[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第44部分

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out　of　the　window；　it　was　of　her　he　thought；　she；　too；　
had　seen　these　gray　fields；　and；　perhaps；　she　was　there　
where　the　trees　ran　up　a　slope；　and　one　yellow　light　shone　
now；　and　then　went　out　again；　at　the　foot　of　the　hill。　The　
light　shone　in　the　windows　of　an　old　gray　house；　he　
thought。　He　lay　back　in　his　corner　and　forgot　the　mercial　
traveler　altogether。　The　process　of　visualizing　
Katharine　stopped　short　at　the　old　gray　manorhouse；　
instinct　warned　him　that　if　he　went　much　further　with　
this　process　reality　would　soon　force　itself　in；　he　could　
not　altogether　neglect　the　figure　of　William　Rodney。　Since　
the　day　when　he　had　heard　from　Katharine’s　lips　of　her　
engagement；　he　had　refrained　from　investing　his　dream　
of　her　with　the　details　of　real　life。　But　the　light　of　the　
late　afternoon　glowed　green　behind　the　straight　trees；　
and　became　a　symbol　of　her。　The　light　seemed　to　expand　
his　heart。　She　brooded　over　the　gray　fields；　and　was　with　
him　now　in　the　railway　carriage；　thoughtful；　silent；　and　

infinitely　tender；　but　the　vision　pressed　too　close；　and　
must　be　dismissed；　for　the　train　was　slackening。　Its　abrupt　
jerks　shook　him　wide　awake；　and　he　saw　Mary　Datchet；　a　
sturdy　russet　figure；　with　a　dash　of　scarlet　about　it；　as　
the　carriage　slid　down　the　platform。　A　tall　youth　who　
acpanied　her　shook　him　by　the　hand；　took　his　bag；　
and　led　the　way　without　uttering　one　articulate　word。　

Never　are　voices　so　beautiful　as　on　a　winter’s　evening；　
when　dusk　almost　hides　the　body；　and　they　seem　to　issue　
from　nothingness　with　a　note　of　intimacy　seldom　heard　
by　day。　Such　an　edge　was　there　in　Mary’s　voice　when　she　
greeted　him。　About　her　seemed　to　hang　the　mist　of　the　
winter　hedges；　and　the　clear　red　of　the　bramble　leaves。　
He　felt　himself　at　once　stepping　on　to　the　firm　ground　of　
an　entirely　different　world；　but　he　did　not　allow　himself　
to　yield　to　the　pleasure　of　it　directly。　They　gave　him　his　
choice　of　driving　with　Edward　or　of　walking　home　across　
the　fields　with　Mary—not　a　shorter　way；　they　explained；　
but　Mary　thought　it　a　nicer　way。　He　decided　to　walk　with　
her；　being　conscious；　indeed；　that　he　got　fort　from　
her　presence。　What　could　be　the　cause　of　her　cheerful


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ness；　he　wondered；　half　ironically；　and　half　enviously；　as　
the　ponycart　started　briskly　away；　and　the　dusk　swam　
between　their　eyes　and　the　tall　form　of　Edward；　standing　
up　to　drive；　with　the　reins　in　one　hand　and　the　whip　in　
the　other。　People　from　the　village；　who　had　been　to　the　
market　town；　were　climbing　into　their　gigs；　or　setting　off　
home　down　the　road　together　in　little　parties。　Many　salutations　
were　addressed　to　Mary；　who　shouted　back；　with　
the　addition　of　the　speaker’s　name。　But　soon　she　led　the　
way　over　a　stile；　and　along　a　path　worn　slightly　darker　
than　the　dim　green　surrounding　it。　In　front　of　them　the　
sky　now　showed　itself　of　a　reddishyellow；　like　a　slice　of　
some　semilucent　stone　behind　which　a　lamp　burnt；　while　
a　fringe　of　black　trees　with　distinct　branches　stood　against　
the　light；　which　was　obscured　in　one　direction　by　a　hump　
of　earth；　in　all　other　directions　the　land　lying　flat　to　the　
very　verge　of　the　sky。　One　of　the　swift　and　noiseless　birds　
of　the　winter’s　night　seemed　to　follow　them　across　the　
field；　circling　a　few　feet　in　front　of　them；　disappearing　
and　returning　again　and　again。　

Mary　had　gone　this　walk　many　hundred　times　in　the　

course　of　her　life；　generally　alone；　and　at　different　stages　
the　ghosts　of　past　moods　would　flood　her　mind　with　a　
whole　scene　or　train　of　thought　merely　at　the　sight　of　
three　trees　from　a　particular　angle；　or　at　the　sound　of　the　
pheasant　clucking　in　the　ditch。　But　tonight　the　circumstances　
were　strong　enough　to　oust　all　other　scenes；　and　
she　looked　at　the　field　and　the　trees　with　an　involuntary　
intensity　as　if　they　had　no　such　associations　for　her。　

“Well；　Ralph；”　she　said；　“this　is　better　than　Lincoln’s　Inn　
Fields；　isn’t　it？　Look；　there’s　a　bird　for　you！　Oh；　you’ve　brought　
glasses；　have　you？　Edward　and　Christopher　mean　to　make　
you　shoot。　Can　you　shoot？　I　shouldn’t　think　so—”　

“Look　here；　you　must　explain；”　said　Ralph。　“Who　are　
these　young　men？　Where　am　I　staying？”　

“You　are　staying　with　us；　of　course；”　she　said　boldly。　
“Of　course；　you’re　staying　with　us—you　don’t　mind　ing；　
do　you？”　

“If　I　had；　I　shouldn’t　have　e；”　he　said　sturdily。　They　
walked　on　in　silence；　Mary　took　care　not　to　break　it　for　a　
time。　She　wished　Ralph　to　feel；　as　she　thought　he　would；　
all　the　fresh　delights　of　the　earth　and　air。　She　was　right。　

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In　a　moment　he　expressed　his　pleasure；　much　to　her　fort。　


“This　is　the　sort　of　country　I　thought　you’d　live　in；　
Mary；”　he　said；　pushing　his　hat　back　on　his　head；　and　
looking　about　him。　“Real　country。　No　gentlemen’s　seats。”　

He　snuffed　the　air；　and　felt　more　keenly　than　he　had　
done　for　many　weeks　the　pleasure　of　owning　a　body。　

“Now　we　have　to　find　our　way　through　a　hedge；”　said　
Mary。　In　the　gap　of　the　hedge　Ralph　tore　up　a　poacher’s　
wire；　set　across　a　hole　to　trap　a　rabbit。　

“It’s　quite　right　that　they　should　poach；”　said　Mary；　
watching　him　tugging　at　the　wire。　“I　wonder　whether　it　
was　Alfred　Duggins　or　Sid　Rankin？　How　can　one　expect　
them　not　to；　when　they　only　make　fifteen　shillings　a　
week？　Fifteen　shillings　a　week；”　she　repeated；　ing　
out　on　the　other　side　of　the　hedge；　and　running　her　fingers　
through　her　hair　to　rid　herself　of　a　bramble　which　
had　attached　itself　to　her。　“I　could　live　on　fifteen　shillings　
a　week—easily。”　

“Could　you？”　said　Ralph。　“I　don’t　believe　you　could；”　
he　added。　

“Oh　yes。　They　have　a　cottage　thrown　in；　and　a　garden　
where　one　can　grow　vegetables。　It　wouldn’t　be　half　bad；”　
said　Mary；　with　a　soberness　which　impressed　Ralph　very　much。　

“But　you’d　get　tired　of　it；”　he　urged。　

“I　sometimes　think　it’s　the　only　thing　one　would　never　
get　tired　of；”　she　replied。　

The　idea　of　a　cottage　where　one　grew　one’s　own　vegetables　
and　lived　on　fifteen　shillings　a　week；　filled　Ralph　
with　an　extraordinary　sense　of　rest　and　satisfaction。　

“But　wouldn’t　it　be　on　the　main　road；　or　next　door　to　a　
woman　with　six　squalling　children；　who’d　always　be　hanging　
her　washing　out　to　dry　across　your　garden？”　

“The　cottage　I’m　thinking　of　stands　by　itself　in　a　little　
orchard。”　

“And　what　about　the　Suffrage？”　he　asked；　attempting　
sarcasm。　

“Oh；　there　are　other　things　in　the　world　besides　the　
Suffrage；”　she　replied；　in　an　offhand　manner　which　was　
slightly　mysterious。　

Ralph　fell　silent。　It　annoyed　him　that　she　should　have　
plans　of　which　he　knew　nothing；　but　he　felt　that　he　had　

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no　right　to　press　her　further。　His　mind　settled　upon　the　
idea　of　life　in　a　country　cottage。　Conceivably；　for　he　could　
not　examine　into　it　now；　here　lay　a　tremendous　possibility；　
a　solution　of　many　problems。　He　struck　his　stick　upon　
the　earth；　and　stared　through　the　dusk　at　the　shape　of　
the　country。　

“D’you　know　the　points　of　the　pass？”　he　asked。　

“Well；　of　course；”　said　Mary。　“What　d’you　take　me　for？—　
a　Cockney　like　you？”　She　then　told　him　exactly　where　the　
north　lay；　and　where　the　south。　

“It’s　my　native　land；　this；”　she　said。　“I　could　smell　my　
way　about　it　blindfold。”　

As　if　to　prove　this　boast；　she　walked　a　little　quicker；　so　
that　Ralph　found　it　difficult　to　keep　pace　with　her。　At　the　
same　time；　he　felt　drawn　to　her　as　he　had　never　been　
before；　partly；　no　doubt；　because　she　was　more　independent　
of　him　than　in　London；　and　seemed　to　be　attached　
firmly　to　a　world　where　he　had　no　place　at　all。　Now　the　
dusk　had　fallen　to　such　an　extent　that　he　had　to　follow　
her　implicitly；　and　even　lean　his　hand　on　her　shoulder　
when　they　jumped　a　bank　into　a　very　narrow　lane。　And　he　

felt　curiously　shy　of　her　when　she　began　to　shout　through　
her　hands　at　a　spot　of　light　which　swung　upon　the　mist　
in　a　neighboring　field。　He　shouted；　too；　and　the　light　
stood　still。　

“That’s　Christopher；　e　in　already；　and　gone　to　f