the dark flower-第7章

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'superior。'　　〃Some　never　get　away！〃　　Had　she　meantfrom　that
superiority？　　Just　down　below　were　a　family　of　peasants　scything
and　gathering　in　the　grass。　　One　could　imagine　her　doing　that；　and
looking　beautiful；　with　a　coloured　handkerchief　over　her　head；　one
could　imagine　her　doing　anything　simpleone　could　not　imagine　old
Stormer　doing　anything　but　what　he　did　do。　　And　suddenly　the　boy
felt　miserable；　oppressed　by　these　dim　glimmerings　of　lives
misplaced。　　And　he　resolved　that　he　would　not　be　like　Stormer　when
he　was　old！　　No；　he　would　rather　be　a　regular　beast　than　be　like
that！　。　。　。

When　he　went　to　his　room　to　change　for　dinner　he　saw　in　a　glass　of
water　a　large　clove　carnation。　　Who　had　put　it　there？　　Who　could
have　put　it　therebut　she？　　It　had　the　same　scent　as　the　mountain
pinks　she　had　dropped　over　him；　but　deeper；　richera　scent　moving；
dark；　and　sweet。　　He　put　his　lips　to　it　before　he　pinned　it　into
his　coat。

There　was　dancing　again　that　nightmore　couples　this　time；　and　a
violin　beside　the　piano；　and　she　had　on　a　black　frock。　　He　had
never　seen　her　in　black。　　Her　face　and　neck　were　powdered　over
their　sunburn。　　The　first　sight　of　that　powder　gave　him　a　faint
shock。　　He　had　not　somehow　thought　that　ladies　ever　put　on　powder。
But　if　SHE　didthen　it　must　be　right！　　And　his　eyes　never　left
her。　　He　saw　the　young　German　violinist　hovering　round　her；　even
dancing　with　her　twice；　watched　her　dancing　with　others；　but　all
without　jealousy；　without　troubling；　all　in　a　sort　of　dream。　　What
was　it？　　Had　he　been　bewitched　into　that　queer　state；　bewitched　by
the　gift　of　that　flower　in　his　coat？　　What　was　it；　when　he　danced
with　her；　that　kept　him　happy　in　her　silence　and　his　own？　　There
was　no　expectation　in　him　of　anything　that　she　would　say；　or　dono
expectation；　no　desire。　　Even　when　he　wandered　out　with　her　on　to
the　terrace；　even　when　they　went　down　the　bank　and　sat　on　a　bench
above　the　fields　where　the　peasants　had　been　scything；　he　had　still
no　feeling　but　that　quiet；　dreamy　adoration。　　The　night　was　black
and　dreamy　too；　for　the　moon　was　still　well　down　behind　the
mountains。　　The　little　band　was　playing　the　next　waltz；　but　he　sat；
not　moving；　not　thinking；　as　if　all　power　of　action　and　thought　had
been　stolen　out　of　him。　　And　the　scent　of　the　flower　in　his　coat
rose；　for　there　was　no　wind。　　Suddenly　his　heart　stopped　beating。
She　had　leaned　against　him；　he　felt　her　shoulder　press　his　arm；　her
hair　touch　his　cheek。　　He　closed　his　eyes　then；　and　turned　his　face
to　her。　　He　felt　her　lips　press　his　mouth　with　a　swift；　burning
kiss。　　He　sighed；　stretched　out　his　arms。　　There　was　nothing　there
but　air。　　The　rustle　of　her　dress　against　the　grass　was　all！　　The
flowerit；　too；　was　gone。


X


Not　one　minute　all　that　night　did　Anna　sleep。　　Was　it　remorse　that
kept　her　awake；　or　the　intoxication　of　memory？　　If　she　felt　that
her　kiss　had　been　a　crime；　it　was　not　against　her　husband　or
herself；　but　against　the　boythe　murder　of　illusion；　of　something
sacred。　　But　she　could　not　help　feeling　a　delirious　happiness　too；
and　the　thought　of　trying　to　annul　what　she　had　done　did　not　even
occur　to　her。

He　was　ready；　then；　to　give　her　a　little　love！　　Ever　so　little；
compared　to　hers；　but　still　a　little！　　There　could　be　no　other
meaning　to　that　movement　of　his　face　with　the　closed　eyes；　as　if　he
would　nestle　it　down　on　her　breast。

Was　she　ashamed　of　her　little　manoeuvres　of　these　last　few　days
ashamed　of　having　smiled　at　the　young　violinist；　of　that　late
return　from　the　mountain　climb；　of　the　flower　she　had　given　him；　of
all　the　conscious　siege　she　had　laid　since　the　evening　her　husband
came　in　and　sat　watching　her；　without　knowing　that　she　saw　him？
No；　not　really　ashamed！　　Her　remorse　rose　only　from　the　kiss。　　It
hurt　to　think　of　that；　because　it　was　death；　the　final　extinction
of　the　mother…feeling　in　her；　the　awakening　ofwho　knew　whatin
the　boy！　　For　if　she　was　mysterious　to　him；　what　was　he　not　to　her；
with　his　eagerness；　and　his　dreaminess；　his　youthful　warmth；　his
innocence！　　What　if　it　had　killed　in　him　trust；　brushed　off　the
dew；　tumbled　a　star　down？　　Could　she　forgive　herself　for　that？
Could　she　bear　it　if　she　were　to　make　him　like　so　many　other　boys；
like　that　young　violinist；　just　a　cynical　youth；　looking　on　women
as　what　they　called　'fair　game'？　　But　COULD　she　make　him　into　such
would　he　ever　grow　like　that？　　Oh！　　surely　not；　or　she　would　not
have　loved　him　from　the　moment　she　first　set　eyes　on　him　and　spoke
of　him　as　'an　angel。'

After　that　kissthat　crime；　if　it　were　onein　the　dark　she　had
not　known　what　he　had　done；　where　goneperhaps　wandering；　perhaps
straight　up　to　his　room。　　Why　had　she　refrained；　left　him　there；
vanished　out　of　his　arms？　　This　she　herself　hardly　understood。　　Not
shame；　not　fear；　reverence　perhapsfor　what？　　For　lovefor　the
illusion；　the　mystery；　all　that　made　love　beautiful；　for　youth；　and
the　poetry　of　it；　just　for　the　sake　of　the　black　still　night
itself；　and　the　scent　of　that　flowerdark　flower　of　passion　that
had　won　him　to　her；　and　that　she　had　stolen　back；　and　now　wore　all
night　long　close　to　her　neck；　and　in　the　morning　placed　withered
within　her　dress。　　She　had　been　starved　so　long；　and　so　long　waited
for　that　momentit　was　little　wonder　if　she　did　not　clearly　know
why　she　had　done　just　this；　and　not　that！

And　now　how　should　she　meet　him；　how　first　look　into　his　eyes？
Would　they　have　changed？　　Would　they　no　longer　have　the　straight
look　she　so　loved？　　It　would　be　for　her　to　lead；　to　make　the
future。　　And　she　kept　saying　to　herself：　I　am　not　going　to　be
afraid。　　It　is　done。　　I　will　take　what　life　offers！　　Of　her　husband
she　did　not　think　at　all。

But　the　first　moment　she　saw　the　boy；　she　knew　that　something　from
outside；　and　untoward；　had　happened　since　that　kiss。　　He　came　up　to
her；　indeed；　but　he　said　nothing；　stood　trembling　all　over　and
handed　her　a　telegram　that　contained　these　words：　〃Come　back　at
once　Wedding　immediate　Expect　you　day　after　to…morrow。　　Cicely。〃
The　words　grew　indistinct　even　as　she　read　them；　and　the　boy's　face
all　blurred。　　Then；　making　an　effort；　she　said　quietly：

〃Of　course；　you　must　go。　　You　cannot　miss　your　only　sister's
wedding。〃

Without　protest　he　looked　at　her；　and　she　could　hardly　bear　that
lookit　seemed　to　know　so　little；　and　ask　so　much。　　She　said：　〃It
is　nothingonly　a　few　days。　　You　will　come　back；　or　we　will　come
to　you。〃

His　face　brightened　at　once。

〃Will　you　really　come　to　us　soon；　at　onceif　they　ask　you？　　Then　I
don't　mindII〃　　And　then　he　stopped；　choking。

She　said　again：

〃Ask　us。　　We　will　come。〃

He　seized　her　hand；　pressed　and　pressed　it　in　both　his　own；　then
stroked　it　gently；　and　said：

〃Oh！　　I'm　hurting　it！〃

She　laughed；　not　wishing　to　cry。

In　a　few　minutes　he　would　have　to　start　to　catch　the　only　train
that　would　get　him　home　in　time。

She　went　and　helped　him　to　pack。　　Her　heart　felt　like　lead；　but；
not　able　to　bear　that　look　on　his　face　again；　she　kept　cheerfully
talking　of　their　return；　asking　about　his　home；　how　to　get　to　it；
speaking　of　Oxford　and　next　term。　　When　his　things　were　ready　she
put　her　arms　round　his　neck；　and　for　a　moment　pressed　him　to　her。
Then　she　escaped。　　Looking　back　from　his　door；　she　saw　him　standing
exactly　as　when　she　had　withdrawn　her　arms。　　Her　cheeks　were　wet；
she　dried　them　as　she　went　downstairs。　　When　she　felt　herself　safe；
she　went　out　on　the　terrace。　　Her　husband　was　there；　and　she　said
to　him：

〃Will　you　come　with　me　into　the　town？　　I　want　to　buy　some　things。〃

He　raised　his　eyebrows；　smiled　dimly；　and　followed　her。　　They
walked　slowly　down　the　hill　into　the　long　street　of　the　little
town。　　All　the　time　she　talked　of　she　knew　not　what；　and　all　the
time　she　thought：　His　carriage　will　passhis　carriage　will　pass！

Several　carriages　went　jingling　by。　　At　last　he　came。　　Sitting
there；　and　staring　straight　before　him；　he　did　not　see　them。　　She
heard　her　husband　say：

〃Hullo！　　Where　is　our　young　friend　Lennan　off　to；　with　his　luggage
looking　like　a　lion　cub　in　trouble？〃

She　answered　in　a　voice　that　she　tried　to　make　clear　and　steady：

〃There　must　be　something　wrong；　or　else　it　is　his　sister's
wedding。〃

She　felt　that　her　husband　was　gazing　at　her；　and　wondered　what　her
face　was　like；　but　at　that　moment　the　word　〃Madre！〃　sounded　close
in　her　ear　and　they　were　surrounded　by　a　small　drove　of　'English
Grundys。'


XI


That　twenty　mile　drive　was　perhaps　the　worst　part　of　the　journey
for　the　boy。　　It　is　always　hard　to　sit　still　and　suffer。

When　Anna　left　him　the　night　before；　he　had　wandered　about　in　the
dark；　not　knowing　quite　where　he　went。　　Then　the　moon　came　up；　and
he　found　himself　sitting　under　the　eave　of　a　barn　close　to　a　chalet
where　all　was　dark　and　quiet；　and　down　below　him　the　moon…whitened
valley　villageits　roofs　and　spires　and　little　glamorous　unreal
lights。

In　his　evening　suit；　his　dark　ruffled　hair　uncovered；　he　would　have
made　a　quaint　spectacle　for　the　owners　of　that　chalet；　if　they　had
chanced　to　see　him　seated　on　the　hay…strewn　boards　against　their
barn；　staring　before　him　with　such　wistful　rapture。　　But　they　were
folk　to　whom　sleep　was　precious。　。　。　。

And　now　it　was　all　snatched　away　from　him；　relegated　to　some
immensely　far…off　future。　　Would　it　indeed　be　possible　to　get　his
guardian　to　ask　them　down　to　Hayle？　　And　would　they　really　come？
His　tutor　would　surely　never　care　to　visit　a　place　right　away　in
the　countryfar　from　books　and　everything！　　He　frowned；　thinking
of　his　tutor；　but　it　was　with　perplexityno　other　feeling。　　And
yet；　if　he　could　not　have　them　down　there；　how　could　he　wait　the
two　whole　months　till　next　term　began！　　So　went　his　thoughts；　round
and　round；　while　the　horses　jogged；　dragging　him　further　and
further　from　her。

It　was　better　in　the　train；　the　distraction　of　all　the　strange
crowd　of　foreigners；　the　interest　of　new　faces　and　new　country；　and
then　sleepa　long　night　of　it；　snoozed　up　in　his　corner；
thoroughly　fagged　out。　　And　next　day　more　new　country；　more　new
faces；　and　slowly；　his　mood　changing　from　ache　and　bewilderment　to
a　sense　of　something　promised；　delightful　to　look　forward　to。　　Then
Calais　at　last；　and　a　night…crossing　in　a　wet　little　steamer；　a
summer　gale　blowing　spray　in　his　face；　waves　leaping　white　in　a
black　sea；　and　the　wild　sound　of　the　wind。　　On　again　to　London；　the
early　drive　across　the　town；　still　sleepy　in　August　haze；　an
English　breakfastporridge；　chops；　marmalade。　　And；　at　last；　the
train　for　home。　　At　all　events　he　could　write　to　her；　and　tearing　a
page　out　of　his　little　sketch…book；　he　began：


I　am　writing　in　the　train；　so　please　forgive　this　joggly　writing〃


Then　he　did　not　know　how　to　go　on；　for　all　that　he　wanted　to　say
was　such　as　he　had　never　even　dreamed　of　writingthings　about　his
feelings　which　would　look　horrible　in　words；　besides；　he　must　not
put　anything　that　might　not　be　read；　by　anyone；　so　what　was　there
to　say？


〃It　has　been　such　a　long　journey；〃　he　wrote　at　last；　〃away　from　the
Tyrol；〃　（he　did　not　dare　even　to　put　〃from　you；〃）　〃I　thought　it
would　never　end。　　But　at　last　it　hasvery　nearly。　　I　have　thought
a　great　deal　about　the　Tyrol。