michael-第40部分

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！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



She　paused　a　moment。

〃Bring　your　chair　a　little　closer；　my　darling；〃　she　said。　　〃You　are　so　far　off。　　And　why　do　you　wait；　nurse？　　I　will　call　you　if　I　want　you。〃

Michael　felt　one　moment　of　sickening　spiritual　terror。　　He　understood　quite　plainly　why　Nurse　Baker　did　not　want　him　to　go　near　to　his　mother；　and　the　reason　of　it　gave　him　this　pang；　not　of　nervousness　but　of　black　horror；　that　the　sane　and　the　sensitive　must　always　feel　when　they　are　brought　intimately　in　contact　with　some　blind　derangement　of　instinct　in　those　most　nearly　allied　to　them。　　Physically；　on　the　material　plane；　he　had　no　fear　at　all。

He　made　a　movement；　grasping　the　arm　of　his　chair；　as　if　to　wheel　it　closer；　but　he　came　actually　no　nearer　her。

〃Why　don't　you　go　away；　nurse？〃　said　Lady　Ashbridge；　〃and　leave　my　son　and　me　to　talk　about　our　nice　day　in　the　country？〃

Nurse　Baker　answered　quite　naturally。

〃I　want　to　talk；　too；　my　lady；〃　she　said。　　〃I　went　with　you　and　Lord　Comber。　　We　all　enjoyed　it　together。〃

It　seemed　to　Michael　that　his　mother　made　some　violent　effort　towards　self…control。　　He　saw　one　of　her　hands　that　were　lying　on　her　knee　clench　itself；　so　that　the　knuckles　stood　out　white。

〃Yes；　we　will　all　talk　together；　then；〃　she　said。　　〃Orershall　I　have　a　little　doze　first？　　I　am　rather　sleepy　with　so　much　pleasant　air。　　And　you　are　sleepy；　too；　are　you　not；　Michael？　　Yes；　I　see　you　look　sleepy。　　Shall　we　have　a　little　nap；　as　I　often　do　after　tea？　　Then；　when　I　am　fresh　again；　you　shall　come　back；　nurse；　and　we　will　talk　over　our　pleasant　day。〃

When　he　entered　the　room；　Michael　had　not　quite　closed　the　door；　and　now；　as　half　an　hour　before；　he　heard　steps　on　the　stairs。　　A　moment　afterwards　his　mother　heard　them　too。

〃What　is　that？〃　she　said。　　〃Who　is　coming　now　to　disturb　me；　just　when　I　wanted　to　have　a　nap？〃

There　came　a　knock　at　the　door。　　Nurse　Baker　did　not　move　her　head；　but　continued　watching　her　patient；　with　hands　ready　to　act。

〃Come　in；〃　she　said；　not　looking　round。

Lady　Ashbridge's　face　was　towards　the　door。　　As　Sir　James　entered；　she　suddenly　sprang　up；　and　in　her　right　hand　that　lay　beside　her　was　a　knife；　which　she　had　no　doubt　taken　from　the　tea…table　when　she　came　upstairs。　　She　turned　swiftly　towards　Michael；　and　stabbed　at　him　with　it。

〃It's　a　trap；〃　she　cried。　　〃You've　led　me　into　a　trap。　　They　are　going　to　take　me　away。〃

Michael　had　thrown　up　his　arm　to　shield　his　head。　　The　blow　fell　between　shoulder　and　elbow；　and　he　felt　the　edge　of　the　knife　grate　on　his　bone。

And　from　deep　in　his　heart　sprang　the　leaping　fountains　of　compassion　and　love　and　yearning　pity。


CHAPTER　XII


Michael　was　sitting　in　the　big　studio　at　the　Falbes'　house　late　one　afternoon　at　the　end　of　June；　and　the　warmth　and　murmur　of　the　full…blown　summer　filled　the　air。　　The　day　had　so　far　declined　that　the　rays　of　the　sun；　level　in　its　setting；　poured　slantingly　in　through　the　big　window　to　the　north；　and　shining　through　the　foliage　of　the　plane…trees　outside　made　a　diaper　of　rosy　illuminated　spots　and　angled　shadows　on　the　whitewashed　wall。　　As　the　leaves　stirred　in　the　evening　breeze；　this　pattern　shifted　and　twinkled；　now；　as　the　wind　blew　aside　a　bunch　of　foliage；　a　lake　of　rosy　gold　would　spring　up　on　the　wall；　then；　as　the　breath　of　movement　died；　the　green　shadows　grew　thicker　again　faintly　stirring。　　Through　the　window　to　the　south；　which　Hermann　had　caused　to　be　cut　there；　since　the　studio　was　not　used　for　painting　purposes；　Michael　could　see　into　the　patch　of　high…walled　garden；　where　Mrs。　Falbe　was　sitting　in　a　low　basket　chair；　completely　absorbed　in　a　book　of　high…born　and　ludicrous　adventures。　　She　had　made　a　mild　attempt　when　she　found　that　Michael　intended　to　wait　for　Sylvia's　return　to　entertain　him　till　she　came；　but；　with　a　little　oblique　encouragement；　remarking　on　the　beauty　and　warmth　of　the　evening；　and　the　pleasure　of　sitting　out　of　doors；　Michael　had　induced　her　to　go　out　again；　and　leave　him　alone　in　the　studio；　free　to　live　over　again　that　which；　twenty…four　hours　ago；　had　changed　life　for　him。

He　reconstructed　it　as　he　sat　on　the　sofa　and　dwelt　on　the　pearl…　moments　of　it。　　Just　this　time　yesterday　he　had　come　in　and　found　Sylvia　alone。　　She　had　got　up；　he　remembered；　to　give　him　greeting；　and　just　opposite　the　fireplace　they　had　come　face　to　face。　　She　held　in　her　hand　a　small　white　rose　which　she　had　plucked　in　the　tiny　garden　here　in　the　middle　of　London。　　It　was　not　a　very　fine　specimen；　but　it　was　a　rose；　and　she　had　said　in　answer　to　his　depreciatory　glance：　〃But　you　must　see　it　when　I　have　washed　it。　One　has　to　wash　London　flowers。〃

Then　。　。　。　the　miracle　happened。　　Michael；　with　the　hand　that　had　just　taken　hers；　stroked　a　petal　of　this　prized　vegetable；　with　no　thought　in　his　mind　stronger　than　the　thoughts　that　had　been　indigenous　there　since　Christmas。　　As　his　finger　first　touched　the　rim　of　the　town…bred　petals；　undersized　yet　not　quite　lacking　in　〃rose…quality；〃　he　had　intended　nothing　more　than　to　salute　the　flower；　as　Sylvia　made　her　apology　for　it。　　〃One　has　to　wash　London　flowers。〃　　But　as　he　touched　it　he　looked　up　at　her；　and　the　quiet；　usual　song　of　his　thoughts　towards　her　grew　suddenly　loud　and　stupefyingly　sweet。　　It　was　as　if　from　the　vacant　hive…door　the　bees　swarmed。　　In　her　eyes；　as　they　met　his；　he　thought　he　saw　an　expectancy；　a　welcome；　and　his　hand；　instead　of　stroking　the　rose…　petals；　closed　on　the　rose　and　on　the　hand　that　held　it；　and　kept　them　close　imprisoned　and　strongly　gripped。　　He　could　not　remember　if　he　had　spoken　any　word；　but　he　had　seen　that　in　her　face　which　rendered　all　speech　unnecessary；　and；　knowing　in　the　bones　and　the　blood　of　him　that　he　was　right；　he　kissed　her。　　And　then　she　had　said；　〃Yes；　Michael。〃

His　hand　still　was　tight　on　hers　that　held　the　crumpled　rose；　and　when　he　opened　it；　lover…like；　to　stroke　and　kiss　it；　there　was　a　spot　of　blood　in　the　palm　of　it；　where　a　rose…thorn　had　pricked　her；　just　one　drop　of　Sylvia's　blood。　　As　he　kissed　it；　he　had　wiped　it　away　with　the　tip　of　his　tongue　between　his　lips；　and　she　smiling　had　said；　〃Oh；　Michael；　how　silly！〃

They　had　sat　together　on　the　sofa　where　this　afternoon　he　sat　alone　waiting　for　her。　　Every　moment　of　that　half　hour　was　as　distinct　as　the　outline　of　trees　and　hills　just　before　a　storm；　and　yet　it　was　still　entirely　dream…like。　　He　knew　it　had　happened；　for　nothing　but　the　happening　of　it　would　account　now　for　the　fact　of　himself；　but；　though　there　was　nothing　in　the　world　so　true；　there　was　nothing　so　incredible。　　Yet　it　was　all　as　clean…cut　in　his　mind　as　etched　lines；　and　round　each　line　sprang　flowers　and　singing　birds。　For　a　long　space　there　was　silence　after　they　had　sat　down；　and　then　she　said；　〃I　think　I　always　loved　you；　Michael；　only　I　didn't　know　it。　。　。　。〃　　Thereafter；　foolish　love　talk：　he　had　claimed　a　superiority　there；　for　he　had　always　loved　her　and　had　always　known　it。　　Much　time　had　been　wasted　owing　to　her　ignorance　。　。　。　she　ought　to　have　known。　　But　all　the　time　that　existed　was　theirs　now。　In　all　the　world　there　was　no　more　time　than　what　they　had。　　The　crumpled　rose　had　its　petals　rehabilitated；　the　thorn　that　had　pricked　her　was　peeled　off。　　They　wondered　if　Hermann　had　come　in　yet。　　Then；　by　some　vague　process　of　locomotion；　they　found　themselves　at　the　piano；　and　with　her　arm　around　his　neck　Sylvia　has　whispered　half　a　verse　of　the　song　of　herself。　。　。　。

They　became　a　little　more　definite　over　lover…confessions。　　Michael　had；　so　to　speak；　nothing　to　confess：　he　had　loved　all　alonghe　had　wanted　her　all　along；　there　never　had　been　the　least　pretence　or　nonsense　about　it。　　Her　path　was　a　little　more　difficult　to　trace；　but　once　it　had　been　traversed　it　was　clear　enough。　　She　had　liked　him　always；　she　had　felt　sister…like　from　the　moment　when　Hermann　brought　him　to　the　house；　and　sister…like　she　had　continued　to　feel；　even　when　Michael　had　definitely　declared　there　was　〃no　thoroughfare〃　there。　　She　had　missed　that　relationship　when　it　stopped：　she　did　not　mind　telling　him　that　now；　since　it　was　abandoned　by　them　both；　but　not　for　the　world　would　she　have　confessed　before　that　she　had　missed　it。　　She　had　loved　being　asked　to　come　and　see　his　mother；　and　it　was　during　those　visits　that　she　had　helped　to　pile　the　barricade　across　the　〃sister…thoroughfare〃　with　her　own　hands。　　She　began　to　share　Michael's　sense　of　the　impossibility　of　that　road。　　They　could　not　walk　down　it　together；　for　they　had　to　be　either　more　or　less　to　each　other　than　that。　And；　during　these　visits；　she　had　begun　to　understand　（and　her　face　a　little　hid　itself）　what　Michael's　love　meant。　　She　saw　it　manifested　towards　his　mother；　she　was　taught　by　it；　she　learned　it；　and；　she　supposed；　she　loved　it。　　Anyhow；　having　seen　it；　she　could　not　want　Michael　as　a　brother　any　longer；　and　if　he　still　wanted　anything　else；　she　supposed　（so　she　supposed）　that　some　time　he　would　mention　that　fact。　　Yes：　she　began　to　hope　that　he　would　not　be　very　long　about　it。　。　。　。


Michael　went　over　this　very　deliberately　as　he　sat　waiting　for　her　twenty…four　hours　later。　　He　rehearsed　this　moment　and　that　over　and　over　again：　in　mind　he　followed　himself　and　Sylvia　across　to　the　piano；　not　hurrying　their　steps；　and　going　through　the　verse　of　the　song　she　sang　at　the　pace　at　which　she　actually　sang　it。　　And；　as　he　dreamed　and　recollected；　he　heard　a　little　stir　in　the　quiet　house；　and　Sylvia　came。

They　met　just　as　they　met　yesterday　in　front　of　the　fireplace。

〃Oh；　Michael；　have　you　been　waiting　long？〃　she　said。

〃Yes；　hours；　or　perhaps　a　couple　of　minutes。　　I　don't　know。〃

〃Ah；　but　which？　　If　hours；　I　shall　apologise；　and　then　excuse　myself　by　saying　that　you　must　have　come　earlier　than　you　intended。　If　minutes　I　shall　praise　myself　for　being　so　exceedingly　punctual。〃

〃Minutes；　then；〃　said　he。　　〃I'll　praise　you　instead。　　Praise　is　more　convincing　if　somebody　else　does　it。〃

〃Yes；　but　you　aren't　somebody　else。　　Now　be　sensible。　　Have　you　done　all　the　things　you　told　me　you　were　going　to　do？〃

〃Yes。〃

Sylvia　released　her　hands　from　his。

〃Tell　me；　then；〃　she　said。　　〃You've　seen　your　father？〃

There　was　no　cloud　on　Michael's　face。　　There　was　such　sunlight　where　his　soul