[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第109部分

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at　the　lamp　again；　another　love　burnt　in　the　place　of　the　
old　one；　or　so；　in　a　momentary　glance　of　amazement；　she　

guessed　before　the　revelation　was　over　and　the　old　surroundings　
asserted　themselves。　She　leant　in　silence　against　
the　mantelpiece。　

“There　are　different　ways　of　loving；”　she　murmured；　half　
to　herself；　at　length。　

Katharine　made　no　reply　and　seemed　unaware　of　her　
words。　She　seemed　absorbed　in　her　own　thoughts。　

“Perhaps　he’s　waiting　in　the　street　again　tonight；”　she　
exclaimed。　“I’ll　go　now。　I　might　find　him。”　

“It’s　far　more　likely　that　he’ll　e　here；”　said　Mary；　
and　Katharine；　after　considering　for　a　moment；　said：　

“I’ll　wait　another　halfhour。”　

She　sank　down　into　her　chair　again；　and　took　up　the　
same　position　which　Mary　had　pared　to　the　position　
of　one　watching　an　unseeing　face。　She　watched；　indeed；　
not　a　face；　but　a　procession；　not　of　people；　but　of　life　
itself：　the　good　and　bad；　the　meaning；　the　past；　the　
present；　and　the　future。　All　this　seemed　apparent　to　her；　
and　she　was　not　ashamed　of　her　extravagance　so　much　as　
exalted　to　one　of　the　pinnacles　of　existence；　where　it　
behoved　the　world　to　do　her　homage。　No　one　but　she　

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herself　knew　what　it　meant　to　miss　Ralph　Denham　on　
that　particular　night；　into　this　inadequate　event　crowded　
feelings　that　the　great　crises　of　life　might　have　failed　to　
call　forth。　She　had　missed　him；　and　knew　the　bitterness　
of　all　failure；　she　desired　him；　and　knew　the　torment　of　
all　passion。　It　did　not　matter　what　trivial　accidents　led　to　
this　culmination。　Nor　did　she　care　how　extravagant　she　
appeared；　nor　how　openly　she　showed　her　feelings。　

When　the　dinner　was　ready　Mary　told　her　to　e；　and　
she　came　submissively；　as　if　she　let　Mary　direct　her　movements　
for　her。　They　ate　and　drank　together　almost　in　
silence；　and　when　Mary　told　her　to　eat　more；　she　ate　
more；　when　she　was　told　to　drink　wine；　she　drank　it。　
Nevertheless；　beneath　this　superficial　obedience；　Mary　
knew　that　she　was　following　her　own　thoughts　unhindered。　
She　was　not　inattentive　so　much　as　remote；　she　
looked　at　once　so　unseeing　and　so　intent　upon　some　
vision　of　her　own　that　Mary　gradually　felt　more　than　protective—
she　became　actually　alarmed　at　the　prospect　of　
some　collision　between　Katharine　and　the　forces　of　the　
outside　world。　Directly　they　had　done；　Katharine　an


nounced　her　intention　of　going。　

“But　where　are　you　going　to？”　Mary　asked；　desiring　
vaguely　to　hinder　her。　

“Oh；　I’m　going　home—no；　to　Highgate　perhaps。”　

Mary　saw　that　it　would　be　useless　to　try　to　stop　her。　All　
she　could　do　was　to　insist　upon　ing　too；　but　she　met　
with　no　opposition；　Katharine　seemed　indifferent　to　her　
presence。　In　a　few　minutes　they　were　walking　along　the　
Strand。　They　walked　so　rapidly　that　Mary　was　deluded　
into　the　belief　that　Katharine　knew　where　she　was　going。　
She　herself　was　not　attentive。　She　was　glad　of　the　movement　
along　lamplit　streets　in　the　open　air。　She　was　fingering；　
painfully　and　with　fear；　yet　with　strange　hope；　
too；　the　discovery　which　she　had　stumbled　upon　unexpectedly　
that　night。　She　was　free　once　more　at　the　cost　
of　a　gift；　the　best；　perhaps；　that　she　could　offer；　but　she　
was；　thank　Heaven；　in　love　no　longer。　She　was　tempted　
to　spend　the　first　instalment　of　her　freedom　in　some　dissipation；　
in　the　pit　of　the　Coliseum；　for　example；　since　
they　were　now　passing　the　door。　Why　not　go　in　and　celebrate　
her　independence　of　the　tyranny　of　love？　Or；　per


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haps；　the　top　of　an　omnibus　bound　for　some　remote　place　
such　as　Camberwell；　or　Sidcup；　or　the　Welsh　Harp　would　
suit　her　better。　She　noticed　these　names　painted　on　little　
boards　for　the　first　time　for　weeks。　Or　should　she　return　
to　her　room；　and　spend　the　night　working　out　the　details　
of　a　very　enlightened　and　ingenious　scheme？　Of　all　possibilities　
this　appealed　to　her　most；　and　brought　to　mind　
the　fire；　the　lamplight；　the　steady　glow　which　had　seemed　
lit　in　the　place　where　a　more　passionate　flame　had　once　
burnt。　

Now　Katharine　stopped；　and　Mary　woke　to　the　fact　that　
instead　of　having　a　goal　she　had　evidently　none。　She　
paused　at　the　edge　of　the　crossing；　and　looked　this　way　
and　that；　and　finally　made　as　if　in　the　direction　of　
Haverstock　Hill。　

“Look　here—where　are　you　going？”　Mary　cried；　catching　
her　by　the　hand。　“We　must　take　that　cab　and　go　home。”　
She　hailed　a　cab　and　insisted　that　Katharine　should　get　in；　
while　she　directed　the　driver　to　take　them　to　Cheyne　Walk。　

Katharine　submitted。　“Very　well；”　she　said。　“We　may　as　
well　go　there　as　anywhere　else。”　

A　gloom　seemed　to　have　fallen　on　her。　She　lay　back　in　
her　corner；　silent　and　apparently　exhausted。　Mary；　in　spite　
of　her　own　preoccupation；　was　struck　by　her　pallor　and　
her　attitude　of　dejection。　

“I’m　sure　we　shall　find　him；”　she　said　more　gently　than　
she　had　yet　spoken。　

“It　may　be　too　late；”　Katharine　replied。　Without　understanding　
her；　Mary　began　to　pity　her　for　what　she　was　
suffering。　

“Nonsense；”　she　said；　taking　her　hand　and　rubbing　it。　
“If　we　don’t　find　him　there　we　shall　find　him　somewhere　
else。”　

“But　suppose　he’s　walking　about　the　streets—for　hours　
and　hours？”　

She　leant　forward　and　looked　out　of　the　window。　

“He　may　refuse　ever　to　speak　to　me　again；”　she　said　in　
a　low　voice；　almost　to　herself。　

The　exaggeration　was　so　immense　that　Mary　did　not　
attempt　to　cope　with　it；　save　by　keeping　hold　of　
Katharine’s　wrist。　She　half　expected　that　Katharine　might　
open　the　door　suddenly　and　jump　out。　Perhaps　Katharine　

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perceived　the　purpose　with　which　her　hand　was　held。　

“Don’t　be　frightened；”　she　said；　with　a　little　laugh。　“I’m　
not　going　to　jump　out　of　the　cab。　It　wouldn’t　do　much　
good　after　all。”　

Upon　this；　Mary　ostentatiously　withdrew　her　hand。　

“I　ought　to　have　apologized；”　Katharine　continued；　with　
an　effort；　“for　bringing　you　into　all　this　business；　I　haven’t　
told　you　half；　either。　I’m　no　longer　engaged　to　William　
Rodney。　He　is　to　marry　Cassandra　Otway。　It’s　all　arranged—　
all　perfectly　right…　。　And　after　he’d　waited　in　the　streets　
for　hours　and　hours；　William　made　me　bring　him　in。　He　
was　standing　under　the　lamppost　watching　our　windows。　
He　was　perfectly　white　when　he　came　into　the　room。　
William　left　us　alone；　and　we　sat　and　talked。　It　seems　
ages　and　ages　ago；　now。　Was　it　last　night？　Have　I　been　
out　long？　What’s　the　time？”　She　sprang　forward　to　catch　
sight　of　a　clock；　as　if　the　exact　time　had　some　important　
bearing　on　her　case。　

“Only　halfpast　eight！”　she　exclaimed。　“Then　he　may　be　
there　still。”　She　leant　out　of　the　window　and　told　the　
cabman　to　drive　faster。　

“But　if　he’s　not　there；　what　shall　I　do？　Where　could　I　
find　him？　The　streets　are　so　crowded。”　

“We　shall　find　him；”　Mary　repeated。　

Mary　had　no　doubt　but　that　somehow　or　other　they　would　
find　him。　But　suppose　they　did　find　him？　She　began　to　
think　of　Ralph　with　a　sort　of　strangeness；　in　her　effort　to　
understand　how　he　could　be　capable　of　satisfying　this　extraordinary　
desire。　Once　more　she　thought　herself　back　to　
her　old　view　of　him　and　could；　with　an　effort；　recall　the　
haze　which　surrounded　his　figure；　and　the　sense　of　confused；　
heightened　exhilaration　which　lay　all　about　his　neighborhood；　
so　that　for　months　at　a　time　she　had　never　exactly　
heard　his　voice　or　seen　his　face—or　so　it　now　seemed　
to　her。　The　pain　of　her　loss　shot　through　her。　Nothing　
would　ever　make　up—not　success；　or　happiness；　or　oblivion。　
But　this　pang　was　immediately　followed　by　the　assurance　
that　now；　at　any　rate；　she　knew　the　truth；　and　Katharine；　
she　thought；　stealing　a　look　at　her；　did　not　know　the　truth；　
yes；　Katharine　was　immensely　to　be　pitied。　

The　cab；　which　had　been　caught　in　the　traffic；　was　now　
liberated　and　sped　on　down　Sloane　Street。　Mary　was　con


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scious　of　the　tension　with　which　Katharine　marked　its　
progress；　as　if　her　mind　were　fixed　upon　a　point　in　front　
of　them；　and　marked；　second　by