But although she loved this twilight5 beauty and peace of England, of which she had had but a taste now and again, being usually at table during the most poetical6 hour of the English day, she felt a sudden antagonism7 to it to-night, as too perfect, too finished a thing for the world to possess while so many of its dark problems were unsolved. Although she had persistently8 refused to study the underworld under the escort of Bridgit, turning instinctively9 from all that would shatter the illusions among which she chose to live, she had not been able to shut out bare knowledge, and Nigel’s second and fourth books had been even more enlightening than his first. She smiled as she thought of Nigel, whom she had not seen since the end of her first matrimonial vacation. He had left England soon after and not returned. His father, incensed10 at his avowed11 Socialism, and mortified12 at the conspicuous13 failure of his third book, an exquisite14 bit of pure art, had definitely renounced15 him, and he was living quietly and happily in picturesque16 corners of Europe. Julia, knowing his passionate17 love of beauty, envied him the power to gratify it, his complete surrender to the artistic18 life. She wondered why he kept on writing of the grimy horrors of England, when he might give the world his dreams of the wonderland beyond the Channel. To be sure, that unique combination of the propagandist and the artist made for greatness, but his last book, which she had finished only an hour since, had darkened her mind, and unfitted her for surrender to the beauty and peace of the English twilight.
Why was the enlightened class so stupid? Why did it not eliminate poverty and the terrible pictures that must haunt every sensitive mind, instead of waiting for mob rule, and its inevitable19 sequence of a dictator and return to first principles? Socialism must come from above. When the laboring20 classes used the word they meant democracy, in which every man would have a chance to acquire riches; mere21 comfort and security, with no opportunity to loot the universal till, had no charms for them. Man is adventurous22 and greedy, and the lower his place in the scale, the more insensate his dreams.
Nigel’s books, in their cold impersonal23 realism, did not inspire her with any great respect or liking24 for the poor. She knew that he was employing his art and his seductive story-telling faculty25 not only in the cause of humanity, but to help avert26 a convulsion in which his own class would go down. She knew that if it came to open war, a blood-revolution, the theories and principles of which his reason approved would fly off on the red winds and he would get behind the guns on his own side. The intellectual aristocrat27 may serve the cause of general humanity in entire honesty and conviction, but the moment class is arrayed against class he will fight, not with the passions of his brain, but of his instincts, and with that almost fanatical contempt and hatred28 of the common people when daring to assert themselves he has inherited with his brain cells. Nigel had admitted this freely to Julia, confessed that while he was keen to devote every year of his life and every phase of his talent to eliminating poverty, he never heard of a laborer’s strike which inconvenienced the public that he did not burn at their impudence29 and long for their annihilation.
“But it is this duality that makes the game interesting,” he had concluded. “I only hope I shall never be put to the test. There are many other things I should enjoy writing about far more, but I always feel that I don’t matter in the least. If I was given a brain on top of my instincts, it was to advance the cause of humanity and civilization. At all events that is the way I see things, by such light as I possess.”
He had gone on to say that he had become an advocate of Socialism because, so far, it was the best solution the human mind had evolved, but that all the artist in him lamented30 its lack of appeal to any part of man but his brain. Unpicturesque, dry, hard, but growing more practical and expedient31 year by year, if it failed eventually, it would only be through lack of a soul.
Would Nigel be the man to find this soul? He had a measure of genius; why not? She felt proud of him that he could induce the thought, then, in a moment of hardly realized sex jealousy32, wished that it might be discovered by some woman. Herself? Why not? But at this point she laughed aloud, and turned her face toward home. Banish33 the ugly facts of life. Enjoy this divine peace while it lasted.
She left the field and sauntered down the crooked34 lane full of sweet scents35 and haunted by the white night moths. Skirting the wall that surrounded White Lodge36, she entered by the front gates, but, loath37 to leave the twilight, mounted a stump38 and leaned her arms on the coping. The heath, a wild rolling bit of nature, mysterious in the dusk, was deserted39 but for a gypsy caravan40. She remained out every night until dusk had melted into dark, ravished by the serene41 beauty of this typical bit of England, believing that in time it would help her to solve the riddle42 of her mind. For her soul she asked nothing, believing her capacity for happiness in any form to have been killed long since, but demanding some mental compensation more personal and permanent than books. If she dreamed long enough in this wonderful English twilight, gave her imagination rein—who could tell? And there was something more than a possibility that this liberty to dream and develop might spin out indefinitely. Even if the war with those tiresome43 Boers should prove as brief as the duke and her South African acquaintance predicted, Harold, deprived of other diversions, might go out to South Africa for such excitement and sport as the campaign would be sure to afford. And big game might exert its fascinations44 for a year or more.
She lifted her head suddenly, then thrust it forward, and peered into the shadows on the other side of the avenue. The trees of the park were closely planted, and their aisles45, dim at noon, were black at this hour. But something moved, a shadow in a shadow! Julia, who had rarely known a tremor46 of fear, felt her knees shake, her breath come short. It could hardly be a poacher, for the preserves were behind the house, nearly a quarter of a mile away; no poacher would be lurking47 by the park gates when he could slip into the coverts48 at a dozen points. There was a lodge at the gates, but it was untenanted. No one at the house could hear her, no matter how loudly she might call, and—and—she watched the shadows with dilating49 eyes—there was no doubt that a man moved within twenty yards of her.
Suddenly it occurred to her that it must be one of the gypsies come to beg, and watching for his opportunity. She caught at the tails of her flying courage, and stepped out into the avenue.
“What do you wish?” she asked firmly. “If you have come to beg, I have no money here, but you can go to the house and I will tell them to give you food.” Then, as there was neither answer nor movement, she added with a fair assumption of indifference50, “You can follow me.”
She started up the avenue, walking deliberately51, while filled with a wild desire to run. For still there came no answer from the depths of that black plantation52, nor, for a moment or two, any movement. Then she heard the soft crackling of twigs53 under a light foot, and, glancing irresistibly54 over her shoulder, saw a moving shadow. She felt her skin turn cold, and once more that insidious55 trembling attacked her limbs. She realized with both horror and indignation that she was in the grip of fear, she who had gone through earthquake and hurricane! For a moment mortification56 routed terror, gave her a momentary57 respite58, and she halted and called sharply:?—
“Why don’t you come into the avenue? Come out at once and walk ahead of me.”
The steps halted. There was no other answer. “Peace!” That was no word for a dark plantation at night! It was a silence so profound and so awful that it seemed to shriek59. Julia clenched60 her shaking hands, took a step forward and peered into the wood. A shadow detached itself from the darker background and swayed deliberately.
Courage fled. In full surrender to fear, the most awful sensation that the human nerves can experience, she dashed up the avenue. In the confusion of her brain she fancied that she was standing61 still, that her feet had turned to lead, that her breath had left her body. Then the confusion was cut by a flash of thought. It was no man there, but some evil spirit that haunted the plantation. As every house on Nevis and St. Kitts had its ghost, she had grown up in a firm and unconcerned belief in the visits of the dead to their ancient haunts, and Bosquith boasted seven ghosts. But she had never seen one, and to accept a popular creed62 and find yourself pursued by a hollow visitant in a lonely park, far from human support, induces mental states entirely63 unrelated. It might even be a vampire64! Julia shrieked65, sobbed66, almost leaped, as she heard that light crackling of twigs not three yards behind her.
Suddenly the steps ran ahead of her. Her wide staring eyes saw that shadow within a shadow, barely outlined, flit past among the trees, then stop, sway again. She sprang back among the trees on her side of the avenue. The shadow came slowly forward, then turned suddenly and ran back into the depths. Julia crouched67 with chattering68 teeth. They were plainly audible. So was her panting breath.
Again there was silence. Julia’s body, by a mere reaction independent of her will, recovered its power of motion and darted70 up the avenue once more. Again that light crackling of autumn leaves. But her will showed a flicker71 of vitality72, moved in the depths of her disorganized brain. She visualized73 it, as she had once seen it in a diagram, dragged it upward, ordered it to keep her from fainting, to hold her strength until she reached the garden. She could see the lights of the house. Her mind grew clearer. She realized that she was running like a deer. A few more steps! Then she heard those behind bear down upon her with the swiftness and noise of an express train. She was caught about the waist. As she lost consciousness she heard a loud guffaw74.
She opened her eyes, realized that she lay on a garden bench, that a heavily breathing creature stood beside her. For a moment she dared not lift her eyes, seized again with a fear that seemed to distend75 every nerve in her body, even as she felt something vaguely76 familiar in the form beside her. There was another burst of intense amusement. She sprang to her feet with blazing eyes and confronted her husband.
“You!” she gasped77. “You!”
France rocked to and fro with mirth. “Yes!” he finally ejaculated. “Gad78! I’m as much out of breath as you are—holdin’ my sides! What a lark79! Never knew it would be such fun to frighten anybody. Rippin’ sensation. And you were frightened dumb, by Jove! Hardly believed it of you, but suddenly thought I’d try.”
“You coward! You brute80!” One has to be calm and detached to find original phrases. In moments of real emotion the time-worn and the ready-made dart69 out of the mind as naturally as thought of dinner above hunger. “For anything that calls itself a man?—”
“No insults, my lady, or I’ll do worse. It’s you are the coward—only time I ever got a rise out of you! Didn’t know you had any kind of excitement in you, by gad!”
“You brute! You brute!”
Julia, as much astounded81 as indignant, and vaguely alarmed, as she had sometimes been in the early months of her married life, turned to walk to the house in a dignified82 retreat. But France caught her in his arms.
“No you don’t, my lady. Give me a kiss.”
Then, for the first time, passion flamed in Julia. The twilight turned crimson83. She beat him on the chest, the face, the head. She kicked him, and strove to unite her hands about his neck and choke him. She longed for a knife, for a pistol. She seethed84 with hatred and the desire to do murder. And France only laughed, and brushed off her hands with his great hairy ones, while with one arm he clasped her hard and rained kisses on her unprotected face. And he never ceased laughing with an intense quiet amusement, his eyes glittering as they did when he went to hangings, when he once had happened to witness natives tortured in the Congo, as they did at certain performances in Paris calculated to gratify the primitive85 lusts86 of man. France had always envied those Eastern potentates87 that amused themselves with the death agonies of their slaves just before heads were sliced off; but for him and his sort there are still compensations to be found in the depths of civilization.
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1
descends
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| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
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spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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3
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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6
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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antagonism
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| n.对抗，敌对，对立 | |
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persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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12
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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13
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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14
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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30
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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39
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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41
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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42
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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43
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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44
fascinations
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| n.魅力( fascination的名词复数 )；有魅力的东西；迷恋；陶醉 | |
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45
aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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46
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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48
coverts
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| n.隐蔽的，不公开的，秘密的( covert的名词复数 )；复羽 | |
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49
dilating
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| v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
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50
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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51
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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52
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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53
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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54
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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55
insidious
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| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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56
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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57
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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58
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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59
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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60
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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62
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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63
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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64
vampire
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| n.吸血鬼 | |
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65
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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67
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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69
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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71
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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visualized
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| 直观的，直视的 | |
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74
guffaw
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| n.哄笑；突然的大笑 | |
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75
distend
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| vt./vi.（使）扩大，（使）扩张 | |
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76
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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77
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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79
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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80
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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81
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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82
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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83
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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84
seethed
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| （液体）沸腾( seethe的过去式和过去分词 )； 激动，大怒； 强压怒火； 生闷气(~with sth|~ at sth) | |
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85
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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86
lusts
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| 贪求（lust的第三人称单数形式） | |
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potentates
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| n.君主，统治者( potentate的名词复数 )；有权势的人 | |
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