the dark flower-第46部分

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tender　heart；　he　could　only　go　on　stroking　and　kissing　her　hands。

It　was　atrocioushorriblethis　that　he　had　done！　　God　knew　that
he　had　not　sought　itthe　thing　had　come　on　him。　　Surely　even　in
her　misery　she　could　see　that！　　Deep　down　beneath　his　grief　and
self…hatred；　he　knew；　what　neither　she　nor　anyone　else　could　know
that　he　could　not　have　prevented　this　feeling；　which　went　back　to
days　before　he　ever　saw　the　girlthat　no　man　could　have　stopped
that　feeling　in　himself。　　This　craving　and　roving　was　as　much　part
of　him　as　his　eyes　and　hands；　as　overwhelming　and　natural　a　longing
as　his　hunger　for　work；　or　his　need　of　the　peace　that　Sylvia　gave；
and　alone　could　give　him。　　That　was　the　tragedyit　was　all　sunk
and　rooted　in　the　very　nature　of　a　man。　　Since　the　girl　had　come
into　their　lives　he　was　no　more　unfaithful　to　his　wife　in　thought
than　he　had　been　before。　　If　only　she　could　look　into　him；　see　him
exactly　as　he　was；　as；　without　part　or　lot　in　the　process；　he　had
been　madethen　she　would　understand；　and　even　might　not　suffer；
but　she　could　not；　and　he　could　never　make　it　plain。　　And　solemnly；
desperately；　with　a　weary　feeling　of　the　futility　of　words；　he　went
on　trying：　Could　she　not　see？　　It　was　all　a　thing　outside　hima
craving；　a　chase　after　beauty　and　life；　after　his　own　youth！　　At
that　word　she　looked　at　him：

〃And　do　you　think　I　don't　want　my　youth　back？〃

He　stopped。

For　a　woman　to　feel　that　her　beautythe　brightness　of　her　hair　and
eyes；　the　grace　and　suppleness　of　her　limbswere　slipping　from　her
and　from　the　man　she　loved！　　Was　there　anything　more　bitter？or
any　more　sacred　duty　than　not　to　add　to　that　bitterness；　not　to
push　her　with　suffering　into　old　age；　but　to　help　keep　the　star　of
her　faith　in　her　charm　intact！

Man　and　womanthey　both　wanted　youth　again；　she；　that　she　might
give　it　all　to　him；　he；　because　it　would　help　him　towards
somethingnew！　　Just　that　world　of　difference！

He　got　up；　and　said：

〃Come；　dear；　let's　try　and　sleep。〃

He　had　not　once　said　that　he　could　give　it　up。　　The　words　would　not
pass　his　lips；　though　he　knew　she　must　be　conscious　that　he　had　not
said　them；　must　be　longing　to　hear　them。　　All　he　had　been　able　to
say　was：

〃So　long　as　you　want　me；　you　shall　never　lose　me〃　。　。　。　and；　〃I
will　never　keep　anything　from　you　again。〃

Up　in　their　room　she　lay　hour　after　hour　in　his　arms；　quite
unresentful；　but　without　life　in　her；　and　with　eyes　that；　when　his
lips　touched　them；　were　always　wet。

What　a　maze　was　a　man's　heart；　wherein　he　must　lose　himself　every
minute！　　What　involved　and　intricate　turnings　and　turnings　on
itself；　what　fugitive　replacement　of　emotion　by　emotion！　　What
strife　between　pities　and　passions；　what　longing　for　peace！　。　。　。

And　in　his　feverish　exhaustion；　which　was　almost　sleep；　Lennan
hardly　knew　whether　it　was　the　thrum　of　music　or　Sylvia's　moaning
that　he　heard；　her　body　or　Nell's　within　his　arms。　。　。　。

But　life　had　to　be　lived；　a　face　preserved　against　the　world；
engagements　kept。　　And　the　nightmare　went　on　for　both　of　them；
under　the　calm　surface　of　an　ordinary　Sunday。　　They　were　like
people　walking　at　the　edge　of　a　high　cliff；　not　knowing　from　step
to　step　whether　they　would　fall；　or　like　swimmers　struggling　for
issue　out　of　a　dark　whirlpool。

In　the　afternoon　they　went　together　to　a　concert；　it　was　just
something　to　dosomething　that　saved　them　for　an　hour　or　two　from
the　possibility　of　speaking　on　the　one　subject　left　to　them。　　The
ship　had　gone　down；　and　they　were　clutching　at　anything　that　for　a
moment　would　help　to　keep　them　above　water。

In　the　evening　some　people　came　to　supper；　a　writer　and　two
painters；　with　their　wives。　　A　grim　eveningnever　more　so　than
when　the　conversation　turned　on　that　perennial　themethe　freedom；
spiritual；　mental；　physical；　requisite　for　those　who　practise　Art。
All　the　stale　arguments　were　brought　forth；　and　had　to　be　joined　in
with　unmoved　faces。　　And　for　all　their　talk　of　freedom；　Lennan
could　see　the　volte…face　his　friends　would　be　making；　if　they　only
knew。　　It　was　not　'the　thing'　to　seduce　young　girlsas　if；
forsooth；　there　were　freedom　in　doing　only　what　people　thought　'the
thing'！　　Their　cant　about　the　free　artist　spirit　experiencing
everything；　would　wither　the　moment　it　came　up　against　a　canon　of
'good　form；'　so　that　in　truth　it　was　no　freer　than　the　bourgeois
spirit；　with　its　conventions；　or　the　priest　spirit；　with　its　cry　of
'Sin！'　　No；　no！　　To　resistif　resistance　were　possible　to　this
dragging　powermaxims　of　'good　form；'　dogmas　of　religion　and
morality；　were　no　helpnothing　was　any　help；　but　some　feeling
stronger　than　passion　itself。　　Sylvia's　face；　forced　to　smile！
that；　indeed　was　a　reason　why　they　should　condemn　him！　　None　of
their　doctrines　about　freedom　could　explain　that　awaythe　harm；
the　death　that　came　to　a　man's　soul　when　he　made　a　loving；　faithful
creature　suffer。

But　they　were　gone　at　lastwith　their　〃Thanks　so　much！〃　and　their
〃Delightful　evening！〃

And　those　two　were　face　to　face　for　another　night。

He　knew　that　it　must　begin　all　over　againinevitable；　after　the
stab　of　that　wretched　argument　plunged　into　their　hearts　and　turned
and　turned　all　the　evening。

〃I　won't；　I　mustn't　keep　you　starved；　and　spoil　your　work。　　Don't
think　of　me；　Mark！　　I　can　bear　it！〃

And　then　a　breakdown　worse　than　the　night　before。　　What　genius；
what　sheer　genius　Nature　had　for　torturing　her　creatures！　　If
anyone　had　told　him；　even　so　little　as　a　week　ago；　that　he　could
have　caused　such　suffering　to　SylviaSylvia；　whom　as　a　child　with
wide　blue　eyes　and　a　blue　bow　on　her　flaxen　head　he　had　guarded
across　fields　full　of　imaginary　bulls；　Sylvia；　in　whose　hair　his
star　had　caught；　Sylvia；　who　day　and　night　for　fifteen　years　had
been　his　devoted　wife；　whom　he　loved　and　still　admiredhe　would
have　given　him　the　lie　direct。　　It　would　have　seemed　incredible；
monstrous；　silly。　　Had　all　married　men　and　women　such　things　to　go
throughwas　this　but　a　very　usual　crossing　of　the　desert？　　Or　was
it；　once　for　all；　shipwreck？　deathunholy；　violent　deathin　a
storm　of　sand？

Another　night　of　misery；　and　no　answer　to　that　question　yet。

He　had　told　her　that　he　would　not　see　Nell　again　without　first
letting　her　know。　　So；　when　morning　came；　he　simply　wrote　the
words：　〃Don't　come　today！〃showed　them　to　Sylvia；　and　sent　them　by
a　servant　to　Dromore's。

Hard　to　describe　the　bitterness　with　which　he　entered　his　studio
that　morning。　　In　all　this　chaos；　what　of　his　work？　　Could　he　ever
have　peace　of　mind　for　it　again？　　Those　people　last　night　had
talked　of　'inspiration　of　passion；　of　experience。'　　In　pleading
with　her　he　had　used　the　words　himself。　　Shepoor　soul！had　but
repeated　them；　trying　to　endure　them；　to　believe　them　true。　　And
were　they　true？　　Again　no　answer；　or　certainly　none　that　he　could
give。　　To　have　had　the　waters　broken　up；　to　be　plunged　into
emotion；　to　feel　desperately；　instead　of　stagnatingsome　day　he
might　be　gratefulwho　knew？　　Some　day　there　might　be　fair　country
again　beyond　this　desert；　where　he　could　work　even　better　than
before。　　But　just　now；　as　well　expect　creative　work　from　a
condemned　man。　　It　seemed　to　him　that　he　was　equally　destroyed
whether　he　gave　Nell　up；　and　with　her；　once　for　all；　that　roving；
seeking　instinct；　which　ought；　forsooth；　to　have　been　satisfied；
and　was　not；　or　whether　he　took　Nell；　knowing　that　in　doing　so　he
was　torturing　a　woman　dear　to　him！　　That　was　as　far　as　he　could　see
to…day。　　What　he　would　come　to　see　in　time　God　only　knew！　　But：
'Freedom　of　the　Spirit！'　　That　was　a　phrase　of　bitter　irony　indeed！
And；　there；　with　his　work　all　round　him；　like　a　man　tied　hand　and
foot；　he　was　swept　by　such　a　feeling　of　exasperated　rage　as　he　had
never　known。　　Women！　　These　women！　　Only　let　him　be　free　of　both；
of　all　women；　and　the　passions　and　pities　they　aroused；　so　that　his
brain　and　his　hands　might　live　and　work　again！　　They　should　not
strangle；　they　should　not　destroy　him！

Unfortunately；　even　in　his　rage；　he　knew　that　flight　from　them　both
could　never　help　him。　　One　way　or　the　other　the　thing　would　have　to
be　fought　through。　　If　it　had　been　a　straight　fight　even；　a　clear
issue　between　passion　and　pity！　　But　both　he　loved；　and　both　he
pitied。　　There　was　nothing　straight　and　clear　about　it　anywhere；　it
was　all　too　deeply　rooted　in　full　human　nature。　　And　the　appalling
sense　of　rushing　ceaselessly　from　barrier　to　barrier　began　really
to　affect　his　brain。

True；　he　had　now　and　then　a　lucid　interval　of　a　few　minutes；　when
the　ingenious　nature　of　his　own　torments　struck　him　as　supremely
interesting　and　queer；　but　this　was　not　precisely　a　relief；　for　it
only　meant；　as　in　prolonged　toothache；　that　his　power　of　feeling
had　for　a　moment　ceased。　　A　very　pretty　little　hell　indeed！

All　day　he　had　the　premonition；　amounting　to　certainty；　that　Nell
would　take　alarm　at　those　three　words　he　had　sent　her；　and　come　in
spite　of　them。　　And　yet；　what　else　could　he　have　written？　　Nothing
save　what　must　have　alarmed　her　more；　or　plunged　him　deeper。　　He
had　the　feeling　that　she　could　follow　his　moods；　that　her　eyes
could　see　him　everywhere；　as　a　cat's　eyes　can　see　in　darkness。
That　feeling