《[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版》

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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版- 第47部分


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“Absolutely no one。” 

“Henry?” he demanded。 

“Henry? I should have thought; William; even you—” 

“There is some one;” he persisted。 “There has been a 
change in the last few weeks。 You owe it to me to be 
honest; Katharine。” 

“If I could; I would;” she replied。 

“Why did you tell me you would marry me; then?” he 
demanded。 

Why; indeed? A moment of pessimism; a sudden con


viction of the undeniable prose of life; a lapse of the 
illusion which sustains youth midway between heaven 
and earth; a desperate attempt to reconcile herself with 
facts—she could only recall a moment; as of waking from 
a dream; which now seemed to her a moment of surrender。 
But who could give reasons such as these for doing 
what she had done? She shook her head very sadly。 

“But you’re not a child—you’re not a woman of moods;” 
Rodney persisted。 “You couldn’t have accepted me if you 
hadn’t loved me!” he cried。 

A sense of her own misbehavior; which she had succeeded 
in keeping from her by sharpening her consciousness 
of Rodney’s faults; now swept over her and almost 
overwhelmed her。 What were his faults in parison with 
the fact that he cared for her? What were her virtues in 
parison with the fact that she did not care for him? 
In a flash the conviction that not to care is the uttermost 
sin of all stamped itself upon her inmost thought; and 
she felt herself branded for ever。 

He had taken her arm; and held her hand firmly in his; 
nor had she the force to resist what now seemed to her 

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his enormously superior strength。 Very well; she would 
submit; as her mother and her aunt and most women; 
perhaps; had submitted; and yet she knew that every 
second of such submission to his strength was a second 
of treachery to him。 

“I did say I would marry you; but it was wrong;” she 
forced herself to say; and she stiffened her arm as if to 
annul even the seeming submission of that separate part 
of her; “for I don’t love you; William; you’ve noticed it; 
every one’s noticed it; why should we go on pretending? 
When I told you I loved you; I was wrong。 I said what I 
knew to be untrue。” 

As none of her words seemed to her at all adequate to 
represent what she felt; she repeated them; and emphasized 
them without realizing the effect that they might 
have upon a man who cared for her。 She was pletely 
taken aback by finding her arm suddenly dropped; then 
she saw his face most strangely contorted; was he laughing; 
it flashed across her? In another moment she saw 
that he was in tears。 In her bewilderment at this apparition 
she stood aghast for a second。 With a desperate 

sense that this horror must; at all costs; be stopped; she 
then put her arms about him; drew his head for a moment 
upon her shoulder; and led him on; murmuring words of 
consolation; until he heaved a great sigh。 They held fast 
to each other; her tears; too; ran down her cheeks; and 
were both quite silent。 Noticing the difficulty with which 
he walked; and feeling the same extreme lassitude in her 
own limbs; she proposed that they should rest for a moment 
where the bracken was brown and shriveled beneath 
an oaktree。 He assented。 Once more he gave a 
great sigh; and wiped his eyes with a childlike unconsciousness; 
and began to speak without a trace of his 
previous anger。 The idea came to her that they were like 
the children in the fairy tale who were lost in a wood; 
and with this in her mind she noticed the scattering of 
dead leaves all round them which had been blown by the 
wind into heaps; a foot or two deep; here and there。 

“When did you begin to feel this; Katharine?” he said; 
“for it isn’t true to say that you’ve always felt it。 I admit 
I was unreasonable the first night when you found that 
your clothes had been left behind。 Still; where’s the fault 

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in that? I could promise you never to interfere with your 
clothes again。 I admit I was cross when I found you upstairs 
with Henry。 Perhaps I showed it too openly。 But 
that’s not unreasonable either when one’s engaged。 Ask 
your mother。 And now this terrible thing—” He broke off; 
unable for the moment to proceed any further。 “This decision 
you say you’ve e to—have you discussed it 
with any one? Your mother; for example; or Henry?” 

“No; no; of course not;” she said; stirring the leaves with 
her hand。 “But you don’t understand me; William—” 

“Help me to understand you—” 

“You don’t understand; I mean; my real feelings; how 
could you? I’ve only now faced them myself。 But I haven’t 
got the sort of feeling—love; I mean—I don’t know what 
to call it”—she looked vaguely towards the horizon sunk 
under mist—”but; anyhow; without it our marriage would 
be a farce—” 

“How a farce?” he asked。 “But this kind of analysis is 
disastrous!” he exclaimed。 

“I should have done it before;” she said gloomily。 

“You make yourself think things you don’t think;” he 

continued; being demonstrative with his hands; as 
his manner was。 “Believe me; Katharine; before we came 
here we were perfectly happy。 You were full of plans for 
our house—the chaircovers; don’t you remember?—like 
any other woman who is about to be married。 Now; for no 
reason whatever; you begin to fret about your feeling 
and about my feeling; with the usual result。 I assure you; 
Katharine; I’ve been through it all myself。 At one time I 
was always asking myself absurd questions which came 
to nothing either。 What you want; if I may say so; is 
some occupation to take you out of yourself when this 
morbid mood es on。 If it hadn’t been for my poetry; I 
assure you; I should often have been very much in the 
same state myself。 To let you into a secret;” he continued; 
with his little chuckle; which now sounded almost 
assured; “I’ve often gone home from seeing you in such a 
state of nerves that I had to force myself to write a page 
or two before I could get you out of my head。 Ask Denham; 
he’ll tell you how he met me one night; he’ll tell you what 
a state he found me in。” 

Katharine started with displeasure at the mention of 

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Ralph’s name。 The thought of the conversation in which 
her conduct had been made a subject for discussion with 
Denham roused her anger; but; as she instantly felt; she 
had scarcely the right to grudge William any use of her 
name; seeing what her fault against him had been from 
first to last。 And yet Denham! She had a view of him as a 
judge。 She figured him sternly weighing instances of her 
levity in this masculine court of inquiry into feminine 
morality and gruffly dismissing both her and her family 
with some halfsarcastic; halftolerant phrase which sealed 
her doom; as far as he was concerned; for ever。 Having 
met him so lately; the sense of his character was strong 
in her。 The thought was not a pleasant one for a proud 
woman; but she had yet to learn the art of subduing her 
expression。 Her eyes fixed upon the ground; her brows 
drawn together; gave William a very fair picture of the 
resentment that she was forcing herself to control。 A certain 
degree of apprehension; occasionally culminating in 
a kind of fear; had always entered into his love for her; 
and had increased; rather to his surprise; in the greater 
intimacy of their engagement。 Beneath her steady; ex


emplary surface ran a vein of passion which seemed to 
him now perverse; now pletely irrational; for it never 
took the normal channel of glorification of him and his 
doings; and; indeed; he almost preferred the steady good 
sense; which had always marked their relationship; to a 
more romantic bond。 But passion she had; he could not 
deny it; and hitherto he had tried to see it employed in 
his thoughts upon the lives of the children who were to 
be born to them。 

“She will make a perfect mother—a mother of sons;” 
he thought; but seeing her sitting there; gloomy and silent; 
he began to have his doubts on this point。 “A farce; 
a farce;” he thought to himself。 “She said that our marriage 
would be a farce;” and he became suddenly aware 
of their situation; sitting upon the ground; among the 
dead leaves; not fifty yards from the main road; so that it 
was quite possible for some one passing to see and recognize 
them。 He brushed off his face any trace that might 
remain of that unseemly exhibition of emotion。 But he 
was more troubled by Katharine’s appearance; as she sat 
rapt in thought upon the ground; than by his own; there 

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Night and Day 

was something improper to him in her selfforgetfulness。 
A man naturally alive to the conventions of society; he 
was strictly conventional where women were concerned; 
and especially if the women happened to be in any way 
connected with him。 He noticed with distress the long 
strand of dark hair touching her shoulder and two or three 
dead beechleaves attached to her dress; but to recall 
her mind in their present circumstances to a sense of 
these details was impossible。 She sat there; seeming unconscious 
of everything。 He suspected that in her silence 
she was reproaching herself; but he wished that she would 
think of her hair and of the dead beechleaves; which 
were of more immediate importance to him than anything 
else。 Indeed; these trifles drew his attention 
strangely from his own doubtful and uneasy state of mind; 
for relief; mixing itself with pain; stirred up a most curious 
hurry and tumult in his breast; almost concealing his 
first sharp sense of bleak and overwhelming disappointment。 
In order to relieve this restlessness and close a 
distressingly illordered scene; he rose abruptly and helped 
Katharine to her feet。 She smiled a little at the minute 

care with which he tidied her and yet; when he brushed 
the dead leaves from his own coat; she flinched; seeing 
in that action the gesture of a lonely man。 

“William;” she said; “I will marry you。 I will try to make 
you happy。” 

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CHAPTER XIX 


The afternoon was already growing d

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