In the Garden
i
That evening Janet did not stay long in Hilda’s bedroom, having perceived that Hilda was in one of her dark, dreamy moods.
As soon as she was gone, Hilda lowered the gas a little, and then went to the window, and opened it wider, and, drawing aside the blind, looked forth1. The night was obscure and warm; and a wet wind moved furtively2 about in the elm-trees of the garden. The window was at the side of the house; it gave on the west, and commanded the new house just finished by Mr. Orgreave for the Clayhanger family. The block of this generously planned dwelling3 rose massively at a distance of perhaps forty feet, dwarfing4 a whole row of cottages in the small street behind Lane End House; its various chimneypots stood out a deeper black against the enigmatic sky. Beyond the Clayhanger garden-plot, as yet uncultivated, and its high boundary wall, ran the great silent thoroughfare, Trafalgar Road, whose gas-lamps reigned5 in the nocturnal silence that the last steam-car had left in its wake.
Hilda gazed at the house; and it seemed strange to her that the house, which but a short time ago had no existence whatever, and was yet cold and soulless, was destined6 to be the living home of a family, with history in its walls and memories clinging about it. The formidable magic of life was always thus discovering itself to her, so that she could not look upon even an untenanted, terra-cotta-faced villa7 without a secret thrill; and the impenetrable sky above was not more charmed and enchanted8 than those brick walls. When she reflected that one day the wistful, boyish Edwin Clayhanger would be the master of that house, that in that house his will would be stronger than any other will, the mystery that hides beneath the surface of all things surged up and overwhelmed thought. And although scarcely a couple of hours had elapsed since the key of the new life had been put into her hands, she could not make an answer when she asked herself: “Am I happy or unhappy?”
ii
The sound of young men’s voices came round the corner of the house from the lawn. Some of the brothers Orgreave were saying good-night to Edwin Clayhanger in the porch. She knew that they had been chatting a long time in the hall, after Clayhanger had bidden adieu to the rest of the family. She wondered what they had been talking about, and what young men did in general talk about when they were by themselves and confidential9. In her fancy she endowed their conversations with the inexplicable10 attractiveness of masculinity, as masculinity is understood by women alone. She had an intense desire to overhear such a conversation, and she felt that she would affront11 the unguessed perils12 of it with delight, drinking it up eagerly, every drop, even were the draught13 deadly. Meanwhile, the mere14 inarticulate sound of those distant voices pleased her, and she was glad that she was listening and that the boys knew it not.
Silence succeeded the banging of the front door. And then, after a pause, she was startled to hear the crunching15 of gravel16 almost under her window. In alarm she dropped the blind, but continued to peer between the edge of the blind and the window-frame. At one point the contiguous demesnes of the Orgreaves and the Clayhangers were separated only by a poor, sparse17 hedge, a few yards in length. Somebody was pushing his way through this hedge. It was Edwin Clayhanger. Despite the darkness of the night she could be sure that the dim figure was Edwin Clayhanger’s by the peculiar18, exaggerated swing of the loose arms. He passed the hedge, carelessly brushed his clothes with his hands, and walked slowly up the Clayhanger garden towards the new house, and in the deep shadow of the house was lost. Still, she could catch vague noises of movement. In a state of extreme excitation she wondered what he could be doing. It seemed to her that he and she were sharing the night together.
iii
She thought:
“I would give anything to be able to speak to him privately19 and ask him a little more about what he said to-night. I ought to. I may never see him again. At any rate, I may never have another chance. He may have meant something else. He may not have been serious....” The skin of her face prickled, and a physical wave of emotion seemed to sweep downwards20 through her whole body. The thrill was exquisite21, but it was intimidating22.
She whispered to herself:
“I could go downstairs and outside, and find him, and just ask him.”
The next instant she was opening the door of her bedroom.... No, all the household had not yet retired23, for a light was still burning in the corridor. Nevertheless she might go. She descended24 the stairs, asking herself aghast: “Why am I doing this?” Another light was burning in the hall, and through the slit25 of the half-shut door of the breakfast-room she could see light. She stood hesitant. Then she heard the striking of a match in the breakfast-room, and she boldly pushed the door open. Tom, with a book before him, was lighting26 his pipe.
“Hello!” he said. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing!” she replied. “Only, I’m just going to walk about in the garden a minute. I shan’t go to sleep unless I do.” She spoke27 quite easily.
“All serene28!” he agreed. “So long as you keep off the grass! It’s bound to be damp. I’ll unchain the door for you, shall I?”
She said that she could unfasten the door for herself, and he did not insist. The hospitality of the Orgreaves was never irksome. Tom had scarcely half-risen from his chair.
“I shan’t be long,” she added casually29.
“That’s all right, Hilda,” he said. “I’m not going to bed just yet.”
“All the others gone?”
He nodded. She pulled the door to, tripped delicately through the hall, and unchained the heavy front door as quietly as she could.
iv
She was outside, amid all the influences of the night. Gradually her eyes accustomed themselves again to the gloom. She passed along the facade30 of the house until she came to the corner, where the breeze surprised her, and whence she could discern the other house and, across the indistinct hedge, the other garden. Where was Edwin Clayhanger? Was he wandering in the other garden, or had he entered the house? Then a brief flare31 lit up a lower window of the dark mass for a few instants. He was within. She hesitated. Should she go forward, or should she go back? At length she went forward, and, finding in the hedge the gap which Clayhanger had made, forced her way through it. Her skirt was torn by an obstinate32 twig33. Quite calmly she bent34 down and with her fingers examined the rent; it was not important. She was now in the garden of the Clayhangers, and he whom she sought was moving somewhere in the house. “Supposing I do meet him,” she thought, “what shall I say to him?” She did not know what she should say to him, nor why she had entered upon this singular adventure. But the consciousness of self, the fine, disturbing sense of being alive in every vein35 and nerve, was a rich reward for her audacity36. She wished that that tense moment of expectation might endure for ever.
She approached the house, trembling. It was not by volition37 that she walked over the uneven38 clayey ground, but by instinct. She was in front of the garden-porch, and here she hesitated again, apparently39 waiting for a sign from the house. She glanced timidly about her, as though in fear of marauders that might spring out upon her from the shadow. Just over the boundary wall the placid40 flame of a gas-lamp peeped. Then, feeling with her feet for the steps, she ascended41 into the shelter of the porch. Almost at the same moment there was another flare behind the glass of the door; she heard the sound of unlatching; the flare expired. She was absolutely terror-struck now.
The door opened, grating on some dirt or gravel.
“Who’s there?” demanded a queer, shaking voice.
She could see his form.
“Me!” she answered, in a harsh tone which was the expression of her dismay.
The deed was done, irretrievably. In her bedroom she had said that she would try to speak with him, and lo! they were face to face, in the dark, in secret! Her terror was now, at any rate, desperately42 calm. She had plunged43; she was falling into the deep sea; she was hopelessly cut off from the past.
“Oh!” came the uncertain voice weakly. “Did you want me? Did anyone want me?”
She heard the door being closed behind him.
She told him, with peculiar curtness44, how she had seen him from her window, and how she wished to ask him an important question.
“I dare say you think it’s very queer of me,” she added.
“Not at all,” he said, with an insincerity that annoyed her.
“Yes, you do!” she sharply insisted. “But I want to know”—what did she want to know?—“I want to know—did you mean it when you said—you know, at supper—that there’s no virtue45 in believing?”
He stammered46: “Did I say there was no virtue in believing?”
She cried out, irritated: “Of course you did! Do you mean to say you can say a thing like that and then forget about it? If it’s true, it’s one of the most wonderful things that were ever said. And that’s why I wanted to know if you meant it, of whether you were only saying it because it sounded clever.”
She stopped momentarily, wondering why she was thus implying an untruth; for the fact was that she had never doubted that he had been in earnest.
“That’s what they’re always doing in that house, you know—being clever!” she went on, in a tone apparently inimical to ‘that house.’
“Yes,” came the voice. “I meant it. Why?”
And the voice was so simple and so sincere that it pierced straight to her heart and changed her secret mood swiftly to the religious, so that she really was occupied by the thoughts with which, a moment previously47, she had only pretended to be occupied; and the splendour of the revelation was renewed. Nevertheless, some impulse, perverse48 or defensive49, compelled her to assume a doubt of his assurance. She suspected that, had she not adopted this tactic50, she might have melted before him in gratitude51.
“You did?” she murmured.
She thanked him, after that, rather coldly; and they talked a little about the mere worry of these religious questions. He protested that they never worried him, and reaffirmed his original proposition.
“I hope you are right,” she said softly, in a thrilled voice. She was thinking that this was the most wonderful, miraculous52 experience that she had ever had.
v
Silence.
“Now,” she thought, “I must go back.” Inwardly she gave a delicious sigh.
But just as she was about to take her prim53 leave, the scarce-discerned figure of her companion stepped out into the garden.
“By Jove!” said Edwin Clayhanger. “It’s beginning to rain, I do believe.”
The wind blew, and she felt rain on her cheek. Clayhanger advised her to stand against the other wall of the porch for better protection. She obeyed. He reentered the porch, but was still exposed to the rain. She called him to her side. Already he was so close that she could have touched his shoulder by outstretching her arm.
“Oh! I’m all right!” he said lightly, and did not move.
“You needn’t be afraid of me!” She was hurt that he had refused her invitation to approach her. The next instant she would have given her tongue not to have uttered those words. But she was in such a tingling54 state of extreme sensitiveness as rendered it impossible for her to exercise a normal self-control.
Scarcely conscious of what she did, she asked him the time. He struck a match to look at his watch. The wind blew the match out, but she saw his wistful face, with his disordered hair under the hat. It had the quality of a vision.
He offered to get a light in the house, but abruptly55 she said good night.
Then they were shaking hands—she knew not how or why. She could not loose his hand. She thought: “Never have I held a hand so honest as this hand.” At last she dropped it. They stood silent while a trap rattled56 up Trafalgar Road. It was as if she was bound to remain moveless until the sounds of the trap had died away.
She walked proudly out into the rain. He called to her: “I say, Miss Lessways!” But she did not stop.
In a minute she was back again in Lane End House.
“That you?” Tom’s voice from the breakfast-room!
“Yes,” she answered clearly. “I’ve put the chain on. Good night.”
“Good night. Thanks.”
She ascended the stairs, smiling to herself, with the raindrops fresh on her cheek. In her mind were no distinct thoughts, either concerning the non-virtue of belief, or the new epoch57, or Edwin Clayhanger, or even the strangeness of her behaviour. But all her being vibrated to the mysterious and beautiful romance of existence.
收听单词发音 |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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dwarfing
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| n.矮化病 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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intimidating
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| vt.恐吓，威胁( intimidate的现在分词) | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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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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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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curtness
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| n.简短；草率；简略 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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tactic
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| n.战略，策略；adj.战术的，有策略的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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53
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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54
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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