The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第79部分

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been　given　to　him；　into　which　he　could　remove　from　his　hot；
dusky　enclosure。　He　sent　in　his　application；　confidently；
expectantly。　He　had　a　sort　of　belief　in　his　supernatural　fate。
The　inevitable　weariness　of　his　daily　work　had　stiffened　some　of
his　muscles；　and　made　a　slight　deadness　in　his　ruddy；　alert
face。　Now　he　might　escape。

He　was　full　of　the　new　possibilities；　and　his　wife　was
acquiescent。　She　was　willing　now　to　have　a　change。　She　too　was
tired　of　Cossethay。　The　house　was　too　small　for　the　growing
children。　And　since　she　was　nearly　forty　years　old；　she　began　to
e　awake　from　her　sleep　of　motherhood；　her　energy　moved　more
outwards。　The　din　of　growing　lives　roused　her　from　her　apathy。
She　too　must　have　her　hand　in　making　life。　She　was　quite　ready
to　move；　taking　all　her　brood。　It　would　be　better　now　if　she
transplanted　them。　For　she　had　borne　her　last　child；　it　would　be
growing　up。

So　that　in　her　easy；　unused　fashion　she　talked　plans　and
arrangements　with　her　husband；　indifferent　really　as　to　the
method　of　the　change；　since　a　change　was　ing；　even　if　it　did
not　e　in　this　way　it　would　e　in　another。

The　house　was　full　of　ferment。　Ursula　was　wild　with
excitement。　At　last　her　father　was　going　to　be　something；
socially。　So　long；　he　had　been　a　social　cypher；　without　form　or
standing。　Now　he　was　going　to　be　Art　and　Handwork　Instructor　for
the　County　of　Nottingham。　That　was　really　a　status。　It　was　a
position。　He　would　be　a　specialist　in　his　way。　And　he　was　an
unmon　man。　Ursula　felt　they　were　all　getting　a　foothold　at
last。　He　was　ing　to　his　own。　Who　else　that　she　knew　could
turn　out　from　his　own　fingers　the　beautiful　things　her　father
could　produce？　She　felt　he　was　certain　of　this　new　job。

They　would　move。　They　would　leave　this　cottage　at　Cossethay
which　had　grown　too　small　for　them；　they　would　leave　Cossethay；
where　the　children　had　all　been　born；　and　where　they　were　always
kept　to　the　same　measure。　For　the　people　who　had　known　them　as
children　along　with　the　other　village　boys　and　girls　would
never；　could　never　understand　that　they　should　grow　up
different。　They　had　held　〃Urtler　Brangwen〃　one　of　themselves；
and　had　given　her　her　place　in　her　native　village；　as　in　a
family。　And　the　bond　was　strong。　But　now；　when　she　was　growing
to　something　beyond　what　Cossethay　would　allow　or　understand；
the　bond　between　her　and　her　old　associates　was　being　a
bondage。

〃'Ello；　Urs'ler；　'ow　are　yer　goin'　on？〃　they　said　when　they
met　her。　And　it　demanded　of　her　in　the　old　voice　the　old
response。　And　something　in　her　must　respond　and　belong　to　people
who　knew　her。　But　something　else　denied　bitterly。　What　was　true
of　her　ten　years　ago　was　not　true　now。　And　something　else　which
she　was；　and　must　be；　they　could　neither　see　nor　allow。　They
felt　it　there　nevertheless；　something　beyond　them；　and　they　were
injured。　They　said　she　was　proud　and　conceited；　that　she　was　too
big　for　her　shoes　nowadays。　They　said；　she　needn't　pretend；
because　they　knew　what　she　was。　They　had　known　her　since　she　was
born。　They　quoted　this　and　that　about　her。　And　she　was　ashamed
because　she　did　feel　different　from　the　people　she　had　lived
amongst。　It　hurt　her　that　she　could　not　be　at　her　ease　with　them
any　more。　And　yetand　yetone's　kite　will　rise　on
the　wind　as　far　as　ever　one　has　string　to　let　it　go。　It　tugs　and
tugs　and　will　go；　and　one　is　glad　the　further　it　goes；　even　it
everybody　else　is　nasty　about　it。　So　Cossethay　hampered　her；　and
she　wanted　to　go　away；　to　be　free　to　fly　her　kite　as　high　as　she
liked。　She　wanted　to　go　away；　to　be　free　to　stand　straight　up　to
her　own　height。

So　that　when　she　knew　that　her　father　had　the　new　post；　and
that　the　family　would　move；　she　felt　like　skipping　on　the　face
of　the　earth；　and　making　psalms　of　joy。　The　old；　bound　shell　of
Cossethay　was　to　be　cast　off；　and　she　was　to　dance　away　into　the
blue　air。　She　wanted　to　dance　and　sing。

She　made　dreams　of　the　new　place　she　would　live　in；　where
stately　cultured　people　of　high　feeling　would　be　friends　with
her；　and　she　would　live　with　the　noble　in　the　land；　moving　to　a
large　freedom　of　feeling。　She　dreamed　of　a　rich；　proud；　simple
girlfriend；　who　had　never　known　Mr。　Harby　and　his　like；　nor
ever　had　a　note　in　her　voice　of　bondaged　contempt　and　fear；　as
Maggie　had。

And　she　gave　herself　to　all　that　she　loved　in　Cossethay；
passionately；　because　she　was　going　away　now。　She　wandered　about
to　her　favourite　spots。　There　was　a　place　where　she　went
trespassing　to　find　the　snowdrops　that　grew　wild。　It　was　evening
and　the　winterdarkened　meadows　were　full　of　mystery。　When　she
came　to　the　woods　an　oak　tree　had　been　newly　chopped　down　in　the
dell。　Pale　drops　of　flowers　glimmered　many　under　the　hazels；　and
by　the　sharp；　golden　splinters　of　wood　that　were　splashed　about；
the　greygreen　blades　of　snowdrop　leaves　pricked　unheeding；　the
drooping　still　little　flowers　were　without　heed。

Ursula　picked　some　lovingly；　in　an　ecstasy。　The　golden　chips
of　wood　shone　yellow　like　sunlight；　the　snowdrops　in　the
twilight　were　like　the　first　stars　of　night。　And　she；　alone
amongst　them；　was　wildly　happy　to　have　found　her　way　into　such　a
glimmering　dusk；　to　the　intimate　little　flowers；　and　the　splash
of　wood　chips　like　sunshine　over　the　twilight　of　the　ground。　She
sat　down　on　the　felled　tree　and　remained　awhile　remote。

Going　home；　she　left　the　purplish　dark　of　the　trees　for　the
open　lane；　where　the　puddles　shone　long　and　jewellike　in　the
ruts；　the　land　about　her　was　darkened；　and　the　sky　a　jewel
overhead。　Oh；　how　amazing　it　was　to　her！　It　was　almost　too　much。
She　wanted　to　run；　and　sing；　and　cry　out　for　very　wildness　and
poignancy；　but　she　could　not　run　and　sing　and　cry　out　in　such　a
way　as　to　cry　out　the　deep　things　in　her　heart；　so　she　was
still；　and　almost　sad　with　loneliness。

At　Easter　she　went　again　to　Maggie's　home；　for　a　few　days。
She　was；　however　shy　and　fugitive。　She　saw　Anthony；　how
suggestive　he　was　to　look　on；　and　how　his　eyes　had　a　sort　of
supplicating　light；　that　was　rather　beautiful。　She　looked　at
him；　and　she　looked　again；　for　him　to　bee　real　to　her。　But　it
was　her　own　self　that　was　occupied　elsewhere。　She　seemed　to　have
some　other　being。

And　she　turned　to　spring　and　the　opening　buds。　There　was　a
large　pear　tree　by　a　wall；　and　it　was　full；　thronged　with　tiny；
greygreen　buds；　myriads。　She　stood　before　it　arrested　with
delight；　and　a　realization　went　deep　into　her　heart。　There　was
so　great　a　host　in　array　behind　the　cloud　of　pale；　dim　green；　so
much　to　e　forthso　much　sunshine　to　pour　down。

So　the　weeks　passed　on；　trancelike　and　pregnant。　The　pear
tree　at　Cossethay　burst　into　bloom　against　the　cottageend；　like
a　wave　burst　into　foam。　Then　gradually　the　bluebells　came；　blue
as　water　standing　thin　in　the　level　places　under　the　trees　and
bushes；　flowing　in　more　and　more；　till　there　was　a　flood　of
azure；　and　palegreen　leaves　burning；　and　tiny　birds　with　fiery
little　song　and　flight。　Then　swiftly　the　flood　sank　and　was
gone；　and　it　was　summer。

There　was　to　be　no　going　to　the　seaside　for　a　holiday。　The
holiday　was　the　removal　from　Cossethay。

They　were　going　to　live　near　Willey　Green；　which　place　was
most　central　for　Brangwen。　It　was　an　old；　quiet　village　on　the
edge　of　the　thronged　collierydistrict。　So　that　it　served；　in
its　quaintness　of　odd　old　cottages　lingering　in　their　sunny
gardens；　as　a　sort　of　bower　or　pleasaunce　to　the　sprawling
collierytownlet　of　Beldover；　a　pleasant　walkround　for　the
colliers　on　Sunday　morning；　before　the　publichouses　opened。

In　Willey　Green　stood　the　Grammar　School　where　Brangwen　was
occupied　for　two　days　during　the　week；　and　where　experiments　in
education　were　being　carried　on。

Ursula　wanted　to　live　in　Willey　Green　on　the　remoter　side；
towards　Southwell；　and　Sherwood　Forest。　There　it　was　so　lovely
and　romantic。　But　out　into　the　world　meant　out　into　the　world。
Will　Brangwen　must　bee　modern。

He　bought；　with　his　wife's　money；　a　fairly　large　house　in　the
new；　redbrick　part　of　Beldover。　It　was　a　villa　built　by　the
widow　of　the　late　colliery　manager；　and　stood　in　a　quiet；　new
little　sidestreet　near　the　large　church。

Ursula　was　rather　sad。　Instead　of　having　arrived　at
distinction　they　had　e　to　new　redbrick　suburbia　in　a　grimy；
small　town。

Mrs。　Brangwen　was　happy。　The　rooms　were　splendidly
largea　splendid　diningroom；　drawingroom　and　kitchen；
besides　a　very　pleasant　study　downstairs。　Everything　was
admirably　appointed。　The　widow　had　settled　herself　in　lavishly。
She　was　a　native　of　Beldover；　and　had　intended　to　reign　almost
queen。　Her　bathroom　was　white　and　silver；　her　stairs　were　of
oak；　her　chimneypieces　were　massive　and　oaken；　with　bulging；
columnar　supports。

〃Good　and　substantial；〃　was　the　keynote。　But　Ursula　resented
the　stout；　inflated　prosperity　implied　everywhere。　She　made　her
father　promise　to　chisel　down　the　bulging　oaken　chimneypieces；
chisel　them　flat。　That　sort　of　important　paunch　was　very
distasteful　to　her。　Her　father　was　himself　long　and　loosely
built。　What　had　he　to　do　with　so　much　〃good　and　substantial〃
importance？

They　bought　a　fair　amount　also　of　the　widow's　furniture。　It
was　in　mon　good　tastethe　great　Wilton　carpet；　the
large　round　table；　the　Chesterfield　covered　with　glossy　chintz
in　roses　and　birds。　It　was　all　really　very　sunny　and　nice；　with
large　windows；　and　a　view　right　across　the　shallow　valley。

After　all；　they　would　be；　as　one　of　their　acquaintances　said；
among　the　elite　of　Beldover。　They　would　represent　culture。　And
as　there　was　no　one　of　higher　social　importance　than　the
doctors；　the　collierymanagers；　and　the　chemists；　they　would
shine；　with　their　Della　Robbia　beautiful　Madonna；　their　lovely
reliefs　from　Donatello；　their　reproductions　from　Botticelli。
Nay；　the　large　photographs　of　the　Primavera　and　the　Aphrodite
and　the　Nativity　in　the　diningroom；　the　ordinary
receptionroom；　would　make　dumb　the　mouth　of　Beldover。

And　after　all；　it　is　better　to　be　princess　in　Beldover　than　a
vulgar　nobody　in　the　country。

There　was　great　preparation　made　for　the　removal　of　the　whole
Brangwen　family；　ten　in　all。　The　house　in　Beldover　was　prepared；
the　house　in　Cossethay　was　dismantled。　e　the　end　of　the
schoolterm　the　removal　would　begin。

Ursula　left　school　at　the　end　of　July；　when　the　summer
holiday　menced。　The　morning　outside　was　bright　and　sunny；　and
the　freedom　got　inside　the　schoolroom　this　last　day。　It　was　as
if　the　walls　of　the　school　were　going　to　melt　away。　Already　they
seemed　shadowy　and　unreal。　It　was　breakingup　morning。　Soon
scholars　and　teachers　would　be　outside；　each　going　his　own　way。
The　irons　were　struck　off；　the　sentence　was　expired；　the　prison
was　a　momentary　shadow　halting　about　them。　The　children　were
carrying　away　books　and　inkwell；　and　rolling　up　maps。　All　their
faces　were　bright　with　gladness　and　goodwill。　There　was　a　bustle
of　cleaning　and　clearing　away　all　marks　of　this　last　term　of
imprisonment。　They　were　all　breaking　free。　Busily；　eagerly；
Ursula　made　up　her　totals　of　attendances　in　the　register。　With
pride　she　wrote　down　the　thousands：　to　so　many　thousands　of
children　had　she　given　another　sessions's　lessons。　It　looked
tremendous。　The　excited　hours　pa