[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第96章

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the　direction　which　led　to　Rodney’s　rooms。　He　knocked　
loudly　upon　his　door；　but　no　one　answered。　He　rang　the　
bell。　It　took　him　some　time　to　accept　the　fact　that　Rodney　
was　out。　When　he　could　no　longer　pretend　that　the　sound　
of　the　wind　in　the　old　building　was　the　sound　of　some　
one　rising　from　his　chair；　he　ran　downstairs　again；　as　if　
his　goal　had　been　altered　and　only　just　revealed　to　him。　
He　walked　in　the　direction　of　Chelsea。　

But　physical　fatigue；　for　he　had　not　dined　and　had　
tramped　both　far　and　fast；　made　him　sit　for　a　moment　
upon　a　seat　on　the　Embankment。　One　of　the　regular　occupants　
of　those　seats；　an　elderly　man　who　had　drunk　
himself；　probably；　out　of　work　and　lodging；　drifted　up；　
begged　a　match；　and　sat　down　beside　him。　It　was　a　windy　
night；　he　said；　times　were　hard；　some　long　story　of　bad　
luck　and　injustice　followed；　told　so　often　that　the　man　
seemed　to　be　talking　to　himself；　or；　perhaps；　the　neglect　
of　his　audience　had　long　made　any　attempt　to　catch　their　
attention　seem　scarcely　worth　while。　When　he　began　to　
speak　Ralph　had　a　wild　desire　to　talk　to　him；　to　question　
him；　to　make　him　understand。　He　did；　in　fact；　interrupt　
him　at　one　point；　but　it　was　useless。　The　ancient　story　of　
failure；　illluck；　undeserved　disaster；　went　down　the　wind；　
disconnected　syllables　flying　past　Ralph’s　ears　with　a　queer　
alternation　of　loudness　and　faintness　as　if；　at　certain　
moments；　the　man’s　memory　of　his　wrongs　revived　and　
then　flagged；　dying　down　at　last　into　a　grumble　of　resignation；　
which　seemed　to　represent　a　final　lapse　into　the　
accustomed　despair。　The　unhappy　voice　afflicted　Ralph；　

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but　it　also　angered　him。　And　when　the　elderly　man　refused　
to　listen　and　mumbled　on；　an　odd　image　came　to　
his　mind　of　a　lighthouse　besieged　by　the　flying　bodies　of　
lost　birds；　who　were　dashed　senseless；　by　the　gale；　against　
the　glass。　He　had　a　strange　sensation　that　he　was　both　
lighthouse　and　bird；　he　was　steadfast　and　brilliant；　and　
at　the　same　time　he　was　whirled；　with　all　other　things；　
senseless　against　the　glass。　He　got　up；　left　his　tribute　of　
silver；　and　pressed　on；　with　the　wind　against　him。　The　
image　of　the　lighthouse　and　the　storm　full　of　birds　persisted；　
taking　the　place　of　more　definite　thoughts；　as　he　
walked　past　the　Houses　of　Parliament　and　down　Grosvenor　
Road；　by　the　side　of　the　river。　In　his　state　of　physical　
fatigue；　details　merged　themselves　in　the　vaster　prospect；　
of　which　the　flying　gloom　and　the　intermittent　lights　
of　lampposts　and　private　houses　were　the　outward　token；　
but　he　never　lost　his　sense　of　walking　in　the　direction　
of　Katharine’s　house。　He　took　it　for　granted　that　
something　would　then　happen；　and；　as　he　walked　on；　his　
mind　became　more　and　more　full　of　pleasure　and　expectancy。　
Within　a　certain　radius　of　her　house　the　streets　

came　under　the　influence　of　her　presence。　Each　house　
had　an　individuality　known　to　Ralph；　because　of　the　tremendous　
individuality　of　the　house　in　which　she　lived。　
For　some　yards　before　reaching　the　Hilberys’　door　he　
walked　in　a　trance　of　pleasure；　but　when　he　reached　it；　
and　pushed　the　gate　of　the　little　garden　open；　he　hesitated。　
He　did　not　know　what　to　do　next。　There　was　no　
hurry；　however；　for　the　outside　of　the　house　held　pleasure　
enough　to　last　him　some　time　longer。　He　crossed　the　
road；　and　leant　against　the　balustrade　of　the　Embankment；　
fixing　his　eyes　upon　the　house。　

Lights　burnt　in　the　three　long　windows　of　the　drawing
room。　The　space　of　the　room　behind　became；　in　Ralph’s　
vision；　the　center　of　the　dark；　flying　wilderness　of　the　
world；　the　justification　for　the　welter　of　confusion　surrounding　
it；　the　steady　light　which　cast　its　beams；　like　
those　of　a　lighthouse；　with　searching　posure　over　the　
trackless　waste。　In　this　little　sanctuary　were　gathered　
together　several　different　people；　but　their　identity　was　
dissolved　in　a　general　glory　of　something　that　might；　
perhaps；　be　called　civilization；　at　any　rate；　all　dryness；　

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Night　and　Day　

all　safety；　all　that　stood　up　above　the　surge　and　preserved　
a　consciousness　of　its　own；　was　centered　in　the　
drawingroom　of　the　Hilberys。　Its　purpose　was　beneficent；　
and　yet　so　far　above　his　level　as　to　have　something　
austere　about　it；　a　light　that　cast　itself　out　and　yet　kept　
itself　aloof。　Then　he　began；　in　his　mind；　to　distinguish　
different　individuals　within；　consciously　refusing　as　yet　
to　attack　the　figure　of　Katharine。　His　thoughts　lingered　
over　Mrs。　Hilbery　and　Cassandra；　and　then　he　turned　to　
Rodney　and　Mr。　Hilbery。　Physically；　he　saw　them　bathed　
in　that　steady　flow　of　yellow　light　which　filled　the　long　
oblongs　of　the　windows；　in　their　movements　they　were　
beautiful；　and　in　their　speech　he　figured　a　reserve　of　
meaning；　unspoken；　but　understood。　At　length；　after　all　
this　halfconscious　selection　and　arrangement；　he　allowed　
himself　to　approach　the　figure　of　Katharine　herself；　and　
instantly　the　scene　was　flooded　with　excitement。　He　did　
not　see　her　in　the　body；　he　seemed　curiously　to　see　her　
as　a　shape　of　light；　the　light　itself；　he　seemed；　simplified　
and　exhausted　as　he　was；　to　be　like　one　of　those　lost　
birds　fascinated　by　the　lighthouse　and　held　to　the　glass　

by　the　splendor　of　the　blaze。　

These　thoughts　drove　him　to　tramp　a　beat　up　and　down　
the　pavement　before　the　Hilberys’　gate。　He　did　not　trouble　
himself　to　make　any　plans　for　the　future。　Something　of　
an　unknown　kind　would　decide　both　the　ing　year　and　
the　ing　hour。　Now　and　again；　in　his　vigil；　he　sought　
the　light　in　the　long　windows；　or　glanced　at　the　ray　which　
gilded　a　few　leaves　and　a　few　blades　of　grass　in　the　little　
garden。　For　a　long　time　the　light　burnt　without　changing。　
He　had　just　reached　the　limit　of　his　beat　and　was　
turning；　when　the　front　door　opened；　and　the　aspect　of　
the　house　was　entirely　changed。　A　black　figure　came　down　
the　little　pathway　and　paused　at　the　gate。　Denham　understood　
instantly　that　it　was　Rodney。　Without　hesitation；　
and　conscious　only　of　a　great　friendliness　for　any　
one　ing　from　that　lighted　room；　he　walked　straight　
up　to　him　and　stopped　him。　In　the　flurry　of　the　wind　
Rodney　was　taken　aback；　and　for　the　moment　tried　to　
press　on；　muttering　something；　as　if　he　suspected　a　demand　
upon　his　charity。　

“Goodness；　Denham；　what　are　you　doing　here？”　he　ex


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claimed；　recognizing　him。　

Ralph　mumbled　something　about　being　on　his　way　home。　
They　walked　on　together；　though　Rodney　walked　quick　
enough　to　make　it　plain　that　he　had　no　wish　for　pany。　

He　was　very　unhappy。　That　afternoon　Cassandra　had　
repulsed　him；　he　had　tried　to　explain　to　her　the　difficulties　
of　the　situation；　and　to　suggest　the　nature　of　his　
feelings　for　her　without　saying　anything　definite　or　anything　
offensive　to　her。　But　he　had　lost　his　head；　under　
the　goad　of　Katharine’s　ridicule　he　had　said　too　much；　
and　Cassandra；　superb　in　her　dignity　and　severity；　had　
refused　to　hear　another　word；　and　threatened　an　immediate　
return　to　her　home。　His　agitation；　after　an　evening　
spent　between　the　two　women；　was　extreme。　Moreover；　
he　could　not　help　suspecting　that　Ralph　was　wandering　
near　the　Hilberys’　house；　at　this　hour；　for　reasons　connected　
with　Katharine。　There　was　probably　some　understanding　
between　them—not　that　anything　of　the　kind　
mattered　to　him　now。　He　was　convinced　that　he　had　never　
cared　for　any　one　save　Cassandra；　and　Katharine’s　future　
was　no　concern　of　his。　Aloud；　he　said；　shortly；　that　he　

was　very　tired　and　wished　to　find　a　cab。　But　on　Sunday　
night；　on　the　Embankment；　cabs　were　hard　to　e　by；　
and　Rodney　found　himself　constrained　to　walk　some　distance；　
at　any　rate；　in　Denham’s　pany。　Denham　maintained　
his　silence。　Rodney’s　irritation　lapsed。　He　found　
the　silence　oddly　suggestive　of　the　good　masculine　qualities　
which　he　much　respected；　and　had　at　this　moment　
great　reason　to　need。　After　the　mystery；　difficulty；　and　
uncertainty　of　dealing　with　the　other　sex；　intercourse　
with　one’s　own　is　apt　to　have　a　posing　and　even　
ennobling　influence；　since　plain　speaking　is