the dark flower-第29章
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Sylvia！ Nothing perhaps could have made so plain to him how in
this tornado of his passion the world was drowned。 Sylvia！ He had
almost forgotten her existence； and yet； only last year； after he
definitely settled down in London； he had once more seen a good
deal of her； and even had soft thoughts of her againwith her
pale…gold hair； her true look； her sweetness。 Then they had gone
for the winter to Algiers for her mother's health。
When they came back； he had already avoided seeing her； though that
was before Olive went to Monte Carlo； before he had even admitted
his own feeling。 And sincehe had not once thought of her。 Not
once！ The world had indeed vanished。 〃Do come and see us
Sylvia。〃 The very notion was an irritation。 No rest from aching
and impatience to be had that way。
And then the idea came to him： Why not kill these hours of waiting
for to…morrow's meeting by going on the river passing by her
cottage？ There was still one train that he could catch。
He reached the village after dark； and spent the night at the inn；
got up early next morning； took a boat； and pulled down…stream。
The bluffs of the opposite bank were wooded with high trees。 The
sun shone softly on their leaves； and the bright stream was ruffled
by a breeze that bent all the reeds and slowly swayed the water…
flowers。 One thin white line of wind streaked the blue sky。 He
shipped his sculls and drifted； listening to the wood…pigeons；
watching the swallows chasing。 If only she were here！ To spend
one long day thus； drifting with the stream！ To have but one such
rest from longing！ Her cottage； he knew； lay on the same side as
the village； and just beyond an island。 She had told him of a
hedge of yew…trees； and a white dovecote almost at the water's
edge。 He came to the island； and let his boat slide into the
backwater。 It was all overgrown with willow…trees and alders； dark
even in this early morning radiance； and marvellously still。 There
was no room to row； he took the boathook and tried to punt； but the
green water was too deep and entangled with great roots； so that he
had to make his way by clawing with the hook at branches。 Birds
seemed to shun this gloom； but a single magpie crossed the one
little clear patch of sky； and flew low behind the willows。 The
air here had a sweetish； earthy odour of too rank foliage； all
brightness seemed entombed。 He was glad to pass out again under a
huge poplar…tree into the fluttering gold and silver of the
morning。 And almost at once he saw the yew…hedge at the border of
some bright green turf； and a pigeon…house； high on its pole；
painted cream…white。 About it a number of ring…doves and snow…
white pigeons were perched or flying； and beyond the lawn he could
see the dark veranda of a low house； covered by wistaria just going
out of flower。 A drift of scent from late lilacs； and new…mown
grass； was borne out to him； together with the sound of a mowing…
machine； and the humming of many bees。 It was beautiful here； and
seemed； for all its restfulness； to have something of that flying
quality he so loved about her face； about the sweep of her hair；
the quick； soft turn of her eyesor was that but the darkness of
the yew…trees； the whiteness of the dovecote； and the doves
themselves； flying？
He lay there a long time quietly beneath the bank； careful not to
attract the attention of the old gardener； who was methodically
pushing his machine across and across the lawn。 How he wanted her
with him then！ Wonderful that there could be in life such beauty
and wild softness as made the heart ache with the delight of it；
and in that same life grey rules and rigid barrierscoffins of
happiness！ That doors should be closed on love and joy！ There was
not so much of it in the world！ She； who was the very spirit of
this flying； nymph…like summer； was untimely wintered…up in bleak
sorrow。 There was a hateful unwisdom in that thought； it seemed so
grim and violent； so corpse…like； gruesome； narrow and extravagant！
What possible end could it serve that she should be unhappy！ Even
if he had not loved her； he would have hated her fate just as much
all such stories of imprisoned lives had roused his anger even as
a boy。
Soft white cloudsthose bright angels of the river； never very
long awayhad begun now to spread their wings over the woods； and
the wind had dropped so that the slumbrous warmth and murmuring of
summer gathered full over the water。 The old gardener had finished
his job of mowing； and came with a little basket of grain to feed
the doves。 Lennan watched them going to him； the ring…doves； very
dainty； and capricious； keeping to themselves。 In place of that
old fellow； he was really seeing HER； feeding from her hands those
birds of Cypris。 What a group he could have made of her with them
perching and flying round her！ If she were his； what could he not
achieveto make her immortallike the old Greeks and Italians；
who； in their work； had rescued their mistresses from Time！ 。 。 。
He was back in his rooms in London two hours before he dared begin
expecting her。 Living alone there but for a caretaker who came
every morning for an hour or two； made dust； and departed； he had
no need for caution。 And when he had procured flowers； and the
fruits and cakes which they certainly would not eatwhen he had
arranged the tea…table； and made the grand tour at least twenty
times； he placed himself with a book at the little round window； to
watch for her approach。 There； very still； he sat； not reading a
word； continually moistening his dry lips and sighing； to relieve
the tension of his heart。 At last he saw her coming。 She was
walking close to the railings of the houses； looking neither to
right nor left。 She had on a lawn frock； and a hat of the palest
coffee…coloured straw； with a narrow black velvet ribbon。 She
crossed the side street； stopped for a second； gave a swift look
round； then came resolutely on。 What was it made him love her so？
What was the secret of her fascination？ Certainly； no conscious
enticements。 Never did anyone try less to fascinate。 He could not
recall one single little thing that she had done to draw him to
her。 Was it； perhaps； her very passivity； her native pride that
never offered or asked anything； a sort of soft stoicism in her
fibre； that and some mysterious charm； as close and intimate as
scent was to a flower？
He waited to open till he heard her footstep just outside。 She
came in without a word； not even looking at him。 And he； too； said
not a word till he had closed the door； and made sure of her。 Then
they turned to each other。 Her breast was heaving a little； under
her thin frock； but she was calmer than he； with that wonderful
composure of pretty women in all the passages of love； as who
should say： This is my native air！
They stood and looked at each other； as if they could never have
enough； till he said at last：
〃I thought I should die before this moment came。 There isn't a
minute that I don't long for you so terribly that I can hardly
live。〃
〃And do you think that I don't long for you？〃
〃Then come to me！〃
She looked at him mournfully and shook her head。
Well； he had known that she would not。 He had not earned her。
What right had he to ask her to fly against the world； to brave
everything； to have such faith in himas yet？ He had no heart to
press his words； beginning then to understand the paralyzing truth
that there was no longer any resolving this or that； with love like
his he had ceased to be a separate being with a separate will。 He
was entwined with her； could act only if her will and his were one。
He would never be able to say to her： 'You must！' He loved her too
much。 And she knew it。 So there was nothing for it but to forget
the ache； and make the hour happy。 But how about that other truth
that in love there is no pause； no resting？ 。 。 。 With any
watering； however scant； the flower will grow till its time comes
to be plucked。 。 。 。 This oasis in the desertthese few minutes
with her alone； were swept through and through with a feverish
wind。 To be closer！ How not try to be that？ How not
