the patrician-第34章

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In　that　first　look　passing　between　them；　they　forgot　everything　but
happiness。　　Swallows；　on　the　first　day　of　summer；　in　their　discovery
of　the　bland　air；　can　neither　remember　that　cold　winds　blow；　nor
imagine　the　death　of　sunlight　on　their　feathers；　and；　flitting　hour
after　hour　over　the　golden　fields；　seem　no　longer　birds；　but　just　the
breathing　of　a　new　seasonswallows　were　no　more　forgetful　of
misfortune　than　were　those　two。　　His　gaze　was　as　still　as　her　very
self；　her　look　at　him　had　in　at　the　quietude　of　all　emotion。

When　they'　sat　down　to　talk　it　was　as　if　they　had　gone　back　to　those
days　at　Monkland；　when　he　had　come　to　her　so　often　to　discuss
everything　in　heaven　and　earth。　　And　yet；　over　that　tranquil　eager
drinkingin　of　each　other's　presence；　hovered　a　sort　of　awe。　　It　was
the　mood　of　morning　before　the　sun　has　soared。　　The　dew…grey　cobwebs
enwrapped　the　flowers　of　their　heartsyet　every　prisoned　flower
could　be　seen。　　And　he　and　she　seemed　looking　through　that　web　at　the
colour　and　the　deep…down　forms　enshrouded　so　jealously；　each　feared
too　much　to　unveil　the　other's　heart。　　They　were　like　lovers　who；
rambling　in　a　shy　wood；　never　dare　stay　their　babbling　talk　of　the
trees　and　birds　and　lost　bluebells；　lest　in　the　deep　waters　of　a　kiss
their　star　of　all　that　is　to　come　should　fall　and　be　drowned。　　To
each　hour　its　familiarand　the　spirit　of　that　hour　was　the　spirit　of
the　white　flowers　in　the　bowl　on　the　window…sill　above　her　head。

They　spoke　of　Monk…land；　and　Miltoun's　illness；　of　his　first　speech；
his　impressions　of　the　House　of　Commons；　of　music；　Barbara；　Courtier；
the　river。　　He　told　her　of　his　health；　and　described　his　days　down　by
the　sea。　　She；　as　ever；　spoke　little　of　herself；　persuaded　that　it
could　not　interest　even　him；　but　she　described　a　visit　to　the　opera；
and　how　she　had　found　a　picture　in　the　National　Gallery　which
reminded　her　of　him。　　To　all　these　trivial　things　and　countless
others；　the　tone　of　their　voicessoft；　almost　murmuring；　with　a　sort
of　delighted　gentlenessgave　a　high；　sweet　importance；　a　halo　that
neither　for　the　world　would　have　dislodged　from　where　it　hovered。

It　was　past　six　when　he　got　up　to　go；　and　there　had　not　been　a　moment
to　break　the　calm　of　that　sacred　feeling　in　both　their　hearts。　　They
parted　with　another　tranquil　look；　which　seemed　to　say：　'It　is　well
with　uswe　have　drunk　of　happiness。'

And　in　this　same　amazing　calm　Miltoun　remained　after　he　had　gone
away；　till　about　half…past　nine　in　the　evening；　he　started　forth；　to
walk　down　to　the　House。　　It　was　now　that　sort　of　warm；　clear　night；
which　in　the　country　has　firefly　magic；　and　even　over　the　Town
spreads　a　dark　glamour。　　And　for　Miltoun；　in　the　delight　of　his　new
health　and　well…being；　with　every　sense　alive　and　clean；　to　walk
through　the　warmth　and　beauty　of　this　night　was　sheer　pleasure。　　He
passed　by　way　of　St。　James's　Park；　treading　down　the　purple　shadows
of　plane…tree　leaves　into　the　pools　of　lamplight；　almost　with
remorseso　beautiful；　and　as　if　alive；　were　they。　　There　were　moths
abroad；　and　gnats；　born　on　the　water；　and　scent　of　new…mown　grass
drifted　up　from　the　lawns。　　His　heart　felt　light　as　a　swallow　he　had
seen　that　morning；　swooping　at　a　grey　feather；　carrying　it　along；
letting　it　flutter　away；　then　diving　to　seize　it　again。　　Such　was　his
elation；　this　beautiful　night！　　Nearing　the　House　of　Commons；　he
thought　he　would　walk　a　little　longer；　and　turned　westward　to　the
river：　On　that　warm　evening　the　water；　without　movement　at　turn　of
tide；　was　like　the　black；　snake…smooth　hair　of　Nature　streaming　out
on　her　couch　of　Earth；　waiting　for　the　caress　of　a　divine　hand。　　Far
away　on　the　further；　bank　throbbed　some　huge　machine；　not　stilled　as
yet。　　A　few　stars　were　out　in　the　dark　sky；　but　no　moon　to　invest
with　pallor　the　gleam　of　the　lamps。　　Scarcely　anyone　passed。　　Miltoun
strolled　along　the　river　wall；　then　crossed；　and　came　back　in　front
of　the　Mansions　where　she　lived。　　By　the　railing　he　stood　still。　　In
the　sitting…room　of　her　little　flat　there　was　no　light；　but　the
casement　window　was　wide　open；　and　the　crown　of　white　flowers　in　the
bowl　on　the　window…sill　still　gleamed　out　in　the　darkness　like　a
crescent　moon　lying　on　its　face。　　Suddenly；　he　saw　two　pale　hands
riseone　on　either　side　of　that　bowl；　lift　it；　and　draw　it　in。　　And
he　quivered；　as　though　they　had　touched　him。　　Again　those　two　hands
came　floating　up；　they　were　parted　now　by　darkness；　the　moon　of
flowers　was　gone；　in　its　place　had　been　set　handfuls　of　purple　or
crimson　blossoms。　　And　a　puff　of　warm　air　rising　quickly　out　of　the
night　drifted　their　scent　of　cloves　into　his　face；　so　that　he　held
his　breath　for　fear　of　calling　out　her　name。

Again　the　hands　had　vanishedthrough　the　open　window　there　was
nothing　to　be　seen　but　darkness；　and　such　a　rush　of　longing　seized　on
Miltoun　as　stole　from　him　all　power　of　movement。　　He　could　hear　her
playing；　now。　　The　murmurous　current　of　that　melody　was　like　the
night　itself；　sighing；　throbbing；　languorously　soft。　　It　seemed　that
in　this　music　she　was　calling　him；　telling　him　that　she；　too；　was
longing；　her　heart；　too；　empty。　　It　died　away；　and　at　the　window　her
white　figure　appeared。　　From　that　vision　he　could　not；　nor　did　he　try
to　shrink；　but　moved　out　into　the；　lamplight。　　And　he　saw　her
suddenly　stretch　out　her　hands　to　him；　and　withdraw　them　to　her
breast。　　Then　all　save　the　madness　of　his　longing　deserted　Miltoun。
He　ran　down　the　little　garden；　across　the　hall；　up　the　stairs。

The　door　was　open。　　He　passed　through。　　There；　in　the　sitting…room；
where　the　red　flowers　in　the　window　scented　all　the　air；　it　was　dark；
and　he　could　not　at　first　see　her；　till　against　the　piano　he　caught
the　glimmer　of　her　white　dress。　　She　was　sitting　with　hands　resting
on　the　pale　notes。　　And　falling　on　his　knees；　he　buried　his　face
against　her。　　Then；　without　looking　up；　he　raised　his　hands。　　Her
tears　fell　on　them　covering　her　heart；　that　throbbed　as　if　the
passionate　night　itself　were　breathing　in　there；　and　all　but　the
night　and　her　love　had　stolen　forth。





CHAPTER　XIV

On　a　spur　of　the　Sussex　Downs；　inland　from　Nettle…Cold；　there　stands
a　beech…grove。　　The　traveller　who　enters　it　out　of　the　heat　and
brightness；　takes　off　the　shoes　of　his　spirit　before　its；　sanctity；
and；　reaching　the　centre；　across　the　clean　beech…mat；　he　sits
refreshing　his　brow　with　air；　and　silence。　　For　the　flowers　of
sunlight　on　the　ground　under　those　branches　are　pale　and　rare；　no
insects　hum；　the　birds　are　almost　mute。　　And　close　to　the　border
trees　are　the　quiet；　milk…white　sheep；　in　congregation；　escaping　from
noon　heat。　　Here；　above　fields　and　dwellings；　above　the　ceaseless
network　of　men's　doings；　and　the　vapour　of　their　talk；　the　traveller
feels　solemnity。　　All　seems　conveying　divinitythe　great　white
clouds　moving　their　wings　above　him；　the　faint　longing　murmur　of　the
boughs；　and　in　far　distance；　the　sea。。。。　　And　for　a　space　his
restlessness　and　fear　know　the　peace　of　God。

So　it　was　with　Miltoun　when　he　reached　this　temple；　three　days　after
that　passionate　night；　having　walked　for　hours；　alone　and　full　of
conflict。　　During　those　three　days　he　had　been　borne　forward　on　the
flood　tide；　and　now；　tearing　himself　out　of　London；　where　to　think
was　impossible；　he　had　come　to　the　solitude　of　the　Downs　to　walk；　and
face　his　new　position。

For　that　position　he　saw　to　be　very　serious。　　In　the　flush　of　full
realization；　there　was　for　him　no　question　of　renunciation。　　She　was
his；　he　hers；　that　was　determined。　　But　what；　then；　was　he　to　do？
There　was　no　chance　of　her　getting　free。　　In　her　husband's　view；　it
seemed；　under　no　circumstances　was　marriage　dissoluble。　　Nor；　indeed；
to　Miltoun　would　divorce　have　made　things　easier；　believing　as　he　did
that　he　and　she　were　guilty；　and　that　for　the　guilty　there　could　be
no　marriage。　　She；　it　was　true；　asked　nothing　but　just　to　be　his　in
secret；　and　that　was　the　course　he　knew　most　men　would　take；　without
further　thought。　　There　was　no　material　reason　in　the　world　why　he
should　not　so　act；　and　maintain　unchanged　every　other　current　of　his
life。　　It　would　be　easy；　usual。　　And；　with　her　faculty　for　self…
effacement；　he　knew　she　would　not　be　unhappy。　　But　conscience；　in
Miltoun；　was　a　terrible　and　fierce　thing。　　In　the　delirium　of　his
illness　it　had　become　that　Great　Face　which　had　marched　over　him。
And；　though　during　the　weeks　of　his　recuperation；　struggle　of　all
kind　had　ceased；　now　that　he　had　yielded　to　his　passion；　conscience；
in　a　new　and　dismal　shape；　had　crept　up　again　to　sit　above　his　heart：
He　must　and　would　let　this　man；　her　husband；　know；　but　even　if　that
caused　no　open　scandal；　could　he　go　on　deceiving　those　who；　if　they
knew　of　an　illicit　love；　would　no　longer　allow　him　to　be　their
representative？　　If　it　were　known　that　she　was　his　mistress；　he　could
no　longer　maintain　his　position　in　public　lifewas　he　not　therefore
in　honour　bound；　of　his　own　accord；　to　resign　it？　　Night　and　day　he
was　haunted　by　the　thought：　How　can　I；　living　in　defiance　of
authority；　pretend　to　authority　over　my　fellows？　　How　can　I　remain　in
public　life？　　But　if　he　did　not　remain　in　public　life；　what　was　he　to
do？　　That　way　of　life　was　in　his　blood；　he　had　been　bred　and　born
into　it；　had　thought　of　nothing　else　since　he　was　a　boy。　　There　was
no　other　occupation　or　interest　that　could　hold　him　for　a　momenthe
saw　very　plainly　that　he　would　be　cast　away　on　the　waters　of
existence。

So　the　battle　raged　in　his　proud　and　twisted　spirit；　which　took
everything　so　hardhis　nature　imperatively　commanding　him　to　keep
his　work　and　his　power　for　usefulness；　his　conscience　telling　him　as
urgently　that　if　he　sought　to　wield　authority；　he　must　obey　it。

He　entered　the　beech…grove　at　the　height　of　this　misery；　flaming　with
rebellion　against　the　dilemma　which　Fate　had　placed　before　him；
visited　by　gusts　of　resentment　against　a　passion；　which　forced　him　to
pay　the　price；　either　of　his　career；　or　of　his　self…respect；　gusts；
followed　by　remorse　that　he　could　so　for　one　moment　regret　his　love
for　that　tender　creature。　　The　face　of　Lucifer　was　not　more　dark；
more　tortured；　than　Miltoun's　face　in　the　twilight　of　the　grove；
above　those　kingdoms　of　the　world；　for　which　his　ambition　and　his
conscience　fought。　　He　threw　himself　down　among　the　trees；　and
stretching　out　his　arms；　by　chance　touched　a　beetle　trying　to　crawl
over　the　grassless　soil。　　Some　bird　had　maimed　it。　　He　took　the
little　creature　up。　　The　beetle　truly　could　no　longer　work；　but　it
was　spared　the　fate　lying　before　himself。　　The　beetle　was　not；　as　he
would　be；　when　his　power　of　movement　was　destroyed；　conscious　of　his
own　wasted　life。　　The　world　would　not　roll　away　down　there。　　He　would
still　see　himself　cumbering　the　ground；　when　his　powers　were　taken；
from　him。　　This　thought　was　torture。　　Why　had　he　been　suffered　to
meet　her；　to　love　her；　and　to　be　loved　by　her？　　What　had　made　him　so
certain　from　the　first　moment；　if　she　were　not　meant　for　him？　　If　he
lived　to　be　a　hundred；　he　would　never　meet　another。　　Why；　because　of
his　love；　must　he　bury　the　will　and　force　of　a　man？　　If　there　were　no
more　coherence　in　God's　scheme　than　this；