the hand of ethelberta-第6章

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With　a　true　woman　the　second　reason　would　have　had　no　effect　had　she
once　got　over　the　first。　　I'm　a　woman；　and　that's　why　I　know。'

Christopher　said　nothing；　and　turned　over　the　poems。



He　lived　by　teaching　music；　and；　in　comparison　with　starving；
thrived；　though　the　wealthy　might　possibly　have　said　that　in
comparison　with　thriving　he　starved。　　During　this　night　he　hummed
airs　in　bed；　thought　he　would　do　for　the　ballad　of　the　fair　poetess
what　other　musicians　had　done　for　the　ballads　of　other　fair
poetesses；　and　dreamed　that　she　smiled　on　him　as　her　prototype
Sappho　smiled　on　Phaon。

The　next　morning　before　starting　on　his　rounds　a　new　circumstance
induced　him　to　direct　his　steps　to　the　bookseller's；　and　ask　a
question。　　He　had　found　on　examining　the　wrapper　of　the　volume　that
it　was　posted　in　his　own　town。

'No　copy　of　the　book　has　been　sold　by　me；'　the　bookseller's　voice
replied　from　far　up　the　Alpine　height　of　the　shop…ladder；　where　he
stood　dusting　stale　volumes；　as　was　his　habit　of　a　morning　before
customers　came。　　'I　have　never　heard　of　itprobably　never　shall；'
and　he　shook　out　the　duster；　so　as　to　hit　the　delicate　mean　between
stifling　Christopher　and　not　stifling　him。

'Surely　you　don't　live　by　your　shop？'　said　Christopher；　drawing
back。

The　bookseller's　eyes　rested　on　the　speaker's；　his　face　changed；　he
came　down　and　placed　his　hand　on　the　lapel　of　Christopher's　coat。
'Sir；'　he　said；　'country　bookselling　is　a　miserable；　impoverishing；
exasperating　thing　in　these　days。　　Can　you　understand　the　rest？'

'I　can；　I　forgive　a　starving　man　anything；'　said　Christopher。

'You　go　a　long　way　very　suddenly；'　said　the　book　seller。　　'Half　as
much　pity　would　have　seemed　better。　　However；　wait　a　moment。'　　He
looked　into　a　list　of　new　books；　and　added：　　'The　work　you　allude　to
was　only　published　last　week；　though；　mind　you；　if　it　had　been
published　last　century　I　might　not　have　sold　a　copy。'

Although　his　time　was　precious；　Christopher　had　now　become　so
interested　in　the　circumstance　that　the　unseen　sender　was　somebody
breathing　his　own　atmosphere；　possibly　the　very　writer　herselfthe
book　being　too　new　to　be　knownthat　he　again　passed　through　the
blue　shadow　of　the　spire　which　stretched　across　the　street　to…day；
and　went　towards　the　post…office；　animated　by　a　bright　intentionto
ask　the　postmaster　if　he　knew　the　handwriting　in　which　the　packet
was　addressed。

Now　the　postmaster　was　an　acquaintance　of　Christopher's；　but；　as
regarded　putting　that　question　to　him；　there　was　a　difficulty。
Everything　turned　upon　whether　the　postmaster　at　the　moment　of
asking　would　be　in　his　under…government　manner；　or　in　the　manner
with　which　mere　nature　had　endowed　him。　　In　the　latter　case　his
reply　would　be　all　that　could　be　wished；　in　the　former；　a　man　who
had　sunk　in　society　might　as　well　put　his　tongue　into　a　mousetrap　as
make　an　inquiry　so　obviously　outside　the　pale　of　legality　as　was
this。

So　he　postponed　his　business　for　the　present；　and　refrained　from
entering　till　he　passed　by　after　dinner；　when　pleasant　malt　liquor；
of　that　capacity　for　cheering　which　is　expressed　by　four　large
letter　X's　marching　in　a　row；　had　refilled　the　globular　trunk　of　the
postmaster　and　neutralized　some　of　the　effects　of　officiality。　　The
time　was　well　chosen；　but　the　inquiry　threatened　to　prove　fruitless：
the　postmaster　had　never；　to　his　knowledge；　seen　the　writing　before。
Christopher　was　turning　away　when　a　clerk　in　the　background　looked
up　and　stated　that　some　young　lady　had　brought　a　packet　with　such　an
address　upon　it　into　the　office　two　days　earlier　to　get　it　stamped。

'Do　you　know　her？'　said　Christopher。

'I　have　seen　her　about　the　neighbourhood。　　She　goes　by　every
morning；　I　think　she　comes　into　the　town　from　beyond　the　common；　and
returns　again　between　four　and　five　in　the　afternoon。'

'What　does　she　wear？'

'A　white　wool　jacket　with　zigzags　of　black　braid。'

Christopher　left　the　post…office　and　went　his　way。　　Among　his　other
pupils　there　were　two　who　lived　at　some　distance　from　Sandbourne
one　of　them　in　the　direction　indicated　as　that　habitually　taken　by
the　young　person；　and　in　the　afternoon；　as　he　returned　homeward；
Christopher　loitered　and　looked　around。　　At　first　he　could　see
nobody；　but　when　about　a　mile　from　the　outskirts　of　the　town　he
discerned　a　light　spot　ahead　of　him；　which　actually　turned　out　to　be
the　jacket　alluded　to。　　In　due　time　he　met　the　wearer　face　to　face；
she　was　not　Ethelberta　Petherwinquite　a　different　sort　of
individual。　　He　had　long　made　up　his　mind　that　this　would　be　the
case；　yet　he　was　in　some　indescribable　way　disappointed。

Of　the　two　classes　into　which　gentle　young　women　naturally　divide；
those　who　grow　red　at　their　weddings；　and　those　who　grow　pale；　the
present　one　belonged　to　the　former　class。　　She　was　an　April…natured；
pink…cheeked　girl；　with　eyes　that　would　have　made　any　jeweller　in
England　think　of　his　tradeone　who　evidently　took　her　day　in　the
daytime；　frequently　caught　the　early　worm；　and　had　little　to　do　with
yawns　or　candlelight。　　She　came　and　passed　him；　he　fancied　that　her
countenance　changed。　　But　one　may　fancy　anything；　and　the　pair
receded　each　from　each　without　turning　their　heads。　　He　could　not
speak　to　her；　plain　and　simple　as　she　seemed。

It　is　rarely　that　a　man　who　can　be　entered　and　made　to　throb　by　the
channel　of　his　ears　is　not　open　to　a　similar　attack　through　the
channel　of　his　eyesfor　many　doors　will　admit　to　one　mansion
allowance　being　made　for　the　readier　capacity　of　chosen　and
practised　organs。　　Hence　the　beauties；　concords；　and　eloquences　of
the　female　form　were　never　without　their　effect　upon　Christopher；　a
born　musician；　artist；　poet；　seer；　mouthpiecewhichever　a
translator　of　Nature's　oracles　into　simple　speech　may　be　called。
The　young　girl　who　had　gone　by　was　fresh　and　pleasant；　moreover；　she
was　a　sort　of　mysterious　link　between　himself　and　the　past；　which
these　things　were　vividly　reviving　in　him。

The　following　week　Christopher　met　her　again。　　She　had　not　much
dignity；　he　had　not　much　reserve；　and　the　sudden　resolution　to　have
a　holiday　which　sometimes　impels　a　plump　heart　to　rise　up　against　a
brain　that　overweights　it　was　not　to　be　resisted。　　He　just　lifted
his　hat；　and　put　the　only　question　he　could　think　of　as　a　beginning：
'Have　I　the　pleasure　of　addressing　the　author　of　a　book　of　very
melodious　poems　that　was　sent　me　the　other　day？'

The　girl's　forefinger　twirled　rapidly　the　loop　of　braid　that　it　had
previously　been　twirling　slowly；　and　drawing　in　her　breath；　she
said；　'No；　sir。'

'The　sender；　then？'

'Yes。'

She　somehow　presented　herself　as　so　insignificant　by　the　combined
effect　of　the　manner　and　the　words　that　Christopher　lowered　his
method　of　address　to　her　level　at　once。　　'Ah；'　he　said；　'such　an
atmosphere　as　the　writer　of　〃Metres　by　E。〃　seems　to　breathe　would
soon　spoil　cheeks　that　are　fresh　and　round　as　lady…appleseh；
little　girl？　　But　are　you　disposed　to　tell　me　that　writer's　name？'

By　applying　a　general　idea　to　a　particular　case　a　person　with　the
best　of　intentions　may　find　himself　immediately　landed　in　a
quandary。　　In　saying　to　the　country　girl　before　him　what　would　have
suited　the　mass　of　country　lasses　well　enough；　Christopher　had
offended　her　beyond　the　cure　of　compliment。

'I　am　not　disposed　to　tell　the　writer's　name；'　she　replied；　with　a
dudgeon　that　was　very　great　for　one　whose　whole　stock　of　it　was　a
trifle。　　And　she　passed　on　and　left　him　standing　alone。

Thus　further　conversation　was　checked；　but；　through　having
rearranged　the　hours　of　his　country　lessons；　Christopher　met　her　the
next　Wednesday；　and　the　next　Friday；　and　throughout　the　following
weekno　further　words　passing　between　them。　　For　a　while　she　went
by　very　demurely；　apparently　mindful　of　his　offence。　　But　effrontery
is　not　proved　to　be　part　of　a　man's　nature　till　he　has　been　guilty
of　a　second　act：　　the　best　of　men　may　commit　a　first　through
accident　or　ignorancemay　even　be　betrayed　into　it　by　over…zeal　for
experiment。　　Some　such　conclusion　may　or　may　not　have　been　arrived
at　by　the　girl　with　the　lady…apple　cheeks；　at　any　rate；　after　the
lapse　of　another　week　a