[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第42部分

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young　man　who　was　her　grandfather　looked　vaguely　over　
her　head。　The　sensual　lips　were　slightly　parted；　and　gave　
the　face　an　expression　of　beholding　something　lovely　or　
miraculous　vanishing　or　just　rising　upon　the　rim　of　the　
distance。　The　expression　repeated　itself　curiously　upon　
Katharine’s　face　as　she　gazed　up　into　his。　They　were　the　
same　age；　or　very　nearly　so。　She　wondered　what　he　was　
looking　for；　were　there　waves　beating　upon　a　shore　for　
him；　too；　she　wondered；　and　heroes　riding　through　the　
leafhung　forests？　For　perhaps　the　first　time　in　her　life　
she　thought　of　him　as　a　man；　young；　unhappy；　tempestuous；　
full　of　desires　and　faults；　for　the　first　time　she　realized　
him　for　herself；　and　not　from　her　mother’s　memory。　
He　might　have　been　her　brother；　she　thought。　It　seemed　
to　her　that　they　were　akin；　with　the　mysterious　kinship　
of　blood　which　makes　it　seem　possible　to　interpret　the　
sights　which　the　eyes　of　the　dead　behold　so　intently；　or　

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even　to　believe　that　they　look　with　us　upon　our　present　
joys　and　sorrows。　He　would　have　understood；　she　thought；　
suddenly；　and　instead　of　laying　her　withered　flowers　upon　
his　shrine；　she　brought　him　her　own　perplexities—perhaps　
a　gift　of　greater　value；　should　the　dead　be　conscious　
of　gifts；　than　flowers　and　incense　and　adoration。　
Doubts；　questionings；　and　despondencies　she　felt；　as　she　
looked　up；　would　be　more　wele　to　him　than　homage；　
and　he　would　hold　them　but　a　very　small　burden　if　she　
gave　him；　also；　some　share　in　what　she　suffered　and　
achieved。　The　depth　of　her　own　pride　and　love　were　not　
more　apparent　to　her　than　the　sense　that　the　dead　asked　
neither　flowers　nor　regrets；　but　a　share　in　the　life　which　
they　had　given　her；　the　life　which　they　had　lived。　

Rodney　found　her　a　moment　later　sitting　beneath　her　
grandfather’s　portrait。　She　laid　her　hand　on　the　seat　next　
her　in　a　friendly　way；　and　said：　

“e　and　sit　down；　William。　How　glad　I　was　you　were　
here！　I　felt　myself　getting　ruder　and　ruder。”　

“You　are　not　good　at　hiding　your　feelings；”　he　returned　
dryly。　

“Oh；　don’t　scold　me—I’ve　had　a　horrid　afternoon。”　She　
told　him　how　she　had　taken　the　flowers　to　Mrs。　McCormick；　
and　how　South　Kensington　impressed　her　as　the　preserve　
of　officers’　widows。　She　described　how　the　door　had　
opened；　and　what　gloomy　avenues　of　busts　and　palm
trees　and　umbrellas　had　been　revealed　to　her。　She　spoke　
lightly；　and　succeeded　in　putting　him　at　his　ease。　Indeed；　
he　rapidly　became　too　much　at　his　ease　to　persist　
in　a　condition　of　cheerful　neutrality。　He　felt　his　posure　
slipping　from　him。　Katharine　made　it　seem　so　natural　
to　ask　her　to　help　him；　or　advise　him；　to　say　straight　
out　what　he　had　in　his　mind。　The　letter　from　Cassandra　
was　heavy　in　his　pocket。　There　was　also　the　letter　to　
Cassandra　lying　on　the　table　in　the　next　room。　The　atmosphere　
seemed　charged　with　Cassandra。　But；　unless　
Katharine　began　the　subject　of　her　own　accord；　he　could　
not　even　hint—he　must　ignore　the　whole　affair；　it　was　
the　part　of　a　gentleman　to　preserve　a　bearing　that　was；　
as　far　as　he　could　make　it；　the　bearing　of　an　undoubting　
lover。　At　intervals　he　sighed　deeply。　He　talked　rather　more　
quickly　than　usual　about　the　possibility　that　some　of　the　

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operas　of　Mozart　would　be　played　in　the　summer。　He　had　
received　a　notice；　he　said；　and　at　once　produced　a　pocketbook　
stuffed　with　papers；　and　began　shuffling　them　in　
search。　He　held　a　thick　envelope　between　his　finger　and　
thumb；　as　if　the　notice　from　the　opera　pany　had　bee　
in　some　way　inseparably　attached　to　it。　

“A　letter　from　Cassandra？”　said　Katharine；　in　the　easiest　
voice　in　the　world；　looking　over　his　shoulder。　“I’ve　just　
written　to　ask　her　to　e　here；　only　I　forgot　to　post　it。”　

He　handed　her　the　envelope　in　silence。　She　took　it；　
extracted　the　sheets；　and　read　the　letter　through。　

The　reading　seemed　to　Rodney　to　take　an　intolerably　
long　time。　

“Yes；”　she　observed　at　length；　“a　very　charming　letter。”　

Rodney’s　face　was　half　turned　away；　as　if　in　bashfulness。　
Her　view　of　his　profile　almost　moved　her　to　laughter。　
She　glanced　through　the　pages　once　more。　

“I　see　no　harm；”　William　blurted　out；　“in　helping　her—　
with　Greek；　for　example—if　she　really　cares　for　that　sort　
of　thing。”　

“There’s　no　reason　why　she　shouldn’t　care；”　said　

Katharine；　consulting　the　pages　once　more。　“In　fact—　
ah；　here　it　is—’The　Greek　alphabet　is　absolutely　fascinating。’　
Obviously　she　does　care。”　

“Well；　Greek　may　be　rather　a　large　order。　I　was　thinking　
chiefly　of　English。　Her　criticisms　of　my　play；　though　they’re　
too　generous；　evidently　immature—she　can’t　be　more　than　
twentytwo；　I　suppose？—they　certainly　show　the　sort　of　
thing　one　wants：　real　feeling　for　poetry；　understanding；　
not　formed；　of　course；　but　it’s　at　the　root　of　everything　
after　all。　There’d　be　no　harm　in　lending　her　books？”　

“No。　Certainly　not。”　

“But　if　it—hum—led　to　a　correspondence？　I　mean；　
Katharine；　I　take　it；　without　going　into　matters　which　
seem　to　me　a　little　morbid；　I　mean；”　he　floundered；　“you；　
from　your　point　of　view；　feel　that　there’s　nothing　disagreeable　
to　you　in　the　notion？　If　so；　you’ve　only　to　
speak；　and　I　never　think　of　it　again。”　

She　was　surprised　by　the　violence　of　her　desire　that　he　
never　should　think　of　it　again。　For　an　instant　it　seemed　
to　her　impossible　to　surrender　an　intimacy；　which　might　
not　be　the　intimacy　of　love；　but　was　certainly　the　inti


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macy　of　true　friendship；　to　any　woman　in　the　world。　
Cassandra　would　never　understand　him—she　was　not　good　
enough　for　him。　The　letter　seemed　to　her　a　letter　of　flattery—
a　letter　addressed　to　his　weakness；　which　it　made　
her　angry　to　think　was　known　to　another。　For　he　was　not　
weak；　he　had　the　rare　strength　of　doing　what　he　prom
ised—she　had　only　to　speak；　and　he　would　never　think　
of　Cassandra　again。　

She　paused。　Rodney　guessed　the　reason。　He　was　amazed。　

“She　loves　me；”　he　thought。　The　woman　he　admired　
more　than　any　one　in　the　world；　loved　him；　as　he　had　
given　up　hope　that　she　would　ever　love　him。　And　now　
that　for　the　first　time　he　was　sure　of　her　love；　he　resented　
it。　He　felt　it　as　a　fetter；　an　encumbrance；　something　
which　made　them　both；　but　him　in　particular；　ridiculous。　
He　was　in　her　power　pletely；　but　his　eyes　
were　open　and　he　was　no　longer　her　slave　or　her　dupe。　He　
would　be　her　master　in　future。　The　instant　prolonged　itself　
as　Katharine　realized　the　strength　of　her　desire　to　
speak　the　words　that　should　keep　William　for　ever；　and　
the　baseness　of　the　temptation　which　assailed　her　to　

make　the　movement；　or　speak　the　word；　which　he　had　
often　begged　her　for；　which　she　was　now　near　enough　to　
feeling。　She　held　the　letter　in　her　hand。　She　sat　silent。　

At　this　moment　there　was　a　stir　in　the　other　room；　the　
voice　of　Mrs。　Hilbery　was　heard　talking　of　proofsheets　
rescued　by　miraculous　providence　from　butcher’s　ledgers　
in　Australia；　the　curtain　separating　one　room　from　the　
other　was　drawn　apart；　and　Mrs。　Hilbery　and　Augustus　
Pelham　stood　in　the　doorway。　Mrs。　Hilbery　stopped　short。　
She　looked　at　her　daughter；　and　at　the　man　her　daughter　
was　to　marry；　with　her　peculiar　smile　that　always　seemed　
to　tremble　on　the　brink　of　satire。　

“The　best　of　all　my　treasures；　Mr。　Pelham！”　she　exclaimed。　
“Don’t　move；　Katharine。　Sit　still；　William。　Mr。　Pelham　will　
e　another　day。”　

Mr。　Pelham　looked；　smiled；　bowed；　and；　as　his　hostess　
had　moved　on；　followed　her　without　a　word。　The　curtain　
was　drawn　again　either　by　him　or　by　Mrs。　Hilbery。　

But　her　mother　had　settled　the　question　somehow。　
Katharine　doubted　no　longer。　

“As　I　told　you　last　night；”　she　said；　“I　think　it’s　your　

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duty；　if　there’s　a　chance　that　you　care　for　Cassandra；　to　
discover　what　your　feeling　is　for　her　now。　It’s　your　duty　
to　her；　as　well　as　to　me。　But　we　must　tell　my　mother。　We　
can’t　go　on　pretending。”　

“That　is　entirely　in　your　hands；　of　course；”　said　Rodney；　
with　an　immediate　return　to　the　manner　of　a　formal　man　
of　honor。　

“Very　well；”　said　Katharine。　

Directly　he　left　her　she　would　go　to　her　mother；　and　
explain　that　the　engagement　was　at　an　end—or　it　might　
be　better　that　they　should　go　together？　

“But；　Katharine；”　Rodney　began；　nervously　attempting　
to　stuff　Cassandra’s　sheets　back　into　their　envelope；　“if　
Cassandra—should　Cassandra—you’ve　asked　Cassandra　to　
stay　with　you。”　

“Yes；　but　I’ve　not　posted　the　letter。”　

He　crossed　his　knees　in　a　disfited　silence。　By　all　his　
codes　it　was　impossible　to　ask　a　woman　with　whom　he　
had　just　broken　off　his　engagement　to　help　him　to　bee　
acquainted　with　another　woman　with　a　view　to　his　
falling　in　love　with　her。　If　it　was　announced　that　their　

engagement　was　over；　a　long　and　plete　separation　
would　inevitably　follow；　in　those　circumstances；　letters　
and　gifts　were　returned；　after　years　of　distance　the　severed　
couple　met；　perhaps　at　an　evening　party；　and　touched　
hands　unfortably　with　an　indifferent　word　or　two。　He　
would　be　cast　off　pletely；　he　would　have　to　trust　to　
his　own　resources。　He　could　never　mention　Cassandra　to　
Katharine　again；　for　months；　and　doubtless　years；　he　would　
never　see　Katharine　again；　anything　might　happen　to　her　
in　his　absence。　

Katharine　was　almost　as　well　aware　of　his　perplexities　
as　he　was。　She　knew　in　what　direction　plete　generosity　
pointed　the　way；　but　pride　—for　to　remain　engaged　
to　Rodney　and　to　cover　his　experiments　hurt　what　was　
nobler　in　her　than　mere　vanity—fought　for　its　life。　

“I’m　to　give　up　my　freedom　for　an　indefinite　time；”　she　
thought；　“in　order　that　William　may　see　Cassandra　here　
at　his　ease。　He’s　not　the　courage　to　manage　it　without　
my　help—he’s　too　much　of　a　coward　to　tell　me　openly　
what　he　wants。　He　hates　the　notion　of　a　public　breach。　
He　wants　to　keep　us　both。”　

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When　she　reached　this　point；　Rodney　pocketed　the　letter　
and　elaborately　looked　at　his　watch。　Although　the　
action　meant　that　he　resigned　Cassandra；　for　he　knew　his　
own　inpetence　and　distrusted　himself　entirely；　and　
lost　Katharine；　for　whom　his　feeling　was　profound　though　
unsatisfactory；　still　it　appeared　to　him　that　there　was　
nothing　else　left　for　him　to　do。　He　was　forced　to　go；　
leaving　Katharine　free；　as　he　had　said；　to　tell　her　mother　
that　the　engagement　was　at　an　end。　But　to　do　what　plain　
duty　required　of　an　honorable　man；　cost　an　effort　which　
only　a　day　or　two　ago　would　have　been　inconceivable　to　
him。　That　a　relationship　such　as　he　had　glanced　at　with　
desire　could　be　possible　between　him　and　Katharine；　he　
would　have　been　the　first；　two　days　ago；　to　deny　with　
indignation。　But　now　his　life　had　changed；　his　attitude　
had　changed；　his　feelings　were　different；　new　aims　and　
possibilities　had　been　shown　him；　and　they　had　an　almost　
irresistible　fascination　and　force。　The　training　of　a　
life　of　thirtyfive　years　had　not　left　him　defenceless；　he　
was　still　master　of　his　dignity；　he　rose；　with　a　mind　made　
up　to　an　irrevocable　farewell。　

“I　leave　you；　then；”　he　said；　standing　up　and　holding　
out　his　hand　with　an　effort　that　left　him　pale；　but　lent　
him　dignity；　“to　tell　your　mother　that　our　engagement　is　
ended　by　your　desire。”　

She　took　his　hand　and　held　it。　

“You　don’t　trust　me？”　she　said。　

“I　do；　absolutely；”　he　replied。　

“No。　You　don’t　trust　me　to　help　you…　。　I　could　help　
you？”　

“I’m　hopeless　without　your　help！”　he　exclaimed　passionately；　
but　withdrew　his　hand　and　turned　his　back。　
When　he　faced　her；　she　thought　that　she　saw　him　for　the　
first　time　without　disguise。　

“It’s　useless　to　pretend　that　I　don’t　understand　what　
you’re　offering；　Katharine。　I　admit　what　you　say。　Speaking　
to　you　perfectly　frankly；　I　believe　at　this　moment　
that　I　do　love　your　cousin；　there　is　a　chance　that；　with　
your　help；　I　might—but　no；”　he　broke　off；　“it’s　impossible；　
it’s　wrong—I’m　infinitely　to　blame　for　having　allowed　
this　situation　to　arise。”　

“Sit　beside　me。　Let’s　consider　sensibly—”　

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“Your　sense　has　been　our　undoing—”　he　groaned。　

“I　accept　the　responsibility。”　

“Ah；　but　can　I　allow　that？”　he　exclaimed。　“It　would　
mean—for　we　must　face　it；　Katharine—that　we　let　our　
engagement　stand　for　the　time　nominally；　in　fact；　of　
course；　your　freedom　would　be　absolute。”　

“And　yours　too。”　

“Yes；　we　should　both　be　free。　Let　us　say　that　I　saw　
Cassandra　once；　twice；　perhaps；　under　these　conditions；　
and　then　if；　as　I　think　certain；　the　whole　thing　proves　a　
dream；　we　tell　your　mother　instantly。　Why　not　tell　her　
now；　indeed；　under　pledge　of　secrecy？”　

“Why　not？　It　would　be　over　London　in　ten　minutes；　
besides；　she　would　never　even　remotely　understand。”　

“Your　father；　then？　This　secrecy　is　detestable—it’s　dishonorable。”　


“My　father　would　understand　even　less　than　my　mother。”　

“Ah；　who　could　be　expected　to　understand？”　Rodney　
groaned；　“but　it’s　from　your　point　of　view　that　we　must　
look　at　it。　It’s　not　only　asking　too　much；　it’s　putting　you　
into　a　position—a　position　in　which　I　could　not　endure　

to　see　my　own　sister。”　

“We’re　not　brothers　and　sisters；”　she　said　impatiently；　
“and　if　we　can’t　decide；　who　can？　I’m　not　talking　nonsense；”　
she　proceeded。　“I’ve　done　my　best　to　think　this　
out　from　every　point　of　view；　and　I’ve　e　to　the　conclusion　
that　there　are　risks　which　have　to　be　taken；—　
though　I　don’t　deny　that　they　hurt　horribly。”　

“Katharine；　you　mind？　You’ll　mind　too　much。”　

“No　I　shan’t；”　she　said　stoutly。　“I　shall　mind　a　good　deal；　
but　I’m　prepared　for　that；　I　shall　get　through　it；　because　
you　will　help　me。　You’ll　both　help　me。　In　fact；　we’ll　help　
each　other。　That’s　a　Christian　doctrine；　isn’t　it？”　

“It　sounds　more　like　Paganism　to　me；”　Rodney　groaned；　
as　he　reviewed　the　situation　into　which　her　Christian　
doctrine　was　plunging　them。　

And　yet　he　could　not　deny　that　a　divine　relief　possessed　
him；　and　that　the　future；　instead　of　wearing　a　
leadcolored　mask；　now　blossomed　with　a　thousand　varied　
gaieties　and　excitements。　He　was　actually　to　see　
Cassandra　within　a　week　or　perhaps　less；　and　he　was　more　
anxious　to　know　the　date　of　her　arrival　than　he　could　

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own　even　to　himself。　It　seemed　base　to　be　so　anxious　to　
pluck　this　fruit　of　Katharine’s　unexampled　generosity　and　
of　his　own　contemptible　baseness。　And　yet；　though　he　
used　these　words　automatically；　they　had　now　no　meaning。　
He　was　not　debased　in　his　own　eyes　by　what　he　had　
done；　and　as　for　praising　Katharine；　were　they　not　partners；　
conspirators；　people　bent　upon　the　same　quest　together；　
so　that　to　praise　the　pursuit　of　a　mon　end　as　
an　act　of　generosity　was　meaningless。　He　took　her　hand　
and　pressed　it；　not　in　thanks　so　much　as　in　an　ecstasy　of　
radeship。　

“We　will　help　each　other；”　he　said；　repeating　her　words；　
seeking　her　eyes　in　an　enthusiasm　of　friendship。　

Her　eye