the dark flower-第27章

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from　wherever　we　pitch　our　tent；　and；　of　course；　I　shall　write　to
Cicely。　　But　will　you　please　tell　Mrs。　Doone　and　Sylvia；　and　give
them　my　love　if　they　still　care　to　have　it。　　Good…bye；　dear　Gordy。
I　believe　you　would　have　done　the　same；　if　you　had　been　I。　　Always
your　affectionateMARK。〃

In　all　those　preparations　he　forgot　nothing；　employing　every　minute
of　the　few　hours　in　a　sort　of　methodic　exaltation。　　The　last　thing
before　setting　out　he　took　the　damp　cloths　off　his　'bull…man。'
Into　the　face　of　the　monster　there　had　come　of　late　a　hungry；
yearning　look。　　The　artist　in　him　had　done　his　work　that
unconscious　justice；　against　his　will　had　set　down　the　truth。　　And；
wondering　whether　he　would　ever　work　at　it　again；　he　redamped　the
cloths　and　wrapped　it　carefully。

He　did　not　go　to　her　village；　but　to　one　five　or　six　miles　down　the
riverit　was　safer；　and　the　row　would　steady　him。　　Hiring　a　skiff；
he　pulled　up　stream。　　He　travelled　very　slowly　to　kill　time；
keeping　under　the　far　bank。　　And　as　he　pulled；　his　very　heart
seemed　parched　with　nervousness。　　Was　it　real　that　he　was　going　to
her；　or　only　some　fantastic　trick　of　Fate；　a　dream　from　which　he
would　wake　to　find　himself　alone　again？　　He　passed　the　dove…cot　at
last；　and　kept　on　till　he　could　round　into　the　backwater　and　steal
up　under　cover　to　the　poplar。　　He　arrived　a　few　minutes　before
eight　o'clock；　turned　the　boat　round；　and　waited　close　beneath　the
bank；　holding　to　a　branch；　and　standing　so　that　he　could　see　the
path。　　If　a　man　could　die　from　longing　and　anxiety；　surely　Lennan
must　have　died　then！

All　wind　had　failed；　and　the　day　was　fallen　into　a　wonderful　still
evening。　　Gnats　were　dancing　in　the　sparse　strips　of　sunlight　that
slanted　across　the　dark　water；　now　that　the　sun　was　low。　　From　the
fields；　bereft　of　workers；　came　the　scent　of　hay　and　the　heavy
scent　of　meadow…sweet；　the　musky　odour　of　the　backwater　was
confused　with　them　into　one　brooding　perfume。　　No　one　passed。　　And
sounds　were　few　and　far　to　that　wistful　listener；　for　birds　did　not
sing　just　there。　　How　still　and　warm　was　the　air；　yet　seemed　to
vibrate　against　his　cheeks　as　though　about　to　break　into　flame。
That　fancy　came　to　him　vividly　while　he　stood　waitinga　vision　of
heat　simmering　in　little　pale　red　flames。　　On　the　thick　reeds　some
large；　slow；　dusky　flies　were　still　feeding；　and　now　and　then　a
moorhen　a　few　yards　away　splashed　a　little；　or　uttered　a　sharp；
shrill　note。　　When　she　cameif　she　did　come！they　would　not　stay
here；　in　this　dark　earthy　backwater；　he　would　take　her　over　to　the
other　side；　away　to　the　woods！　　But　the　minutes　passed；　and　his
heart　sank。　　Then　it　leaped　up。　　Someone　was　comingin　white；　with
bare　head；　and　something　blue　or　black　flung　across　her　arm。　　It
was　she！　　No　one　else　walked　like　that！　　She　came　very　quickly。
And　he　noticed　that　her　hair　looked　like　little　wings　on　either
side　of　her　brow；　as　if　her　face　were　a　white　bird　with　dark　wings；
flying　to　love！　　Now　she　was　close；　so　close　that　he　could　see　her
lips　parted；　and　her　eyes　love…lightedlike　nothing　in　the　world
but　darkness　wild　with　dew　and　starlight。　　He　reached　up　and　lifted
her　down　into　the　boat；　and　the　scent　of　some　flower　pressed
against　his　face　seemed　to　pierce　into　him　and　reach　his　very
heart；　awakening　the　memory　of　something　past；　forgotten。　　Then；
seizing　the　branches；　snapping　them　in　his　haste；　he　dragged　the
skiff　along　through　the　sluggish　water；　the　gnats　dancing　in　his
face。　　She　seemed　to　know　where　he　was　taking　her；　and　neither　of
them　spoke　a　single　word；　while　he　pulled　out　into　the　open；　and
over　to　the　far　bank。

There　was　but　one　field　between　them　and　the　wooda　field　of　young
wheat；　with　a　hedge　of　thorn　and　alder。　　And　close　to　that　hedge
they　set　out；　their　hands　clasped。　　They　had　nothing　to　say　yet
like　children　saving　up。　　She　had　put　on　her　cloak　to　hide　her
dress；　and　its　silk　swished　against　the　silvery　blades　of　the
wheat。　　What　had　moved　her　to　put　on　this　blue　cloak？　　Blue　of　the
sky；　and　flowers；　of　birds'　wings；　and　the　black…burning　blue　of
the　night！　　The　hue　of　all　holy　things！　　And　how　still　it　was　in
the　late　gleam　of　the　sun！　　Not　one　little　sound　of　beast　or　bird
or　tree；　not　one　bee　humming！　　And　not　much　colouronly　the　starry
white　hemlocks　and　globe…campion　flowers；　and　the　low…flying
glamour　of　the　last　warm　light　on　the　wheat。


XX


。　。　。　Now　over　wood　and　river　the　evening　drew　in　fast。　　And　first
the　swallows；　that　had　looked　as　if　they　would　never　stay　their
hunting；　ceased；　and　the　light；　that　had　seemed　fastened　above　the
world；　for　all　its　last　brightenings；　slowly　fell　wingless　and
dusky。

The　moon　would　not　rise　till　ten！　　And　all　things　waited。　　The
creatures　of　night　were　slow　to　come　forth　after　that　long　bright
summer's　day；　watching　for　the　shades　of　the　trees　to　sink　deeper
and　deeper　into　the　now　chalk…white　water；　watching　for　the　chalk…
white　face　of　the　sky　to　be　masked　with　velvet。　　The　very　black…
plumed　trees　themselves　seemed　to　wait　in　suspense　for　the　grape…
bloom　of　night。　　All　things　stared；　wan　in　that　hour　of　passing
dayall　things　had　eyes　wistful　and　unblessed。　　In　those　moments
glamour　was　so　dead　that　it　was　as　if　meaning　had　abandoned　the
earth。　　But　not　for　long。　　Winged　with　darkness；　it　stole　back；　not
the　soul　of　meaning　that　had　gone；　but　a　witch…like　and　brooding
spirit　harbouring　in　the　black　trees；　in　the　high　dark　spears　of
the　rushes；　and　on　the　grim…snouted　snags　that　lurked　along　the
river　bank。　　Then　the　owls　came　out；　and　night…flying　things。　　And
in　the　wood　there　began　a　cruel　bird…tragedysome　dark　pursuit　in
the　twilight　above　the　bracken；　the　piercing　shrieks　of　a　creature
into　whom　talons　have　again　and　again　gone　home；　and　mingled　with
them；　hoarse　raging　cries　of　triumph。　　Many　minutes　they　lasted；
those　noises　of　the　night；　sound…emblems　of　all　the　cruelty　in　the
heart　of　Nature；　till　at　last　death　appeased　that　savagery。　　And
any　soul　abroad；　that　pitied　fugitives；　might　once　more　listen；　and
not　weep。　。　。　。

Then　a　nightingale　began　to　give　forth　its　long　liquid　gurgling；
and　a　corn…crake　churred　in　the　young　wheat。　　Again　the　night
brooded；　in　the　silent　tops　of　the　trees；　in　the　more　silent　depths
of　the　water。　　It　sent　out　at　long　intervals　a　sigh　or　murmur；　a
tiny　scuttling　splash；　an　owl's　hunting　cry。　　And　its　breath　was
still　hot　and　charged　with　heavy　odour；　for　no　dew　was　falling。　。　。　。


XXI


It　was　past　ten　when　they　came　out　from　the　wood。　　She　had　wanted
to　wait　for　the　moon　to　rise；　not　a　gold　coin　of　a　moon　as　last
night；　but　ivory　pale；　and　with　a　gleaming　radiance　level　over　the
fern；　and　covering　the　lower　boughs；　as　it　were；　with　a　drift　of
white　blossom。

Through　the　wicket　gate　they　passed　once　more　beside　the　moon…
coloured　wheat；　which　seemed　of　a　different　world　from　that　world
in　which　they　had　walked　but　an　hour　and　a　half　ago。

And　in　Lennan's　heart　was　a　feeling　such　as　a　man's　heart　can　only
know　once　in　all　his　lifesuch　humble　gratitude；　and　praise；　and
adoration　of　her　who　had　given　him　her　all。　　There　should　be
nothing　for　her　now　but　joylike　the　joy　of　this　last　hour。　　She
should　never　know　less　happiness！　　And　kneeling　down　before　her　at
the　water's　edge　he　kissed　her　dress；　and　hands；　and　feet；　which
to…morrow　would　be　his　forever。

Then　they　got　into　the　boat。

The　smile　of　the　moonlight　glided　over　each　ripple；　and　reed；　and
closing　water…lily；　over　her　face；　where　the　hood　had　fallen　back
from　her　loosened　hair；　over　one　hand　trailing　the　water；　and　the
other　touching　the　flower　at　her　breast；　and；　just　above　her
breath；　she　said：

〃Row；　my　dear　love；　it's　late！〃

Dipping　his　sculls；　he　shot　the　skiff　into　the　darkness　of　the
backwater。　。　。　。

What　happened　then　he　never　knew；　never　clearlyin　all　those　after
years。　　A　vision　of　her　white　form　risen　to　its　feet；　bending
forward　like　a　creature　caught；　that　cannot　tell　which　way　to
spring；　a　crashing　shock；　his　head　striking　something　hard！
Nothingness！　　And　thenan　awful；　awful　struggle　with　roots　and
weeds　and　slime；　a　desperate　agony　of　groping　in　that　pitchy
blackness；　among　tree…stumps；　in　dead　water　that　seemed　to　have　no
bottomhe　and　that　other；　who　had　leaped　at　them　in　the　dark　with
his　boat；　like　a　murdering　beast；　a　nightmare　search　more　horrible
than　words　could　tell；　till　in　a　patch　of　moonlight　on　the　bank
they　laid　her；　who　for　all　their　efforts　never　stirred。　。　。　。
There　she　lay　all　white；　and　they　two　crouched　at　her　head　and
feetlike　dark　creatures　of　the　woods　and　waters　over　that　which
with　their　hunting　they　had　slain。

How　long　they　stayed　there；　not　once　looking　at　each　other；　not
once　speaking；　not　once　ceasing　to　touch　with　their　hands　that　dead
thinghe　never　knew。　　How　long　in　the　summer　night；　with　its
moonlight　and　its　shadows　quivering　round　them；　and　the　night　wind
talking　in　the　reeds！

And　then　the　most　enduring　of　all　sentient　things　had　moved　in　him
again；　so　that　he　once　more　felt。　。　。　。　　Never　again　to　see　those
eyes　that　had　loved　him　with　their　light！　　Never　again　to　kiss　her
lips！　　Frozenlike　moonlight　to　the　earth；　with　the　flower　still
clinging　at　her　breast。　　Thrown　out　on　the　bank　like　a　plucked
water…lily！　　Dead？　　No；　no！　　Not　dead！　　Alive　in　the　nightalive
to　himsomewhere！　　Not　on　this　dim　bank；　in　this　hideous
backwater；　with　that　dark　dumb　creature　who　had　destroyed　her！　　Out
there　on　the　riverin　the　wood　of　their　happinesssomewhere
alive！　。　。　。　　And；　staggering　up　past　Cramier；　who　never　moved；　he
got　into　his　boat；　and　like　one　demented　pulled　out　into　the
stream。

But　once　there　in　the　tide；　he　fell　huddled　forward；　motionless
above　his　oars。　。　。　。

And　the　moonlight　flooded　his　dark　skiff　drifting　down。　　And　the
moonlight　effaced　the　ripples　on　the　water　that　had　stolen　away　her
spirit。　　Her　spirit　mingled　now　with　the　white　beauty　and　the
shadows；　for　ever　part　of　the　stillness　and　the　passion　of　a　summer
night；　hovering；　floating；　listening　to　the　rustle　of　the　reeds；
and　the　whispering　of　the　woods；　one　with　the　endless　dreamthat
spirit　passing　out；　as　all　might　wish　to　pass；　in　the　hour　of
happiness。



PART　III

AUTUMN


I


When　on　that　November　night　Lennan　stole　to　the　open　door　of　his
dressing…room；　and　stood　watching　his　wife　asleep；　Fate　still
waited　for　an　answer。

A　low　fire　was　burningone　of　those　fires　that　throw　faint　shadows
everywhere；　and　once　and　again　glow　so　that　some　object　shines　for
a　moment；　some　shape　is　clearly　seen。　　The　curtains　were　not　quite
drawn；　and　a　plane…tree　branch　with　leaves　still　hanging；　which　had
kept　them　company　all　the　fifteen　years　they　had　lived　there；　was
moving　darkly　in　the　wind；　now　touching　the　glass　with　a　frail　tap；
as　though　asking　of　him；　who　had　been　roaming　in　that　wind　so　many
hours；　to　let　it　in。　　Unfailing　comradesLondon　plane…trees！

He　had　not　dared　hope　that　Sylvia　would　be　asleep。　　It　was　merciful
that　she　was；　whichever　way　the　issue　wentthat　issue　so　cruel。
Her　face　was　turned　towards　the　fire；　and　one　hand　rested　beneath
her　cheek。　　So　she　often　slept。　　Even　when　life　seemed　all　at　sea；
its　landmarks