[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第70章

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to　understand　something　or　other　about　his　own　desires　
hitherto　undefined　by　him；　the　source　of　his　difficulty　
with　Katharine。　The　wish　to　hurt　her；　which　had　
urged　him　to　begin；　had　pletely　left　him；　and　he　felt　
that　it　was　only　Katharine　now　who　could　help　him　to　be　
sure。　He　must　take　his　time。　There　were　so　many　things　
that　he　could　not　say　without　the　greatest　difficulty—　
that　name；　for　example；　Cassandra。　Nor　could　he　move　
his　eyes　from　a　certain　spot；　a　fiery　glen　surrounded　by　
high　mountains；　in　the　heart　of　the　coals。　He　waited　in　
suspense　for　Katharine　to　continue。　She　had　said　that　he　
might　be　very　happy　with　some　one　he　loved　in　that　way。　

“I　don’t　see　why　it　shouldn’t　last　with　you；”　she　resumed。　
“I　can　imagine　a　certain　sort　of　person—”　she　
paused；　she　was　aware　that　he　was　listening　with　the　
greatest　intentness；　and　that　his　formality　was　merely　
the　cover　for　an　extreme　anxiety　of　some　sort。　There　was　
some　person　then—some　woman—who　could　it　be？　
Cassandra？　Ah；　possibly—　

“A　person；”　she　added；　speaking　in　the　most　matterof


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fact　tone　she　could　mand；　“like　Cassandra　Otway；　for　
instance。　Cassandra　is　the　most　interesting　of　the　
Otways—with　the　exception　of　Henry。　Even　so；　I　like　
Cassandra　better。　She　has　more　than　mere　cleverness。　She　
is　a　character—a　person　by　herself。”　

“Those　dreadful　insects！”　burst　from　William；　with　a　
nervous　laugh；　and　a　little　spasm　went　through　him　as　
Katharine　noticed。　It　was　Cassandra　then。　Automatically　
and　dully　she　replied；　“You　could　insist　that　she　confined　
herself　to—to—something　else…　。　But　she　cares　for　
music；　I　believe　she　writes　poetry；　and　there　can　be　no　
doubt　that　she　has　a　peculiar　charm—”　

She　ceased；　as　if　defining　to　herself　this　peculiar　charm。　
After　a　moment’s　silence　William　jerked　out：　

“I　thought　her　affectionate？”　

“Extremely　affectionate。　She　worships　Henry。　When　you　
think　what　a　house　that　is—Uncle　Francis　always　in　one　
mood　or　another—”　

“Dear；　dear；　dear；”　William　muttered。　

“And　you　have　so　much　in　mon。”　

“My　dear　Katharine！”　William　exclaimed；　flinging　him


self　back　in　his　chair；　and　uprooting　his　eyes　from　the　
spot　in　the　fire。　“I　really　don’t　know　what　we’re　talking　
about…　。　I　assure　you…　。”　

He　was　covered　with　an　extreme　confusion。　

He　withdrew　the　finger　that　was　still　thrust　between　
the　pages　of　Gulliver；　opened　the　book；　and　ran　his　eye　
down　the　list　of　chapters；　as　though　he　were　about　to　
select　the　one　most　suitable　for　reading　aloud。　As　
Katharine　watched　him；　she　was　seized　with　preliminary　
symptoms　of　his　own　panic。　At　the　same　time　she　was　
convinced　that；　should　he　find　the　right　page；　take　out　
his　spectacles；　clear　his　throat；　and　open　his　lips；　a　chance　
that　would　never　e　again　in　all　their　lives　would　be　
lost　to　them　both。　

“We’re　talking　about　things　that　interest　us　both　very　
much；”　she　said。　“Shan’t　we　go　on　talking；　and　leave　
Swift　for　another　time？　I　don’t　feel　in　the　mood　for　Swift；　
and　it’s　a　pity　to　read　any　one　when　that’s　the　case—　
particularly　Swift。”　

The　presence　of　wise　literary　speculation；　as　she　calculated；　
restored　William’s　confidence　in　his　security；　and　

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he　replaced　the　book　in　the　bookcase；　keeping　his　back　
turned　to　her　as　he　did　so；　and　taking　advantage　of　this　
circumstance　to　summon　his　thoughts　together。　

But　a　second　of　introspection　had　the　alarming　result　
of　showing　him　that　his　mind；　when　looked　at　from　within；　
was　no　longer　familiar　ground。　He　felt；　that　is　to　say；　
what　he　had　never　consciously　felt　before；　he　was　revealed　
to　himself　as　other　than　he　was　wont　to　think　
him；　he　was　afloat　upon　a　sea　of　unknown　and　tumultuous　
possibilities。　He　paced　once　up　and　down　the　room；　
and　then　flung　himself　impetuously　into　the　chair　by　
Katharine’s　side。　He　had　never　felt　anything　like　this　before；　
he　put　himself　entirely　into　her　hands；　he　cast　off　
all　responsibility。　He　very　nearly　exclaimed　aloud：　

“You’ve　stirred　up　all　these　odious　and　violent　emotions；　
and　now　you　must　do　the　best　you　can　with　them。”　

Her　near　presence；　however；　had　a　calming　and　reassuring　
effect　upon　his　agitation；　and　he　was　conscious　only　
of　an　implicit　trust　that；　somehow；　he　was　safe　with　her；　
that　she　would　see　him　through；　find　out　what　it　was　
that　he　wanted；　and　procure　it　for　him。　

“I　wish　to　do　whatever　you　tell　me　to　do；”　he　said。　“I　
put　myself　entirely　in　your　hands；　Katharine。”　

“You　must　try　to　tell　me　what　you　feel；”　she　said。　

“My　dear；　I　feel　a　thousand　things　every　second。　I　don’t　
know；　I’m　sure；　what　I　feel。　That　afternoon　on　the　heath—　
it　was　then—then—”　He　broke　off；　he　did　not　tell　her　
what　had　happened　then。　“Your　ghastly　good　sense；　as　
usual；　has　convinced　me—for　the　moment—but　what　the　
truth　is；　Heaven　only　knows！”　he　exclaimed。　

“Isn’t　it　the　truth　that　you　are；　or　might　be；　in　love　
with　Cassandra？”　she　said　gently。　

William　bowed　his　head。　After　a　moment’s　silence　he　
murmured：　

“I　believe　you’re　right；　Katharine。”　

She　sighed；　involuntarily。　She　had　been　hoping　all　this　
time；　with　an　intensity　that　increased　second　by　second　
against　the　current　of　her　words；　that　it　would　not　in　the　
end　e　to　this。　After　a　moment　of　surprising　anguish；　
she　summoned　her　courage　to　tell　him　how　she　wished　
only　that　she　might　help　him；　and　had　framed　the　first　
words　of　her　speech　when　a　knock；　terrific　and　startling　

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to　people　in　their　overwrought　condition；　sounded　upon　

the　door。　
“Katharine；　I　worship　you；”　he　urged；　half　in　a　whisper。　
“Yes；”　she　replied；　withdrawing　with　a　little　shiver；　“but　

you　must　open　the　door。”　

CHAPTER　XXIII　


When　Ralph　Denham　entered　the　room　and　saw　Katharine　
seated　with　her　back　to　him；　he　was　conscious　of　a　change　
in　the　grade　of　the　atmosphere　such　as　a　traveler　meets　
with　sometimes　upon　the　roads；　particularly　after　sunset；　
when；　without　warning；　he　runs　from　clammy　chill　to　a　
hoard　of　unspent　warmth　in　which　the　sweetness　of　hay　
and　beanfield　is　cherished；　as　if　the　sun　still　shone　although　
the　moon　is　up。　He　hesitated；　he　shuddered；　he　
walked　elaborately　to　the　window　and　laid　aside　his　coat。　
He　balanced　his　stick　most　carefully　against　the　folds　of　
the　curtain。　Thus　occupied　with　his　own　sensations　and　
preparations；　he　had　little　time　to　observe　what　either　of　
the　other　two　was　feeling。　Such　symptoms　of　agitation　
as　he　might　perceive　（and　they　had　left　their　tokens　in　
brightness　of　eye　and　pallor　of　cheeks）　seemed　to　him　
well　befitting　the　actors　in　so　great　a　drama　as　that　of　
Katharine　Hilbery’s　daily　life。　Beauty　and　passion　were　
the　breath　of　her　being；　he　thought。　

She　scarcely　noticed　his　presence；　or　only　as　it　forced　

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her　to　adopt　a　manner　of　posure；　which　she　was　certainly　
far　from　feeling。　William；　however；　was　even　more　
agitated　than　she　was；　and　her　first　instalment　of　promised　
help　took　the　form　of　some　monplace　upon　the　
age　of　the　building　or　the　architect’s　name；　which　gave　
him　an　excuse　to　fumble　in　a　drawer　for　certain　designs；　
which　he　laid　upon　the　table　between　the　three　of　them。　

Which　of　the　three　followed　the　designs　most　carefully　
it　would　be　difficult　to　tell；　but　it　is　certain　that　not　one　
of　the　three　found　for　the　moment　anything　to　say。　Years　
of　training　in　a　drawingroom　came　at　length　to　Katharine’s　
help；　and　she　said　something　suitable；　at　the　same　moment　
withdrawing　her　hand　from　the　table　because　she　
perceived　that　it　trembled。　William　agreed　effusively；　
Denham　corroborated　him；　speaking　in　rather　highpitched　
tones；　they　thrust　aside　the　plans；　and　drew　nearer　to　the　
fireplace。　

“I’d　rather　live　here　than　anywhere　in　the　whole　of　London；”　
said　Denham。　

（“And　I’ve　got　nowhere　to　live”）　Katharine　thought；　as　
she　agreed　aloud。　

“You　could　get　rooms　here；　no　doubt；　if　you　wanted　
to；”　Rodney　replied。　

“But　I’m　just　leaving　Lond