A change came at last, when Dolly was ten years old. Among the men of whom Herminia saw most in these later days, were the little group of advanced London socialists1 who call themselves the Fabians. And among her Fabian friends one of the most active, the most eager, the most individual, was Harvey Kynaston.
He was a younger man by many years than poor Alan had been; about Herminia's own age; a brilliant economist2 with a future before him. He aimed at the Cabinet. When first he met Herminia he was charmed at one glance by her chastened beauty, her breadth and depth of soul, her transparent3 sincerity4 of purpose and action. Those wistful eyes captured him. Before many days passed he had fallen in love with her. But he knew her history; and, taking it for granted she must still be immersed in regret for Alan's loss, he hardly even reckoned the chances of her caring for him.
'Tis a common case. Have you ever noticed that if you meet a woman, famous for her connection with some absorbing grief, some historic tragedy, you are half appalled5 at first sight to find that at times she can laugh, and make merry, and look gay with the rest of us. Her callous6 glee shocks you. You mentally expect her to be forever engaged in the tearful contemplation of her own tragic7 fate; wrapt up in those she has lost, like the mourners in a Pieta. Whenever you have thought of her, you have connected her in your mind with that one fact in her history, which perhaps may have happened a great many years ago. But to you, it is as yesterday. You forget that since then many things have occurred to her. She has lived her life; she has learned to smile; human nature itself cannot feed for years on the continuous contemplation of its own deepest sorrows. It even jars you to find that the widow of a patriotic8 martyr9, a murdered missionary10, has her moments of enjoyment11, and must wither12 away without them.
So, just at first, Harvey Kynaston was afraid to let Herminia see how sincerely he admired her. He thought of her rather as one whose life is spent, who can bring to the banquet but the cold dead ashes of a past existence. Gradually, however, as he saw more and more of her, it began to strike him that Herminia was still in all essentials a woman. His own throbbing13 heart told him so as he sat and talked with her. He thrilled at her approach. Bit by bit the idea rose up in his mind that this lonely soul might still be won. He set to work in earnest to woo and win her.
As for Herminia, many men had paid her attentions already in her unwedded widowhood. Some of them, after the fashion of men, having heard garbled14 versions of her tragic story, and seeking to gain some base advantage for themselves from their knowledge of her past, strove to assail15 her crudely. Them, with unerring womanly instinct, she early discerned, and with unerring feminine tact16, undeceived and humbled17. Others, genuinely attracted by her beauty and her patience, paid real court to her heart; but all these fell far short of her ideal standard. With Harvey Kynaston it was different. She admired him as a thinker; she liked him as a man; and she felt from the first moment that no friend, since Alan died, had stirred her pulse so deeply as he did.
For some months they met often at the Fabian meetings and elsewhere; till at last it became a habit with them to spend their Sunday mornings on some breezy wold in the country together. Herminia was still as free as ever from any shrinking terror as to what "people might say;" as of old, she lived her life for herself and her conscience, not for the opinion of a blind and superstitious18 majority. On one such August morning, they had taken the train from London to Haslemere, with Dolly of course by their side, and then had strolled up Hind19 Head by the beautiful footpath20 which mounts at first through a chestnut21 copse, and then between heather-clad hills to the summit. At the loneliest turn of the track, where two purple glens divide, Harvey Kynaston seated himself on the soft bed of ling; Herminia sank by his side; and Dolly, after awhile, not understanding their conversation, wandered off by herself a little way afield in search of harebells and spotted22 orchises. Dolly found her mother's friends were apt to bore her; she preferred the society of the landlady's daughters.
It was a delicious day. Hard by, a slow-worm sunned himself on the basking23 sand. Blue dragon-flies flashed on gauze wings in the hollows. Harvey Kynaston looked on Herminia's face and saw that she was fair. With an effort he made up his mind to speak at last. In plain and simple words he asked her reverently24 the same question that Alan had asked her so long ago on the Holmwood.
Herminia's throat flushed a rosy25 red, and an unwonted sense of pleasure stole over that hard-worked frame as she listened to his words; for indeed she was fond of him. But she answered him at once without a moment's hesitation26. "Harvey, I'm glad you ask me, for I like and admire you. But I feel sure beforehand my answer must be NO. For I think what you mean is to ask, will I marry you?"
The man gazed at her hard. He spoke27 low and deferentially28. "Yes, Herminia," he replied. "I do mean, will you marry me? I know, of course, how you feel about this matter; I know what you have sacrificed, how deeply you have suffered, for the sake of your principles. And that's just why I plead with you now to ignore them. You have given proof long ago of your devotion to the right. You may surely fall back this second time upon the easier way of ordinary humanity. In theory, Herminia, I accept your point of view; I approve the equal liberty of men and women, politically, socially, personally, ethically29. But in practice, I don't want to bring unnecessary trouble on the head of a woman I love; and to live together otherwise than as the law directs does bring unnecessary trouble, as you know too profoundly. That is the only reason why I ask you to marry me. And Herminia, Herminia," he leant forward appealingly, "for the love's sake I bear you, I hope you will consent to it."
His voice was low and tender. Herminia, sick at heart with that long fierce struggle against overwhelming odds30, could almost have said YES to him. Her own nature prompted her; she was very, very fond of him. But she paused for a second. Then she answered him gravely.
"Harvey," she said, looking deep into his honest brown eyes, "as we grow middle-aged31, and find how impossible it must ever be to achieve any good in a world like this, how sad a fate it is to be born a civilized32 being in a barbaric community, I'm afraid moral impulse half dies down within us. The passionate33 aim grows cold; the ardent34 glow fades and flickers35 into apathy36. I'm ashamed to tell you the truth, it seems such weakness; yet as you ask me this, I think I WILL tell you. Once upon a time, if you had made such a proposal to me, if you had urged me to be false to my dearest principles, to sin against the light, to deny the truth, I would have flashed forth37 a NO upon you without one moment's hesitation. And now, in my disillusioned38 middle age what do I feel? Do you know, I almost feel tempted39 to give way to this Martinmas summer of love, to stultify40 my past by unsaying and undoing41 everything. For I love you, Harvey. If I were to give way now, as George Eliot gave way, as almost every woman who once tried to live a free life for her sisters' sake, has given way in the end, I should counteract42 any little good my example has ever done or may ever do in the world; and Harvey, strange as it sounds, I feel more than half inclined to do it. But I WILL not, I WILL not; and I'll tell you why. It's not so much principle that prevents me now. I admit that freely. The torpor43 of middle age is creeping over my conscience. It's simple regard for personal consistency44, and for Dolly's position. How can I go back upon the faith for which I have martyred myself? How can I say to Dolly, 'I wouldn't marry your father in my youth, for honor's sake; but I have consented in middle life to sell my sisters' cause for a man I love, and for the consideration of society; to rehabilitate45 myself too late with a world I despise by becoming one man's slave, as I swore I never would be.' No, no, dear Harvey; I can't do that. Some sense of personal continuity restrains me still. It is the Nemesis46 of our youth; we can't go back in our later life on the holier and purer ideals of our girlhood."
"Then you say no definitely?" Harvey Kynaston asked.
Herminia's voice quivered. "I say no definitely," she answered; "unless you can consent to live with me on the terms on which I lived with Dolly's father."
The man hesitated a moment. Then he began to plead hard for reconsideration. But Herminia's mind was made up. She couldn't belie47 her past; she couldn't be false to the principles for whose sake she had staked and lost everything. "No, no," she said firmly, over and over again. "You must take me my own way, or you must go without me."
And Harvey Kynaston couldn't consent to take her her own way. His faith was too weak, his ambitions were too earthly. "Herminia," he said, before they parted that afternoon, "we may still be friends; still dear friends as ever? This episode need make no difference to a very close companionship?"
"It need make no difference," Herminia answered, with a light touch of her hand. "Harvey, I have far too few friends in the world willingly to give up one of them. Come again and go down with Dolly and me to Hind Head as usual next Sunday."
"Thank you," the man answered. "Herminia, I wish it could have been otherwise. But since I must never have you, I can promise you one thing; I will never marry any other woman."
Herminia started at the words. "Oh, no," she cried quickly. "How can you speak like that? How can you say anything so wrong, so untrue, so foolish? To be celibate48 is a very great misfortune even for a woman; for a man it is impossible, it is cruel, it is wicked. I endure it myself, for my child's sake, and because I find it hard to discover the help meet for me; or because, when discovered, he refuses to accept me in the only way in which I can bestow49 myself. But for a man to pretend to live celibate is to cloak hateful wrong under a guise50 of respectability. I should be unhappy if I thought any man was doing such a vicious thing out of desire to please me. Take some other woman on free terms if you can; but if you cannot, it is better you should marry than be a party to still deeper and more loathsome51 slavery."
And from that day forth they were loyal friends, no more, one to the other.
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1
socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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economist
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| n.经济学家，经济专家，节俭的人 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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garbled
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| adj.（指信息）混乱的，引起误解的v.对（事实）歪曲，对（文章等）断章取义，窜改( garble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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assail
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| v.猛烈攻击，抨击，痛斥 | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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ethically
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| adv.在伦理上，道德上 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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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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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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flickers
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| 电影制片业； （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的名词复数 ) | |
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apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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disillusioned
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| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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stultify
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| v.愚弄；使呆滞 | |
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41
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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42
counteract
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| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
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43
torpor
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| n.迟钝；麻木；（动物的）冬眠 | |
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44
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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45
rehabilitate
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| vt.改造(罪犯)，修复；vi.复兴，(罪犯)经受改造 | |
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46
nemesis
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| n.给以报应者，复仇者，难以对付的敌手 | |
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47
belie
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| v.掩饰，证明为假 | |
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48
celibate
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| adj.独身的，独身主义的；n.独身者 | |
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49
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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50
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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51
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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