the patrician-第15章

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noble　flowers　of　light　that　inhabited　the　wind！

Leaning　in　the　deep　embrasure　of　his　window；　he　looked　at　anonymous
Night。　　He　could　hear　the　owls　hoot；　and　feel　a　heart　beating　out
there　somewhere　in　the　darkness；　but　there　came　no　answer　to　his
wondering。　　Would　shethis　great　tawny　lily　of　a　girlever　become
unconscious　of　her　environment；　not　in　manner　merely；　but　in　the　very
soul；　so　that　she　might　be　just　a　woman；　breathing；　suffering；
loving；　and　rejoicing　with　the　poet　soul　of　all　mankind？　　Would　she
ever　be　capable　of　riding　out　with　the　little　company　of　big　hearts；
naked　of　advantage？　　Courtier　had　not　been　inside　a　church　for　twenty
years；　having　long　felt　that　he　must　not　enter　the　mosques　of　his
country　without　putting　off　the　shoes　of　freedom；　but　he　read　the
Bible；　considering　it　a　very　great　poem。　　And　the　old　words　came
haunting　him：　'Verily　I　say　unto　you；　It　is　harder　for　a　camel　to
pass　through　the　eye　of　a　needle　than　for　a　rich　man　to　enter　the
kingdom　of　Heaven。'　And　now；　looking　into　the　Night；　whose　darkness
seemed　to　hold　the　answer　to　all　secrets；　he　tried　to　read　the　riddle
of　this　girl's　future；　with　which　there　seemed　so　interwoven　that
larger　enigma；　how　far　the　spirit　can　free　itself；　in　this　life；　from
the　matter　that　encompasseth。

The　Night　whispered　suddenly；　and　low　down；　as　if　rising　from　the
sea；　came　the　moon；　dropping　a　wan　robe　of　light　till　she　gleamed　out
nude　against　the　sky…curtain。　　Night　was　no　longer　anonymous。　　There
in　the　dusky　garden　the　statue　of　Diana　formed　slowly　before　his
eyes；　and　behind　heras　it　were；　her　templerose　the　tall　spire　of
the　cypress　tree。




CHAPTER　XIV

A　copy　of　the　Bucklandbury　News；　containing　an　account　of　his　evening
adventure；　did　not　reach　Miltoun　till　he　was　just　starting　on　his
return　journey。　　It　came　marked　with　blue　pencil　together　with　a
note。

〃MY　DEAR　EUSTACE；

〃The　enclosedhowever　unwarranted　and　impudentrequires　attention。
But　we　shall　do　nothing　till　you　come　back。

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃Yours　ever；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃WILLIAM　SHROPTON。〃

The　effect　on　Miltoun　might　perhaps　have　been　different　had　he　not
been　so　conscious　of　his　intention　to　ask　Audrey　Noel　to　be　his　wife；
but　in　any　circumstances　it　is　doubtful　whether　he　would　have　done
more　than　smile；　and　tear　the　paper　up。　　Truly　that　sort　of　thing　had
so　little　power　to　hurt　or　disturb　him　personally；　that　he　was
incapable　of　seeing　how　it　could　hurt　or　disturb　others。　　If　those
who　read　it　were　affected；　so　much　the　worse　for　them。　　He　had　a
real；　if　unobtrusive；　contempt　for　groundlings；　of　whatever　class；
and　it　never　entered　his　head　to　step　an　inch　out　of　his　course　in
deference　to　their　vagaries。　　Nor　did　it　come　home　to　him　that　Mrs。
Noel；　wrapped　in　the　glamour　which　he　cast　about　her；　could　possibly
suffer　from　the　meanness　of　vulgar　minds。　　Shropton's　note；　indeed；
caused　him　the　more　annoyance　of　those　two　documents。　　It　was　like
his　brother…in…law　to　make　much　of　little！

He　hardly　dozed　at　all　during　his　swift　journey　through　the　sleeping
country；　nor　when　he　reached　his　room　at　Monkland　did　he　go　to　bed。
He　had　the　wonderful；　upborne　feeling　of　man　on　the　verge　of
achievement。　　His　spirit　and　senses　were　both　on　firefor　that　was
the　quality　of　this　woman；　she　suffered　no　part　of　him　to　sleep；　and
he　was　glad　of　her　exactions。

He　drank　some　tea；　went　out；　and　took　a　path　up　to　the　moor。　　It　was
not　yet　eight　o'clock　when　he　reached　the　top　of　the　nearest　tor。
And　there；　below　him；　around；　and　above；　was　a　land　and　sky
transcending　even　his　exaltation。　　It　was　like　a　symphony　of　great
music；　or　the　nobility　of　a　stupendous　mind　laid　bare；　it　was　God　up
there；　in　His　many　moods。　　Serenity　was　spread　in　the　middle　heavens；
blue；　illimitable；　and　along　to　the　East；　three　huge　clouds；　like
thoughts　brooding　over　the　destinies　below；　moved　slowly　toward　the
sea；　so　that　great　shadows　filled　the　valleys。　　And　the　land　that　lay
under　all　the　other　sky　was　gleaming；　and　quivering　with　every
colour；　as　it　were；　clothed　with　the　divine　smile。　　The　wind；　from
the　North；　whereon　floated　the　white　birds　of　the　smaller　clouds；　had
no　voice；　for　it　was　above　barriers；　utterly　free。　　Before　Miltoun；
turning　to　this　wind；　lay　the　maze　of　the　lower　lands；　the　misty
greens；　rose　pinks；　and　browns　of　the　fields；　and　white　and　grey　dots
and　strokes　of　cottages　and　church　towers；　fading　into　the　blue　veil
of　distance；　confined　by　a　far　range　of　hills。　　Behind　him　there　was
nothing　but　the　restless　surface　of　the　moor；　coloured　purplish…
brown。　　On　that　untamed　sea　of　graven　wildness　could　be　seen　no　ship
of　man；　save　one；　on　the　far　horizonthe　grim　hulk；　Dartmoor　Prison。
There　was　no　sound；　no　scent；　and　it　seemed　to　Miltoun　as　if　his
spirit　had　left　his　body；　and　become　part　of　the　solemnity　of　God。
Yet；　as　he　stood　there；　with　his　head　bared；　that　strange　smile　which
haunted　him　in　moments　of　deep　feeling；　showed　that　he　had　not
surrendered　to　the　Universal；　that　his　own　spirit　was　but　being
fortified；　and　that　this　was　the　true　and　secret　source　of　his
delight。　　He　lay　down　in　a　scoop　of　the　stones。　　The　sun　entered
there；　but　no　wind；　so　that　a　dry　sweet　scent　exuded　from　the　young
shoots　of　heather。　　That　warmth　and　perfume　crept　through　the　shield
of　his　spirit；　and　stole　into　his　blood；　ardent　images　rose　before
him；　the　vision　of　an　unending　embrace。　　Out　of　an　embrace　sprang
Life；　out　of　that　the　World　was　made；　this　World；　with　its
innumerable　forms；　and　naturesno　two　alike！　　And　from　him　and　her
would　spring　forms　to　take　their　place　in　the　great　pattern。　　This
seemed　wonderful；　and　right…for　they　would　be　worthy　forms；　who　would
hand　on　those　traditions　which　seemed　to　him　so　necessary　and　great。
And　then　there　broke　on　him　one　of　those　delirious　waves　of　natural
desire；　against　which　he　had　so　often　fought；　so　often　with　great
pain　conquered。　　He　got　up；　and　ran　downhill；　leaping　over　the
stones；　and　the　thicker　clumps　of　heather。

Audrey　Noel；　too；　had　been　early　astir；　though　she　had　gone　late
enough　to　bed。　　She　dressed　languidly；　but　very　carefully；　being　one
of　those　women　who　put　on　armour　against　Fate；　because　they　are
proud；　and　dislike　the　thought　that　their　sufferings　should　make
others　suffer；　because；　too；　their　bodies　are　to　them　as　it　were
sacred；　having　been　given　them　in　trust；　to　cause　delight。　　When　she
had　finished；　she　looked　at　herself　in　the　glass　rather　more
distrustfully　than　usual。　　She　felt　that　her　sort　of　woman　was　at　a
discount　in　these　days；　and　being　sensitive；　she　was　never　content
either　with　her　appearance；　or　her　habits。　　But；　for　all　that；　she
went　on　behaving　in　unsatisfactory　ways；　because　she　incorrigibly
loved　to　look　as　charming　as　she　could；　and　even　if　no　one　were　going
to　see　her；　she　never　felt　that　she　looked　charming　enough。　　She　was
as　Lady　Casterley　had　shrewdly　guessedthe　kind　of　woman　who
spoils　men　by　being　too　nice　to　them；　of　no　use　to　those　who　wish
women　to　assert　themselves；　yet　having　a　certain　passive　stoicism；
very　disconcerting。　　With　little　or　no　power　of　initiative；　she　would
do　what　she　was　set　to　do　with　a　thoroughness　that　would　shame　an
initiator；　temperamentally　unable　to　beg　anything　of　anybody；　she
required　love　as　a　plant　requires　water；　she　could　give　herself
completely；　yet　remain　oddly　incorruptible；　in　a　word；　hopeless；　and
usually　beloved　of　those　who　thought　her　so。

With　all　this；　however；　she　was　not　quite　what　is　called　a　'sweet
womana　phrase　she　detestedfor　there　was　in　her　a　queer　vein　of
gentle　cynicism。　　She　'saw'　with　extraordinary　clearness；　as　if　she
had　been　born　in　Italy　and　still　carried　that　clear　dry　atmosphere
about　her　soul。　　She　loved　glow　and　warmth　and　colour；　such　mysticism
as　she　felt　was　pagan；　and　she　had　few　aspirationssufficient　to　her
were　things　as　they　showed　themselves　to　be。

This　morning；　when　she　had　made　herself　smell　of　geraniums；　and
fastened　all　the　small　contrivances　that　hold　even　the　best　of　women
together；　she　went　downstairs　to　her　little　dining…room；　set　the
spirit　lamp　going；　and　taking　up　her　newspaper；　stood　waiting　to　make
tea。

It　was　the　hour　of　the　day　most　dear　to　her。　　If　the　dew　had　been
brushed　off　her　life；　it　was　still　out　there　every　morning　on　the
face　of　Nature；　and　on　the　faces　of　her　flowers；　there　was　before　her
all　the　pleasure　of　seeing　how　each　of　those　little　creatures　in　the
garden　had　slept；　how　many　children　had　been　born　since　the　Dawn；　who
was　ailing；　and　needed　attention。　　There　was　also　the　feeling；　which
renews　itself　every　morning　in　people　who　live　lonely　lives；　that
they　are　not　lonely；　until；　the　day　wearing　on；　assures　them　of　the
fact。　　Not　that　she　was　idle；　for　she　had　obtained　through　Courtier
the　work　of　reviewing　music　in　a　woman's　paper；　for　which　she　was
intuitively　fitted。　　This；　her　flowers；　her　own　music；　and　the
affairs　of　certain　families　of　cottagers；　filled　nearly　all　her　time。
And　she　asked　no　better　fate　than　to　have　every　minute　occupied；
having　that　passion　for　work　requiring　no　initiation；　which　is
natural　to　the　owners　of　lazy　minds。

Suddenly　she　dropped　her　newspaper；　went　to　the　bowl　of　flowers　on
the　breakfast…table；　and　plucked　forth　two　stalks　of　lavender；
holding　them　away　from　her；　she　went　out　into　the　garden；　and　flung
them　over　the　wall。

This　strange　immolation　of　those　two　poor　sprigs；　born　so　early；
gathered　and　placed　before　her　with　such　kind　intention　by　her　maid；
seemed　of　all　acts　the　least　to　be　expected　of　one　who　hated　to　hurt
people's　feelings；　and　whose　eyes　always　shone　at　the　sight　of
flowers。　　But　in　truth　the　smell　of　lavenderthat　scent　carried　on
her　husband's　handkerchief　and　clothesstill　affected　her　so
strongly　that　she　could　not　bear　to　be　in　a　room　with　it。　　As　nothing
else　did；　it　brought　before　her　one；　to　live　with　whom　had　slowly
become　torture。　　And　freed　by　that　scent；　the　whole　flood　of　memory
broke　in　on　her。　　The　memory　of　three　years　when　her　teeth　had　been
set　doggedly；　on　her　discovery　that　she　was　chained　to　unhappiness
for　life；　the　memory　of　the　abrupt　end；　and　of　her　creeping　away　to
let　her　scorched　nerves　recover。　　Of　how　during　the　first　year　of
this　release　which　was　not　freedom；　she　had　twice　changed　her　abode；
to　get　away　from　her　own　storynot　because　she　was　ashamed　of　it；
but　because　it　reminded　her　of　wretchedness。　　Of　how　she　had　then
come　to　Monkland；　where　the　quiet　life　had　slowly　given　her
elasticity　again。　　And　then　of　her　meeting　with　Miltoun；　the
unexpected　delight　of　that　companionship；　the　frank　enjoyment　of　the
first　four　months。　　And　she　remembered　all　her　secret　rejoicing；　her
silent　identification　of　another　life　with　her　own；　before　she
acknowledged　or　even　suspected　love。　　And　just　three　weeks　ago　now；
helping　to　tie　up　her　roses；　he　had　touched　her；　and　she　had　known。
But　even　then；　until　the　night　of　Courtier's　accident；　she　had　not
dared　to　realize。　　More　concerned　now　for　him　than　for　herself；　she
asked　herself　a　thousand　times　if　she　had　been　to　blame。　　She　had　let
him　grow　fond　of　her；　a　woman　out　of　court；　a　dead　woman！　　An