The Rainbow-虹(英文版)- 第98部分

〃I　didn't；〃　he　said。　〃I　was　knocked　over　myself。But　I
careall　the　world。〃

His　voice　was　so　quiet　and　colourless；　it　made　her　heart　go
pale　with　fear。

〃My　love！〃　she　said；　drawing　near　to　him。　But　she　spoke　out
of　fear；　not　out　of　love。

〃I　care　all　the　worldI　care　for　nothing
elseneither　in　life　nor　in　death；〃　he　said；　in　the　same
steady；　colourless　voice　of　essential　truth。

〃Than　for　what？〃　she　murmured　duskily。

〃Than　for　youto　be　with　me。〃

And　again　she　was　afraid。　Was　she　to　be　conquered　by　this？
She　cowered　close　to　him；　very　close　to　him。　They　sat　perfectly
still；　listening　to　the　great；　heavy；　beating　sound　of　the　town；
the　murmur　of　lovers　going　by；　the　footsteps　of　soldiers。

She　shivered　against　him。

〃You　are　cold？〃　he　said。

〃A　little。〃

〃We　will　go　and　have　some　supper。〃

He　was　now　always　quiet　and　decided　and　remote；　very
beautiful。　He　seemed　to　have　some　strange；　cold　power　over
her。

They　went　to　a　restaurant；　and　drank　chianti。　But　his　pale；
wan　look　did　not　go　away。

〃Don't　leave　me　tonight；〃　he　said　at　length；　looking　at　her；
pleading。　He　was　so　strange　and　impersonal；　she　was　afraid。

〃But　the　people　of　my　place；〃　she　said；　quivering。

〃I　will　explain　to　themthey　know　we　are　engaged。〃

She　sat　pale　and　mute。　He　waited。

〃Shall　we　go？〃　he　said　at　length。

〃Where？〃

〃To　an　hotel。〃

Her　heart　was　hardened。　Without　answering；　she　rose　to
acquiesce。　But　she　was　now　cold　and　unreal。　Yet　she　could　not
refuse　him。　It　seemed　like　fate；　a　fate　she　did　not　want。

They　went　to　an　Italian　hotel　somewhere；　and　had　a　sombre
bedroom　with　a　very　large　bed；　clean；　but　sombre。　The　ceiling
was　painted　with　a　bunch　of　flowers　in　a　big　medallion　over　the
bed。　She　thought　it　was　pretty。

He　came　to　her；　and　cleaved　to　her　very　close；　like　steel
cleaving　and　clinching　on　to　her。　Her　passion　was　roused；　it　was
fierce　but　cold。　But　it　was　fierce；　and　extreme；　and　good；　their
passion　this　night。　He　slept　with　her　fast　in　his　arms。　All
night　long　he　held　her　fast　against　him。　She　was　passive；
acquiscent。　But　her　sleep　was　not　very　deep　nor　very　real。

She　woke　in　the　morning　to　a　sound　of　water　dashed　on　a
courtyard；　to　sunlight　streaming　through　a　lattice。　She　thought
she　was　in　a　foreign　country。　And　Skrebensky　was　there　an
incubus　upon　her。

She　lay　still；　thinking；　whilst　his　arm　was　round　her；　his
head　against　her　shoulders；　his　body　against　hers；　just　behind
her。　He　was　still　asleep。

She　watched　the　sunshine　ing　in　bars　through　the
persiennes；　and　her　immediate　surroundings　again　melted
away。

She　was　in　some　other　land；　some　other　world；　where　the　old
restraints　had　dissolved　and　vanished；　where　one　moved　freely；
not　afraid　of　one's　fellow　men；　nor　wary；　nor　on　the　defensive；
but　calm；　indifferent；　at　one's　ease。　Vaguely；　in　a　sort　of
silver　light；　she　wandered　at　large　and　at　ease。　The　bonds　of
the　world　were　broken。　This　world　of　England　had　vanished　away。
She　heard　a　voice　in　the　yard　below　calling：

〃O　Giovann'O'O'O'Giovann'！〃

And　she　knew　she　was　in　a　new　country；　in　a　new　life。　It　was
very　delicious　to　lie　thus　still；　with　one's　soul　wandering
freely　and　simply　in　the　silver　light　of　some　other；　simpler；
more　finely　natural　world。

But　always　there　was　a　foreboding　waiting　to　mand　her。　She
became　more　aware　of　Skrebensky。　She　knew　he　was　waking　up。　She
must　modify　her　soul；　depart　from　her　further　world；　for
him。

She　knew　he　was　awake。　He　lay　still；　with　a　concrete
stillness；　not　as　when　he　slept。　Then　his　arm　tightened　almost
convulsively　upon　her；　and　he　said；　half　timidly：

〃Did　you　sleep　well？〃

〃Very　well。〃

〃So　did　I。〃

There　was　a　pause。

〃And　do　you　love　me？〃　he　asked。

She　turned　and　looked　at　him　searchingly。　He　seemed　outside
her。

〃I　do；〃　she　said。

But　she　said　it　out　of　placency　and　a　desire　not　to　be
harried。　There　was　a　curious　breach　of　silence　between　them；
which　frightened　him。

They　lay　rather　late；　then　he　rang　for　breakfast。　She　wanted
to　be　able　to　go　straight　downstairs　and　away　from　the　place；
when　she　got　up。　She　was　happy　in　this　room；　but　the　thought　of
the　publicity　of　the　hall　downstairs　rather　troubled　her。

A　young　Italian；　a　Sicilian；　dark　and　slightly　pockmarked；
buttoned　up　in　a　sort　of　grey　tunic；　appeared　with　the　tray。　His
face　had　an　almost　African　imperturbability；　impassive；
inprehensible。

〃One　might　be　in　Italy；〃　Skrebensky　said　to　him；　genially。　A
vacant　look；　almost　like　fear；　came　on　the　fellow's　face。　He　did
not　understand。

〃This　is　like　Italy；〃　Skrebensky　explained。

The　face　of　the　Italian　flashed　with　a　nonprehending
smile；　he　finished　setting　out　the　tray；　and　was　gone。　He　did
not　understand：　he　would　understand　nothing：　he　disappeared　from
the　door　like　a　halfdomesticated　wild　animal。　It　made　Ursula
shudder　slightly；　the　quick；　sharpsighted；　intent　animality　of
the　man。

Skrebensky　was　beautiful　to　her　this　morning；　his　face
softened　and　transfused　with　suffering　and　with　love；　his
movements　very　still　and　gentle。　He　was　beautiful　to　her；　but
she　was　detached　from　him　by　a　chill　distance。　Always　she　seemed
to　be　bearing　up　against　the　distance　that　separated　them。　But
he　was　unaware。　This　morning　he　was　transfused　and　beautiful。
She　admired　his　movements；　the　way　he　spread　honey　on　his　roll；
or　poured　out　the　coffee。

When　breakfast　was　over；　she　lay　still　again　on　the　pillows；
whilst　he　went　through　his　toilet。　She　watched　him；　as　he
sponged　himself；　and　quickly　dried　himself　with　the　towel。　His
body　was　beautiful；　his　movements　intent　and　quick；　she　admired
him　and　she　appreciated　him　without　reserve。　He　seemed　pleted
now。　He　aroused　no　fruitful　fecundity　in　her。　He　seemed　added
up；　finished。　She　knew　him　all　round；　not　on　any　side　did　he
lead　into　the　unknown。　Poignant；　almost　passionate　appreciation
she　felt　for　him；　but　none　of　the　dreadful　wonder；　none　of　the
rich　fear；　the　connection　with　the　unknown；　or　the　reverence　of
love。　He　was；　however；　unaware　this　morning。　His　body　was　quiet
and　fulfilled；　his　veins　plete　with　satisfaction；　he　was
happy；　finished。

Again　she　went　home。　But　this　time　he　went　with　her。　He
wanted　to　stay　by　her。　He　wanted　her　to　marry　him。　It　was
already　July。　In　early　September　he　must　sail　for　India。　He
could　not　bear　to　think　of　going　alone。　She　must　e　with　him。
Nervously；　he　kept　beside　her。

Her　examination　was　finished；　her　college　career　was　over。
There　remained　for　her　now　to　marry　or　to　work　again。　She
applied　for　no　post。　It　was　concluded　she　would　marry。　India
tempted　herthe　strange；　strange　land。　But　with　the
thought　of　Calcutta；　or　Bombay；　or　of　Simla；　and　of　the　European
population；　India　was　no　more　attractive　to　her　than
Nottingham。

She　had　failed　in　her　examination：　she　had　gone　down：　she　had
not　taken　her　degree。　It　was　a　blow　to　her。　It　hardened　her
soul。

〃It　doesn't　matter；〃　he　said。　〃What　are　the　odds；　whether　you
are　a　Bachelor　of　Arts　or　not；　according　to　the　London
University？　All　you　know；　you　know；　and　if　you　are　Mrs。
Skrebensky；　the　B。A。　is　meaningless。〃

Instead　of　consoling　her；　this　made　her　harder；　more
ruthless。　She　was　now　up　against　her　own　fate。　It　was　for　her　to
choose　between　being　Mrs。　Skrebensky；　even　Baroness　Skrebensky；
wife　of　a　lieutenant　in　the　Royal　Engineers；　the　Sappers；　as　he
called　them；　living　with　the　European　population　in
Indiaor　being　Ursula　Brangwen；　spinster；　schoolmistress。
She　was　qualified　by　her　Intermediate　Arts　examination。　She
would　probably　even　now　get　a　post　quite　easily　as　assistant　in
one　of　the　higher　grade　schools；　or　even　in　Willey　Green　School。
Which　was　she　to　do？

She　hated　most　of　all　entering　the　bondage　of　teaching　once
more。　Very　heartily　she　detested　it。　Yet　at　the　thought　of
marriage　and　living　with　Skrebensky　amid　the　European　population
in　India；　her　soul　was　locked　and　would　not　budge。　She　had　very
little　feeling　about　it：　only　there　was　a　deadlock。

Skrebensky　waited；　she　waited；　everybody　waited　for　the
decision。　When　Anton　talked　to　her；　and　seemed　insidiously　to
suggest　himself　as　a　husband　to　her；　she　knew　how　utterly　locked
out　he　was。　On　the　other　hand；　when　she　saw　Dorothy；　and
discussed　the　matter；　she　felt　she　would　marry　him　promptly；　at
once；　as　a　sharp　disavowal　of　adherence　with　Dorothy's
views。

The　situation　was　almost　ridiculous。

〃But　do　you　love　him？〃　asked　Dorothy。

〃It　isn't　a　question　of　loving　him；〃　said　Ursula。　〃I　love　him
well　enoughcertainly　more　than　I　love　anybody　else　in　the
world。　And　I　shall　never　love　anybody　else　the　same　again。　We
have　had　the　flower　of　each　other。　But　I　don't　care　about　love。
I　don't　value　it。　I　don't　care　whether　I　love　or　whether　I
don't；　whether　I　have　love　or　whether　I　haven't。　What　is　it　to
me？〃

And　she　shrugged　her　shoulders　in　fierce；　angry　contempt。

Dorothy　pondered；　rather　angry　and　afraid。

〃Then　what　do　you　care　about？〃　she　asked；
exasperated。

〃I　don't　know；〃　said　Ursula。　〃But　something　impersonal。
Lovelovelovewhat　does　it　meanwhat
does　it　amount　to？　So　much　personal　gratification。　It　doesn't
lead　anywhere。〃

〃It　isn't　supposed　to　lead　anywhere；　is　it？〃　said　Dorothy；
satirically。　〃I　thought　it　was　the　one　thing　which　is　an　end　in
itself。〃

〃Then　what　does　it　matter　to　me？〃　cried　Ursula。　〃As　an　end　in
itself；　I　could　love　a　hundred　men；　one　after　the　other。　Why
should　I　end　with　a　Skrebensky？　Why　should　I　not　go　on；　and　love
all　the　types　I　fancy；　one　after　another；　if　love　is　an　end　in
itself？　There　are　plenty　of　men　who　aren't　Anton；　whom　I　could
lovewhom　I　would　like　to　love。〃

〃Then　you　don't　love　him；〃　said　Dorothy。

〃I　tell　you　I　do；quite　as　much；　and　perhaps　more　than
I　should　love　any　of　the　others。　Only　there　are　plenty　of　things
that　aren't　in　Anton　that　I　would　love　in　the　other　men。〃

〃What；　for　instance？〃

〃It　doesn't　matter。　But　a　sort　of　strong　understanding；　in
some　men；　and　then　a　dignity；　a　directness；　something
unquestioned　that　there　is　in　working　men；　and　then　a　jolly；
reckless　passionateness　that　you　seea　man　who　could
really　let　go〃

Dorothy　could　feel　that　Ursula　was　already　hankering　after
something　else；　someth