She　had　on　a　lawn　frock；　and　a　hat　of　the　palest
coffee…coloured　straw；　with　a　narrow　black　velvet　ribbon。　　She
crossed　the　side　street；　stopped　for　a　second；　gave　a　swift　look
round；　then　came　resolutely　on。　　What　was　it　made　him　love　her　so？
What　was　the　secret　of　her　fascination？　　Certainly；　no　conscious
enticements。　　Never　did　anyone　try　less　to　fascinate。　　He　could　not
recall　one　single　little　thing　that　she　had　done　to　draw　him　to
her。　　Was　it；　perhaps；　her　very　passivity；　her　native　pride　that
never　offered　or　asked　anything；　a　sort　of　soft　stoicism　in　her
fibre；　that　and　some　mysterious　charm；　as　close　and　intimate　as
scent　was　to　a　flower？

He　waited　to　open　till　he　heard　her　footstep　just　outside。　　She
came　in　without　a　word；　not　even　looking　at　him。　　And　he；　too；　said
not　a　word　till　he　had　closed　the　door；　and　made　sure　of　her。　　Then
they　turned　to　each　other。　　Her　breast　was　heaving　a　little；　under
her　thin　frock；　but　she　was　calmer　than　he；　with　that　wonderful
composure　of　pretty　women　in　all　the　passages　of　love；　as　who
should　say：　This　is　my　native　air！

They　stood　and　looked　at　each　other；　as　if　they　could　never　have
enough；　till　he　said　at　last：

〃I　thought　I　should　die　before　this　moment　came。　　There　isn't　a
minute　that　I　don't　long　for　you　so　terribly　that　I　can　hardly
live。〃

〃And　do　you　think　that　I　don't　long　for　you？〃

〃Then　come　to　me！〃

She　looked