[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第74部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

her　arms　while　the　tears　ran　down　her　cheeks。　

361　



Night　and　Day　

CHAPTER　XXX　


The　day　was　so　different　from　other　days　to　three　people　
in　the　house　that　the　mon　routine　of　household　life—　
the　maid　waiting　at　table；　Mrs。　Hilbery　writing　a　letter；　
the　clock　striking；　and　the　door　opening；　and　all　the　other　
signs　of　longestablished　civilization　appeared　suddenly　
to　have　no　meaning　save　as　they　lulled　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Hilbery　
into　the　belief　that　nothing　unusual　had　taken　place。　It　
chanced　that　Mrs。　Hilbery　was　depressed　without　visible　
cause；　unless　a　certain　crudeness　verging　upon　coarseness　
in　the　temper　of　her　favorite　Elizabethans　could　be　
held　responsible　for　the　mood。　At　any　rate；　she　had　shut　
up　“The　Duchess　of　Malfi”　with　a　sigh；　and　wished　to　
know；　so　she　told　Rodney　at　dinner；　whether　there　wasn’t　
some　young　writer　with　a　touch　of　the　great　spirit—somebody　
who　made　you　believe　that　life　was　beautiful？　She　
got　little　help　from　Rodney；　and　after　singing　her　plaintive　
requiem　for　the　death　of　poetry　by　herself；　she　
charmed　herself　into　good　spirits　again　by　remembering　
the　existence　of　Mozart。　She　begged　Cassandra　to　play　to　

her；　and　when　they　went　upstairs　Cassandra　opened　the　
piano　directly；　and　did　her　best　to　create　an　atmosphere　
of　unmixed　beauty。　At　the　sound　of　the　first　notes　
Katharine　and　Rodney　both　felt　an　enormous　sense　of　
relief　at　the　license　which　the　music　gave　them　to　loosen　
their　hold　upon　the　mechanism　of　behavior。　They　lapsed　
into　the　depths　of　thought。　Mrs。　Hilbery　was　soon　spirited　
away　into　a　perfectly　congenial　mood；　that　was　half　
reverie　and　half　slumber；　half　delicious　melancholy　and　
half　pure　bliss。　Mr。　Hilbery　alone　attended。　He　was　extremely　
musical；　and　made　Cassandra　aware　that　he　listened　
to　every　note。　She　played　her　best；　and　won　his　
approval。　Leaning　slightly　forward　in　his　chair；　and　turning　
his　little　green　stone；　he　weighed　the　intention　of　
her　phrases　approvingly；　but　stopped　her　suddenly　to　
plain　of　a　noise　behind　him。　The　window　was　
unhasped。　He　signed　to　Rodney；　who　crossed　the　room　
immediately　to　put　the　matter　right。　He　stayed　a　moment　
longer　by　the　window　than　was；　perhaps；　necessary；　and　
having　done　what　was　needed；　drew　his　chair　a　little　
closer　than　before　to　Katharine’s　side。　The　music　went　

362　



Virginia　Woolf　

on。　Under　cover　of　some　exquisite　run　of　melody；　he　leant　
towards　her　and　whispered　something。　She　glanced　at　
her　father　and　mother；　and　a　moment　later　left　the　room；　
almost　unobserved；　with　Rodney。　

“What　is　it？”　she　asked；　as　soon　as　the　door　was　shut。　

Rodney　made　no　answer；　but　led　her　downstairs　into　
the　diningroom　on　the　ground　floor。　Even　when　he　had　
shut　the　door　he　said　nothing；　but　went　straight　to　the　
window　and　parted　the　curtains。　He　beckoned　to　Katharine。　

“There　he　is　again；”　he　said。　“Look；　there—under　the　
lamppost。”　

Katharine　looked。　She　had　no　idea　what　Rodney　was　
talking　about。　A　vague　feeling　of　alarm　and　mystery　possessed　
her。　She　saw　a　man　standing　on　the　opposite　side　
of　the　road　facing　the　house　beneath　a　lamppost。　As　
they　looked　the　figure　turned；　walked　a　few　steps；　and　
came　back　again　to　his　old　position。　It　seemed　to　her　
that　he　was　looking　fixedly　at　her；　and　was　conscious　of　
her　gaze　on　him。　She　knew；　in　a　flash；　who　the　man　was　
who　was　watching　them。　She　drew　the　curtain　abruptly。　

“Denham；”　said　Rodney。　“He　was　there　last　night　too。”　

He　spoke　sternly。　His　whole　manner　had　bee　full　of　
authority。　Katharine　felt　almost　as　if　he　accused　her　of　
some　crime。　She　was　pale　and　unfortably　agitated；　as　
much　by　the　strangeness　of　Rodney’s　behavior　as　by　the　
sight　of　Ralph　Denham。　

“If　he　chooses　to　e—”　she　said　defiantly。　

“You　can’t　let　him　wait　out　there。　I　shall　tell　him　to　e　
in。”　Rodney　spoke　with　such　decision　that　when　he　raised　
his　arm　Katharine　expected　him　to　draw　the　curtain　instantly。　
She　caught　his　hand　with　a　little　exclamation。　

“Wait！”　she　cried。　“I　don’t　allow　you。”　

“You　can’t　wait；”　he　replied。　“You’ve　gone　too　far。”　His　
hand　remained　upon　the　curtain。　“Why　don’t　you　admit；　
Katharine；”　he　broke　out；　looking　at　her　with　an　expression　
of　contempt　as　well　as　of　anger；　“that　you　love　him？　
Are　you　going　to　treat　him　as　you　treated　me？”　

She　looked　at　him；　wondering；　in　spite　of　all　her　perplexity；　
at　the　spirit　that　possessed　him。　

“I　forbid　you　to　draw　the　curtain；”　she　said。　

He　reflected；　and　then　took　his　hand　away。　

“I’ve　no　right　to　interfere；”　he　concluded。　“I’ll　leave　

363　



Night　and　Day　

you。　Or；　if　you　like；　we’ll　go　back　to　the　drawingroom。”　

“No。　I　can’t　go　back；”　she　said；　shaking　her　head。　She　
bent　her　head　in　thought。　

“You　love　him；　Katharine；”　Rodney　said　suddenly。　His　
tone　had　lost　something　of　its　sternness；　and　might　have　
been　used　to　urge　a　child　to　confess　its　fault。　She　raised　
her　eyes　and　fixed　them　upon　him。　

“I　love　him？”　she　repeated。　He　nodded。　She　searched　
his　face；　as　if　for　further　confirmation　of　his　words；　and；　
as　he　remained　silent　and　expectant；　turned　away　once　
more　and　continued　her　thoughts。　He　observed　her　closely；　
but　without　stirring；　as　if　he　gave　her　time　to　make　up　
her　mind　to　fulfil　her　obvious　duty。　The　strains　of　Mozart　
reached　them　from　the　room　above。　

“Now；”　she　said　suddenly；　with　a　sort　of　desperation；　
rising　from　her　chair　and　seeming　to　mand　Rodney　to　
fulfil　his　part。　He　drew　the　curtain　instantly；　and　she　
made　no　attempt　to　stop　him。　Their　eyes　at　once　sought　
the　same　spot　beneath　the　lamppost。　

“He’s　not　there！”　she　exclaimed。　

No　one　was　there。　William　threw　the　window　up　and　looked　

out。　The　wind　rushed　into　the　room；　together　with　the　
sound　of　distant　wheels；　footsteps　hurrying　along　the　pavement；　
and　the　cries　of　sirens　hooting　down　the　river。　

“Denham！”　William　cried。　

“Ralph！”　said　Katharine；　but　she　spoke　scarcely　louder　
than　she　might　have　spoken　to　some　one　in　the　same　
room。　With　their　eyes　fixed　upon　the　opposite　side　of　the　
road；　they　did　not　notice　a　figure　close　to　the　railing　
which　divided　the　garden　from　the　street。　But　Denham　
had　crossed　the　road　and　was　standing　there。　They　were　
startled　by　his　voice　close　at　hand。　

“Rodney！”　

“There　you　are！　e　in；　Denham。”　Rodney　went　to　the　
front　door　and　opened　it。　“Here　he　is；”　he　said；　bringing　
Ralph　with　him　into　the　diningroom　where　Katharine　
stood；　with　her　back　to　the　open　window。　Their　eyes　met　
for　a　second。　Denham　looked　half　dazed　by　the　strong　
light；　and；　buttoned　in　his　overcoat；　with　his　hair　ruffled　
across　his　forehead　by　the　wind；　he　seemed　like　somebody　
rescued　from　an　open　boat　out　at　sea。　William　
promptly　shut　the　window　and　drew　the　curtains。　He　acted　

364　



Virginia　Woolf　

with　a　cheerful　decision　as　if　he　were　master　of　the　situation；　
and　knew　exactly　what　he　meant　to　do。　

“You’re　the　first　to　hear　the　news；　Denham；”　he　said。　
“Katharine　isn’t　going　to　marry　me；　after　all。”　

“Where　shall　I　put—”　Ralph　began　vaguely；　holding　
out　his　hat　and　glancing　about　him；　he　balanced　it　carefully　
against　a　silver　bowl　that　stood　upon　the　sideboard。　
He　then　sat　himself　down　rather　heavily　at　the　head　of　
the　oval　dinnertable。　Rodney　stood　on　one　side　of　him　
and　Katharine　on　the　other。　He　appeared　to　be　presiding　
over　some　meeting　from　which　most　of　the　members　were　
absent。　Meanwhile；　he　waited；　and　his　eyes　rested　upon　
the　glow　of　the　beautifully　polished　mahogany　table。　

“William　is　engaged　to　Cassandra；”　said　Katharine　briefly。　

At　that　Denham　looked　up　quickly　at　Rodney。　Rodney’s　
expression　changed。　He　lost　his　selfpossession。　He　smiled　
a　little　nervously；　and　then　his　attention　seemed　to　be　
caught　by　a　fragment　of　melody　from　the　floor　above。　He　
seemed　for　a　moment　to　forget　the　presence　of　the　others。　
He　glanced　towards　the　door。　

“I　congratulate　you；”　said　Denham。　

“Yes；　yes。　We’re　all　mad—quite　out　of　our　minds；　
Denham；”　he　said。　“It’s　partly　Katharine’s　doing—partly　
mine。”　He　looked　oddly　round　the　room　as　if　he　wished　to　
make　sure　that　the　scene　in　which　he　played　a　part　had　
some　real　existence。　“Quite　mad；”　he　repeated。　“Even　
Katharine—”　His　gaze　rested　upon　her　finally；　as　if　she；　
too；　had　changed　from　his　old　view　of　her。　He　smiled　at　
her　as　if　to　encourage　her。　“Katharine　shall　explain；”　he　
said；　and　giving　a　little　nod　to　Denham；　he　left　the　room。　

Katharine　sat　down　at　once；　and　leant　her　chin　upon　
her　hands。　So　long　as　Rodney　was　in　the　room　the　proceedings　
of　the　evening　had　seemed　to　be　in　his　charge；　
and　had　been　marked　by　a　certain　unreality。　Now　that　
she　was　alone　with　Ralph　she　felt　at　once　that　a　constraint　
had　been　taken　from　them　both。　She　felt　that　
they　were　alone　at　the　bottom　of　the　house；　which　rose；　
story　upon　story；　upon　the　top　of　them。　

“Why　were　you　waiting　out　there？”　she　asked。　

“For　the　chance　of　seeing　you；”　he　replied。　

“You　would　have　waited　all　night　if　it　hadn’t　been　for　
William。　It’s　windy　too。　You　must　have　been　cold。　What　

365　



Night　and　Day　

could　you　see？　Nothing　but　our　windows。”　

“It　was　worth　it。　I　heard　you　call　me。”　

“I　called　you？”　She　had　called　unconsciously。　

“They　were　engaged　this　morning；”　she　told　him；　after　
a　pause。　

“You’re　glad？”　he　asked。　

She　bent　her　head。　“Yes；　yes；”　she　sighed。　“But　you　
don’t　know　how　good　he　is—what　he’s　done　for　me—”　
Ralph　made　a　sound　of　understanding。　“You　waited　there　
last　night　too？”　she　asked。　

“Yes。　I　can　wait；”　Denham　replied。　

The　words　seemed　to　fill　the　room　with　an　emotion　
which　Katharine　connected　with　the　sound　of　distant　
wheels；　the　footsteps　hurrying　along　the　pavement；　the　
cries　of　sirens　hooting　down　the　river；　the　darkness　and　
the　wind。　She　saw　the　upright　figure　standing　beneath　
the　lamppost。　

“Waiting　in　the　dark；”　she　said；　glancing　at　the　window；　
as　if　he　saw　what　she　was　seeing。　“Ah；　but　it’s　different—”　
She　broke　off。　“I’m　not　the　person　you　think　
me。　Until　you　realize　that　it’s　impossible—”　

Placing　her　elbows　on　the　table；　she　slid　her　ruby　ring　
up　and　down　her　finger　abstractedly。　She　frowned　at　the　
rows　of　leatherbound　books　opposite　her。　Ralph　looked　
keenly　at　her。　Very　pale；　but　sternly　concentrated　upon　
her　meaning；　beautiful　but　so　little　aware　of　herself　as　to　
seem　remote　from　him　also；　there　was　something　distant　
and　abstract　about　her　which　exalted　him　and　chilled　
him　at　the　same　time。　

“No；　you’re　right；”　he　said。　“I　don’t　know　you。　I’ve　never　
known　you。”　

“Yet　perhaps　you　know　me　better　than　any　one　else；”　
she　mused。　

Some　detached　instinct　made　her　aware　that　she　was　
gazing　at　a　book　which　belonged　by　rights　to　some　other　
part　of　the　house。　She　walked　over　to　the　shelf；　took　it　
down；　and　returned　to　her　seat；　placing　the　book　on　the　
table　between　them。　Ralph　opened　it　and　looked　at　the　
portrait　of　a　man　with　a　voluminous　white　shirtcollar；　
which　formed　the　f