[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第56部分

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strange　thing　was　that　she　wished　to　go　by　herself。　But；　

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Night　and　Day　

naturally　enough；　she　was　well　provided　with　friends　who　
lived　in　the　neighborhood　of　Shakespeare’s　tomb；　and　
were　delighted　to　wele　her；　and　she　left　later　to　catch　
her　train　in　the　best　of　spirits。　There　was　a　man　selling　
violets　in　the　street。　It　was　a　fine　day。　She　would　remember　
to　send　Mr。　Hilbery　the　first　daffodil　she　saw。　And；　as　
she　ran　back　into　the　hall　to　tell　Katharine；　she　felt；　she　
had　always　felt；　that　Shakespeare’s　mand　to　leave　
his　bones　undisturbed　applied　only　to　odious　curiositymongers—
not　to　dear　Sir　John　and　herself。　Leaving　her　
daughter　to　cogitate　the　theory　of　Anne　Hathaway’s　sons；　
and　the　buried　manuscripts　here　referred　to；　with　
the　implied　menace　to　the　safety　of　the　heart　of　civilization　
itself；　she　briskly　shut　the　door　of　her　taxicab；　and　
was　whirled　off　upon　the　first　stage　of　her　pilgrimage。　

The　house　was　oddly　different　without　her。　Katharine　
found　the　maids　already　in　possession　of　her　room；　which　
they　meant　to　clean　thoroughly　during　her　absence。　To　
Katharine　it　seemed　as　if　they　had　brushed　away　sixty　
years　or　so　with　the　first　flick　of　their　damp　dusters。　It　
seemed　to　her　that　the　work　she　had　tried　to　do　in　that　

room　was　being　swept　into　a　very　insignificant　heap　of　
dust。　The　china　shepherdesses　were　already　shining　from　
a　bath　of　hot　water。　The　writingtable　might　have　belonged　
to　a　professional　man　of　methodical　habits。　

Gathering　together　a　few　papers　upon　which　she　was　at　
work；　Katharine　proceeded　to　her　own　room　with　the　intention　
of　looking　through　them；　perhaps；　in　the　course　
of　the　morning。　But　she　was　met　on　the　stairs　by　
Cassandra；　who　followed　her　up；　but　with　such　intervals　
between　each　step　that　Katharine　began　to　feel　her　purpose　
dwindling　before　they　had　reached　the　door。　
Cassandra　leant　over　the　banisters；　and　looked　down　upon　
the　Persian　rug　that　lay　on　the　floor　of　the　hall。　

“Doesn’t　everything　look　odd　this　morning？”　she　inquired。　
“Are　you　really　going　to　spend　the　morning　with　
those　dull　old　letters；　because　if　so—”　

The　dull　old　letters；　which　would　have　turned　the　heads　
of　the　most　sober　of　collectors；　were　laid　upon　a　table；　
and；　after　a　moment’s　pause；　Cassandra；　looking　grave　all　
of　a　sudden；　asked　Katharine　where　she　should　find　the　
“History　of　England”　by　Lord　Macaulay。　It　was　downstairs　

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in　Mr。　Hilbery’s　study。　The　cousins　descended　together　in　
search　of　it。　They　diverged　into　the　drawingroom　for　the　
good　reason　that　the　door　was　open。　The　portrait　of　Richard　
Alardyce　attracted　their　attention。　

“I　wonder　what　he　was　like？”　It　was　a　question　that　
Katharine　had　often　asked　herself　lately。　

“Oh；　a　fraud　like　the　rest　of　them—at　least　Henry　says　
so；”　Cassandra　replied。　“Though　I　don’t　believe　everything　
Henry　says；”　she　added　a　little　defensively。　

Down　they　went　into　Mr。　Hilbery’s　study；　where　they　
began　to　look　among　his　books。　So　desultory　was　this　
examination　that　some　fifteen　minutes　failed　to　discover　
the　work　they　were　in　search　of。　

“Must　you　read　Macaulay’s　History；　Cassandra？”　Katharine　
asked；　with　a　stretch　of　her　arms。　

“I　must；”　Cassandra　replied　briefly。　

“Well；　I’m　going　to　leave　you　to　look　for　it　by　yourself。”　

“Oh；　no；　Katharine。　Please　stay　and　help　me。　You　see—　
you　see—I　told　William　I’d　read　a　little　every　day。　And　I　
want　to　tell　him　that　I’ve　begun　when　he　es。”　

“When　does　William　e？”　Katharine　asked；　turning　

to　the　shelves　again。　

“To　tea；　if　that　suits　you？”　

“If　it　suits　me　to　be　out；　I　suppose　you　mean。”　

“Oh；　you’re　horrid…　。　Why　shouldn’t　you—？”　

“Yes　？”　

“Why　shouldn’t　you　be　happy　too？”　

“I　am　quite　happy；”　Katharine　replied。　

“I　mean　as　I　am。　Katharine；”　she　said　impulsively；　“do　
let’s　be　married　on　the　same　day。”　

“To　the　same　man？”　

“Oh；　no；　no。　But　why　shouldn’t　you　marry—some　one　
else？”　

“Here’s　your　Macaulay；”　said　Katharine；　turning　round　with　
the　book　in　her　hand。　“I　should　say　you’d　better　begin　to　
read　at　once　if　you　mean　to　be　educated　by　teatime。”　

“Damn　Lord　Macaulay！”　cried　Cassandra；　slapping　the　
book　upon　the　table。　“Would　you　rather　not　talk？”　

“We’ve　talked　enough　already；”　Katharine　replied　evasively。　


“I　know　I　shan’t　be　able　to　settle　to　Macaulay；”　said　
Cassandra；　looking　ruefully　at　the　dull　red　cover　of　the　

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Night　and　Day　

prescribed　volume；　which；　however；　possessed　a　talismanic　
property；　since　William　admired　it。　He　had　advised　a　little　
serious　reading　for　the　morning　hours。　

“Have　you　read　Macaulay？”　she　asked。　

“No。　William　never　tried　to　educate　me。”　As　she　spoke　
she　saw　the　light　fade　from　Cassandra’s　face；　as　if　she　
had　implied　some　other；　more　mysterious；　relationship。　
She　was　stung　with　punction。　She　marveled　at　her　
own　rashness　in　having　influenced　the　life　of　another；　as　
she　had　influenced　Cassandra’s　life。　

“We　weren’t　serious；”　she　said　quickly。　

“But　I’m　fearfully　serious；”　said　Cassandra；　with　a　little　
shudder；　and　her　look　showed　that　she　spoke　the　truth。　
She　turned　and　glanced　at　Katharine　as　she　had　never　
glanced　at　her　before。　There　was　fear　in　her　glance；　which　
darted　on　her　and　then　dropped　guiltily。　Oh；　Katharine　
had　everything—beauty；　mind；　character。　She　could　never　
pete　with　Katharine；　she　could　never　be　safe　so　long　
as　Katharine　brooded　over　her；　dominating　her；　disposing　
of　her。　She　called　her　cold；　unseeing；　unscrupulous；　but　
the　only　sign　she　gave　outwardly　was　a　curious　one—she　

reached　out　her　hand　and　grasped　the　volume　of　history。　
At　that　moment　the　bell　of　the　telephone　rang　and　
Katharine　went　to　answer　it。　Cassandra；　released　from　
observation；　dropped　her　book　and　clenched　her　hands。　
She　suffered　more　fiery　torture　in　those　few　minutes　than　
she　had　suffered　in　the　whole　of　her　life；　she　learnt　more　
of　her　capacities　for　feeling。　But　when　Katharine　reappeared　
she　was　calm；　and　had　gained　a　look　of　dignity　
that　was　new　to　her。　

“Was　that　him？”　she　asked。　

“It　was　Ralph　Denham；”　Katharine　replied。　

“I　meant　Ralph　Denham。”　

“Why　did　you　mean　Ralph　Denham？　What　has　William　
told　you　about　Ralph　Denham？”　The　accusation　that　
Katharine　was　calm；　callous；　and　indifferent　was　not　possible　
in　face　of　her　present　air　of　animation。　She　gave　
Cassandra　no　time　to　frame　an　answer。　“Now；　when　are　
you　and　William　going　to　be　married？”　she　asked。　

Cassandra　made　no　reply　for　some　moments。　It　was；　
indeed；　a　very　difficult　question　to　answer。　In　conversation　
the　night　before；　William　had　indicated　to　Cassandra　

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that；　in　his　belief；　Katharine　was　being　engaged　to　
Ralph　Denham　in　the　diningroom。　Cassandra；　in　the　rosy　
light　of　her　own　circumstances；　had　been　disposed　to　
think　that　the　matter　must　be　settled　already。　But　a　letter　
which　she　had　received　that　morning　from　William；　
while　ardent　in　its　expression　of　affection；　had　conveyed　
to　her　obliquely　that　he　would　prefer　the　announcement　
of　their　engagement　to　coincide　with　that　of　Katharine’s。　
This　document　Cassandra　now　produced；　and　read　aloud；　
with　considerable　excisions　and　much　hesitation。　

“…　a　thousand　pities—ahem—I　fear　we　shall　cause　a　
great　deal　of　natural　annoyance。　If；　on　the　other　hand；　
what　I　have　reason　to　think　will　happen；　should　happen—
within　reasonable　time；　and　the　present　position　is　
not　in　any　way　offensive　to　you；　delay　would；　in　my　opinion；　
serve　all　our　interests　better　than　a　premature　explanation；　
which　is　bound　to　cause　more　surprise　than　is　
desirable—”　

“Very　like　William；”　Katharine　exclaimed；　having　gathered　
the　drift　of　these　remarks　with　a　speed　that；　by　
itself；　disconcerted　Cassandra。　

“I　quite　understand　his　feelings；”　Cassandra　replied。　“I　
quite　agree　with　them。　I　think　it　would　be　much　better；　if　
you　intend　to　marry　Mr。　Denham；　that　we　should　wait　as　
William　says。”　

“But；　then；　if　I　don’t　marry　him　for　months—or；　perhaps；　
not　at　all？”　

Cassandra　was　silent。　The　prospect　appalled　her。　
Katharine　had　been　telephoning　to　Ralph　Denham；　she　
looked　queer；　too；　she　must　be；　or　about　to　bee；　engaged　
to　him。　But　if　Cassandra　could　have　overheard　the　
conversation　upon　the　telephone；　she　would　not　have　
felt　so　certain　that　it　tended　in　that　direction。　It　was　to　
this　effect：　

“I’m　Ralph　Denham　speaking。　I’m　in　my　right　senses　
now。”　

“How　long　did　you　wait　outside　the　house？”　

“I　went　home　and　wrote　you　a　letter。　I　tore　it　up。”　

“I　shall　tear　up　everything　too。”　

“I　shall　e。”　

“Yes。　e　today。”　

“I　must　explain　to　you—”　

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Night　and　Day　

“Yes。　We　must　explain—”　

A　long　pause　followed。　Ralph　began　a　sentence；　which　
he　canceled　with　the　word；　“Nothing。”　Suddenly；　together；　
at　the　same　moment；　they　said　goodbye。　And　yet；　if　the　
telephone　had　been　miraculously　connected　with　some　
higher　atmosphere　pungent　with　the　scent　of　thyme　and　
the　savor　of　salt；　Katharine　could　hardly　have　breathed　
in　a　keener　sense　of　exhilaration。　She　ran　downstairs　on　
the　crest　of　it。　She　was　amazed　to　find　herself　already　
mitted　by　William　and　Cassandra　to　marry　the　owner　
of　the　halting　voice　she　had　just　heard　on　the　telephone。　
The　tendency　of　her　spirit　seemed　to　be　in　an　altogether　
different　direction；　and　of　a　different　nature。　She　had　
only　to　look　at　Cassandra　to　see　what　the　love　that　results　
in　an　engagement　and　marriage　means。　She　considered　
for　a　moment；　and　then　said：　“If　you　don’t　want　to　
tell　people　yourselves；　I’ll　do　it　for　you。　I　know　William　
has　feelings　about　these　matters　that　make　it　very　difficult　
for　him　to　do　anything。”　

“Because　he’s　fearfully　sensitive　about　other　people’s　
feelings；”　said　Cassandra。　“The　idea　that　he　could　upset　

Aunt　Maggie　or　Uncle　Trevor　would　make　him　ill　for　weeks。”　

This　interpretation　of　what　she　was　used　to　call　William’s　
conventionality　was　new　to　Katharine。　And　yet　she　felt　it　
now　to　be　the　true　one。　

“Yes；　you’re　right；”　she　said。　

“And　then　he　worships　beauty。　He　wants　life　to　be　beautiful　
in　every　part　of　it。　Have　you　ever　noticed　how　exquisitely　
he　finishes　everything？　Look　at　the　address　on　
that　envelope。　Every　letter　is　perfect。”　

Whether　this　applied　also　to　the　sentiments　expressed　
in　the　letter；　Katharine　was　not　so　sure；　but　when　William’s　
solicitude　was　spent　upon　Cassandra　it　not　only　failed　to　
irritate　her；　as　it　had　done　when　she　was　the　object　of　it；　
but　appeared；　as　Cassandra　said；　the　fruit　of　his　love　of　
beauty。　

“Yes；”　she　said；　“he　loves　beauty。”　

“I　hope　we　shall　have　a　great　many　children；”　said　
Cassandra。　“He　loves　children。”　

This　remark　made　Katharine　realize　the　depths　of　their　
intimacy　better　than　any　other　words　could　have　done；　
she　was　jealous　for　one　moment；　but　the　next　she　was　

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Virginia　Woolf　

humiliated。　She　had　known　William　for　years；　and　she　
had　never　once　guessed　that　he　loved　children。　She　looked　
at　the　queer　glow　of　exaltation　in　Cassandra’s　eyes；　
through　which　she　was　beholding　the　true　spirit　of　a　
human　being；　and　wished　that　she　would　go　on　talking　
about　William　for　ever。　Cassandra　was　not　unwilling　to　
gratify　her。　She　talked　on。　The　morning　slipped　away。　
Katharine　scarcely　changed　her　position　on　the　edge　of　
her　father’s　writingtable；　and　Cassandra　never　opened　
the　“History　of　England。”　

And　yet　it　must　be　confessed　that　there　were　vast　lapses　
in　the　attention　which　Katharine　bestowed　upon　her　
cousin。　The　atmosphere　was　wonderfully　congenial　for　
thoughts　of　her　own。　She　lost　herself　sometimes　in　such　
deep　reverie　that　Cassandra；　pausing；　could　look　at　her　
for　moments　unperceived。　What　could　Katharine　be　thinking　
about；　unless　it　were　Ralph　Denham？　She　was　satisfied；　
by　certain　random　replies；　that　Katharine　had　wandered　
a　little　from　the　subject　of　William’s　perfections。　
But　Katharine　made　no　sign。　She　always　ended　these　
pauses　by　saying　something　so　natural　that　Cassandra　

was　deluded　into　giving　fresh　examples　of　her　absorbing　
theme。　Then　they　lunched；　and　the　only　sign　that　
Katharine　gave　of　abstraction　was　to　forget　to　help　the　
pudding。　She　looked　so　like　her　mother；　as　she　sat　there　
oblivious　of　the　tapioca；　that　Cassandra　was　startled　into　
exclaiming：　

“How　like　Aunt　Maggie　you　look！”　

“Nonsense；”　said　Katharine；　with　more　irritation　than　
the　remark　seemed　to　call　for。　

In　truth；　now　that　her　mother　was　away；　Katharine　did　
feel　less　sensible　than　usual；　but　as　she　argued　it　to　
herself；　there　was　much　less　need　for　sense。　Secretly；　she　
was　a　little　shaken　by　the　evidence　which　the　morning　
had　supplied　of　her　immense　capacity　for—what　could　
one　call　it？—rambling　over　an　infinite　variety　of　thoughts　
that　were　too　foolish　to　be　named。　She　was；　for　example；　
walking　down　a　road　in　Northumberland　in　the　August　
sunset；　at　the　inn　she　left　her　panion；　who　was　Ralph　
Denham；　and　was　transported；　not　so　much　by　her　own　
feet　as　by　some　invisible　means；　to　the　top　of　a　high　hill。　
Here　the　scents；　the　sounds　among　the　dry　heatherroots；　

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Night　and　Day　

the　grassblades　pressed　upon　the　palm　of　her　hand；　were　
all　so　perceptible　that　she　could　experience　each　one　
separately。　After　this　her　mind　made　excursions　into　the　
dark　of　the　air；　or　settled　upon　the　surface　of　the　sea；　
which　could　be　discovered　over　there；　or　with　equal　unreason　
it　returned　to　its　couch　of　bracken　beneath　the　
stars　of　midnight；　and　visited　the　snow　valleys　of　the　
moon。　These　fancies　would　have　been　in　no　way　strange；　
since　the　walls　of　every　mind　are　decorated　with　some　
such　tracery；　but　she　found　herself　suddenly　pursuing　such　
thoughts　with　an　extreme　ardor；　which　became　a　desire　
to　change　her　actual　condition　for　something　matching　
the　conditions　of　her　dream。　Then　she　started；　then　she　
awoke　to　the　fact　that　Cassandra　was　looking　at　her　in　
amazement。　

Cassandra　would　have　liked　to　feel　certain　that；　when　
Katharine　made　no　reply　at　all　or　one　wide　of　the　mark；　
she　was　making　up　her　mind　to　get　married　at　once；　but　
it　was　difficult；　if　this　were　so；　to　account　for　some　remarks　
that　Katharine　let　fall　about　the　future。　She　recurred　
several　times　to　the　summer；　as　if　she　meant　to　

spend　that　season　in　solitary　wandering。　She　seemed　to　
have　a　plan　in　her　mind　which　required　Bradshaws　and　
the　names　of　inns。　

Cassandra　was　driven　finally；　by　her　own　unrest；　to　put　
on　her　clothes　and　wander　out　along　the　streets　of　Chelsea；　
on　the　pretence　that　she　must　buy　something。　But；　in　
her　ignorance　of　the　way；　she　became　panicstricken　at　
the　thought　of　being　late；　and　no　sooner　had　she　found　
the　shop　she　wanted；　than　she　fled　back　again　in　order　
to　be　at　home　when　William　came。　He　came；　indeed；　five　
minutes　after　she　had　sat　down　by　the　teatable；　and　she　
had　the　happiness　of　receiving　him　alone。　His　greeting　
put　her　doubts　o