the dark flower-第16章
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Oxford meant； his roaming fancy； like a bird hypnotized by a hawk；
fluttered； stayed suspended； and dived back to earth。 And that
feeling of wanting to make things suddenly left him。 It was as
though he had woken up； his real self； thenlost that self again。
Very quietly he made his way downstairs。 The garden door was not
shuttered； not even lockedit must have been forgotten overnight。
Last night！ He had never thought he would feel like this when she
cameso bewildered； and confused； drawn towards her； but by
something held back。 And he felt impatient； angry with himself；
almost with her。 Why could he not be just simply happy； as this
morning was happy？ He got his field…glasses and searched the
meadow that led down to the river。 Yes； there were several rabbits
out。 With the white marguerites and the dew cobwebs； it was all
moon…flowery and white； and the rabbits being there made it
perfect。 He wanted one badly to model from； and for a moment was
tempted to get his rook riflebut what was the good of a dead
rabbitbesides； they looked so happy！ He put the glasses down and
went towards his greenhouse to get a drawing block； thinking to sit
on the wall and make a sort of Midsummer Night's Dream sketch of
flowers and rabbits。 Someone was there； bending down and doing
something to his creatures。 Who had the cheek？ Why； it was
Sylviain her dressing…gown！ He grew hot； then cold； with anger。
He could not bear anyone in that holy place！ It was hateful to
have his things even looked at； and sheshe seemed to be fingering
them。 He pulled the door open with a jerk； and said： 〃What are you
doing？〃 He was indeed so stirred by righteous wrath that he hardly
noticed the gasp she gave； and the collapse of her figure against
the wall。 She ran past him； and vanished without a word。 He went
up to his creatures and saw that she had placed on the head of each
one of them a little sprig of jessamine flower。 Why！ It was
idiotic！ He could see nothing at first but the ludicrousness of
flowers on the heads of his beasts！ Then the desperation of this
attempt to imagine something graceful； something that would give
him pleasure touched him； for he saw now that this was a birthday
decoration。 From that it was only a second before he was horrified
with himself。 Poor little Sylvia！ What a brute he was！ She had
plucked all that jessamine； hung out of her window and risked
falling to get hold of it； and she had woken up early and come down
in her dressing…gown just to do something that she thought he would
like！ Horriblewhat he had done！ Now； when it was too late； he
saw； only too clearly； her startled white face and quivering lips；
and the way she had shrunk against the wall。 How pretty she had
looked in her dressing…gown with her hair all about her； frightened
like that！ He would do anything now to make up to her for having
been such a perfect beast！ The feeling； always a little with him；
that he must look after herdating； no doubt； from days when he
had protected her from the bulls that were not there； and the
feeling of her being so sweet and decent to him always； and some
other feeling tooall these suddenly reached poignant climax。 He
simply must make it up to her！ He ran back into the house and
stole upstairs。 Outside her room he listened with all his might；
but could hear nothing； then tapped softly with one nail； and；
putting his mouth to the keyhole； whispered： 〃Sylvia！〃 Again and
again he whispered her name。 He even tried the handle； meaning to
open the door an inch； but it was bolted。 Once he thought he heard
a noise like sobbing； and this made him still more wretched。 At
last he gave it up； she would not come； would not be consoled。 He
deserved it； he knew； but it was very hard。 And dreadfully
dispirited he went up to his room； took a bit of paper； and tried
to write：
〃DEAREST SYLVIA；
〃It was most awfully sweet of you to put your stars on my beasts。
It was just about the most sweet thing you could have done。 I am
an awful brute； but； of course； if I had only known what you were
doing； I should have loved it。 Do forgive me； I deserve it； I
knowonly it IS my birthday。
〃Your sorrowful
〃MARK。〃
He took this down； slipped it under her door； tapped so that she
might notice it； and stole away。 It relieved his mind a little；
and he went downstairs again。
Back in the greenhouse； sitting on a stool； he ruefully
contemplated those chapletted beasts。 They consisted of a crow； a
sheep； a turkey； two doves； a pony； and sundry fragments。 She had
fastened the jessamine sprigs to the tops of their heads by a tiny
daub of wet clay； and had evidently been surprised trying to put a
sprig into the mouth of one of the doves； for it hung by a little
thread of clay from the beak。 He detached it and put it in his
buttonhole。 Poor little Sylvia！ she took things awfully to heart。
He would be as nice as ever he could to her all day。 And；
balancing on his stool； he stared fixedly at the wall against which
she had fallen back； the line of her soft chin and throat seemed
now to be his only memory。 It was very queer how he could see
nothing but that； the way the throat moved； swallowedso white； so
soft。 And HE had made it go like that！ It seemed an unconscionable
time till breakfast。
As the hour approached he haunted the hall； hoping she might be
first down。 At last he heard footsteps； and waited； hidden behind
the door of the empty dining…room； lest at sight of him she should
turn back。 He had rehearsed what he was going to dobend down and
kiss her hand and say： 〃Dulcinea del Toboso is the most beautiful
lady in the world； and I the most unfortunate knight upon the
earth；〃 from his favourite passage out of his favourite book； 'Don
Quixote。' She would surely forgive him then； and his heart would
no longer hurt him。 Certainly she could never go on making him so
miserable if she knew his feelings！ She was too soft and gentle
for that。 Alas！ it was not Sylvia who came； but Anna； fresh from
sleep； with her ice…green eyes and bright hair； and in sudden
strange antipathy to her； that strong； vivid figure； he stood dumb。
And this first lonely moment； which he had so many times in fancy
spent locked in her arms； passed without even a kiss； for quickly
one by one the others came。 But of Sylvia only news through Mrs。
Doone that she had a headache； and was staying in bed。 Her present
was on the sideboard； a book called 'Sartor Resartus。' 〃Markfrom
Sylvia； August 1st； 1880；〃 together with Gordy's cheque； Mrs。
Doone's pearl pin； old Tingle's 'Stones of Venice；' and one other
little parcel wrapped in tissue…paperfour ties of varying shades
of green； red； and blue； hand…knitted in silka present of how
many hours made short by the thought that he would wear the produce
of that clicking。 He did not fail in outer gratitude； but did he
realize what had been knitted into those ties？ Not then。
Birthdays； like Christmas days； were made for disenchantment。
Always the false gaiety of gaiety arrangedalways that pistol to
the head： 'Confound you！ enjoy yourself！' How could he enjoy
himself with the thought of Sylvia in her room； made ill by his
brutality！ The vision of her throat working； swallowing her grief；
haunted him like a little white； soft spectre all through the long
drive out on to the moor； and the picnic in the heather； and the
long drive homehaunted him so that when Anna touched or looked at
him he had no spirit to answer； no spirit even to try and be with
her alone； but almost a dread of it instead。
And when at last they were at home again； and she whispered：
〃What is it？ What have I done？〃 he could only mutter：
〃Nothing！ Oh； nothing！ It's only that I've been a brute！〃
At that enigmatic answer she might well search his face。
〃Is it my husband？〃
He could answer that； at all events。
〃Oh； no！〃
〃What is it； then？ Tell me。〃
They were standing in the inner porch； pretending to examine the
ancestral chartdotted and starred with dolphins and little full…
rigged galleons sailing into harbourswhich always hung just
there。
〃Tell me； Mark； I don't like to suffer！〃
What could
