还乡The Return Of The Native-第13部分

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As　soon　as　he　was　on　the　road　the　little　bonfire　on　Mistover　Knap　again　met　his　eye。　
“Still　waiting；　are　you；　my　lady？”　he　murmured。　
However；　he　did　not　proceed　that　way　just　then；　but　leaving　the　hill　to　the　left　of　him；　he　stumbled　over　a　rutted　road　that　brought　him　to　a　cottage　which；　like　all　other　habitations　on　the　heath　at　this　hour；　was　only　saved　from　being　visible　by　a　faint　shine　from　its　bedroom　window。　　This　house　was　the　home　of　Olly　Dowden；　the　besom…maker；　and　he　entered。　
The　lower　room　was　in　darkness；　but　by　feeling　his　way　he　found　a　table；　whereon　he　placed　the　bottle；　and　a　minute　later　emerged　again　upon　the　heath。　　He　stood　and　looked　northeast　at　the　undying　little　fire—high　up　above　him；　though　not　so　high　as　Rainbarrow。　
We　have　been　told　what　happens　when　a　woman　deliberates；　and　the　epigram　is　not　always　terminable　with　woman；　provided　that　one　be　in　the　case；　and　that　a　fair　one。　　Wildeve　stood；　and　stood　longer；　and　breathed　perplexedly；　and　then　said　to　himself　with　resignation；　“Yes—by　Heaven；　I　must　go　to　her；　I　suppose！”
Instead　of　turning　in　the　direction　of　home　he　pressed　on　rapidly　by　a　path　under　Rainbarrow　towards　what　was　evidently　a　signal　light。　


6　… The　Figure　against　the　Sky


When　the　whole　Egdon　concourse　had　left　the　site　of　the　bonfire　to　its　accustomed　loneliness；　a　closely　wrapped　female　figure　approached　the　barrow　from　that　quarter　of　the　heath　in　which　the　little　fire　lay。　　Had　the　reddleman　been　watching　he　might　have　recognized　her　as　the　woman　who　had　first　stood　there　so　singularly；　and　vanished　at　the　approach　of　strangers。　　She　ascended　to　her　old　position　at　the　top；　where　the　red　coals　of　the　perishing　fire　greeted　her　like　living　eyes　in　the　corpse　of　day。　　There　she　stood　still　around　her　stretching　the　vast　night　atmosphere；　whose　inplete　darkness　in　parison　with　the　total　darkness　of　the　heath　below　it　might　have　represented　a　venial　beside　a　mortal　sin。　
That　she　was　tall　and　straight　in　build；　that　she　was　lady…like　in　her　movements；　was　all　that　could　be　learnt　of　her　just　now；　her　form　being　wrapped　in　a　shawl　folded　in　the　old　cornerwise　fashion；　and　her　head　in　a　large　kerchief；　a　protection　not　superfluous　at　this　hour　and　place。　　Her　back　was　towards　the　wind；　which　blew　from　the　northwest；　but　whether　she　had　avoided　that　aspect　because　of　the　chilly　gusts　which　played　about　her　exceptional　position；　or　because　her　interest　lay　in　the　southeast；　did　not　at　first　appear。　
Her　reason　for　standing　so　dead　still　as　the　pivot　of　this　circle　of　heath…country　was　just　as　obscure。　　Her　extraordinary　fixity；　her　conspicuous　loneliness；　her　heedlessness　of　night；　betokened　among　other　things　an　utter　absence　of　fear。　　A　tract　of　country　unaltered　from　that　sinister　condition　which　made　Caesar　anxious　every　year　to　get　clear　of　its　glooms　before　the　autumnal　equinox；　a　kind　of　landscape　and　weather　which　leads　travellers　from　the　South　to　describe　our　island　as　Homer’s　Cimmerian　land；　was　not；　on　the　face　of　it；　friendly　to　women。
It　might　reasonably　have　been　supposed　that　she　was　listening　to　the　wind；　which　rose　somewhat　as　the　night　advanced；　and　laid　hold　of　the　attention。　　The　wind；　indeed；　seemed　made　for　the　scene；　as　the　scene　seemed　made　for　the　hour。　　Part　of　its　tone　was　quite　special；　what　was　heard　there　could　be　heard　nowhere　else。　　Gusts　in　innumerable　series　followed　each　other　from　the　northwest；　and　when　each　one　of　them　raced　past　the　sound　of　its　progress　resolved　into　three。　　Treble；　tenor；　and　bass　notes　were　to　be　found　therein。　　The　general　ricochet　of　the　whole　over　pits　and　prominences　had　the　gravest　pitch　of　the　chime。　　Next　there　could　be　heard　the　baritone　buzz　of　a　holly　tree。　　Below　these　in　force；　above　them　in　pitch；　a　dwindled　voice　strove　hard　at　a　husky　tune；　which　was　the　peculiar　local　sound　alluded　to。　　Thinner　and　less　immediately　traceable　than　the　other　two；　it　was　far　more　impressive　than　either。　　In　it　lay　what　may　be　called　the　linguistic　peculiarity　of　the　heath；　and　being　audible　nowhere　on　earth　off　a　heath；　it　afforded　a　shadow　of　reason　for　the　woman’s　tenseness；　which　continued　as　unbroken　as　ever。
Throughout　the　blowing　of　these　plaintive　November　winds　that　note　bore　a　great　resemblance　to　the　ruins　of　human　song　which　remain　to　the　throat　of　fourscore　and　ten。　　It　was　a　worn　whisper；　dry　and　papery；　and　it　brushed　so　distinctly　across　the　ear　that；　by　the　accustomed；　the　material　minutiae　in　which　it　originated　could　be　realized　as　by　touch。　　It　was　the　united　products　of　infinitesimal　vegetable　causes；　and　these　were　neither　stems；　leaves；　fruit；　blades；　prickles；　lichen；　nor　moss。　
They　were　the　mummied　heathbells　of　the　past　summer；　originally　tender　and　purple；　now　washed　colourless　by　Michaelmas　rains；　and　dried　to　dead　skins　by　October　suns。　　So　low　was　an　individual　sound　from　these　that　a　bination　of　hundreds　only　just　emerged　from　silence；　and　the　myriads　of　the　whole　declivity　reached　the　woman’s　ear　but　as　a　shrivelled　and　intermittent　recitative。　　Yet　scarcely　a　single　accent　among　the　many　afloat　tonight　could　have　such　power　to　impress　a　listener　with　thoughts　of　its　origin。　　One　inwardly　saw　the　infinity　of　those　bined　multitudes；　and　perceived　that　each　of　the　tiny　trumpets　was　seized　on　entered；　scoured　and　emerged　from　by　the　wind　as　thoroughly　as　if　it　were　as　vast　as　a　crater。　
“The　spirit　moved　them。”　　A　meaning　of　the　phrase　forced　itself　upon　the　attention；　and　an　emotional　listener’s　fetichistic　mood　might　have　ended　in　one　of　more　advanced　quality。　　It　was　not；　after　all；　that　the　left…hand　expanse　of　old　blooms　spoke；　or　the　right…hand；　or　those　of　the　slope　in　front；　but　it　was　the　single　person　of　something　else　speaking　through　each　at　once。　
Suddenly；　on　the　barrow；　there　mingled　with　all　this　wild　rhetoric　of　night　a　sound　which　modulated　so　naturally　into　the　rest　that　its　beginning　and　ending　were　hardly　to　be　distinguished。　　The　bluffs；　and　the　bushes；　and　the　heather…bells　had　broken　silence；　at　last；　so　did　the　woman；　and　her　articulation　was　but　as　another　phrase　of　the　same　discourse　as　theirs。　　Thrown　out　on　the　winds　it　became　twined　in　with　them；　and　with　them　it　flew　away。　
What　she　uttered　was　a　lengthened　sighing；　apparently　at　something　in　her　mind　which　had　led　to　her　presence　here。　　There　was　a　spasmodic　abandonment　about　it　as　if；　in　allowing　herself　to　utter　the　sound。　　the　woman’s　brain　had　authorized　what　it　could　not　regulate。　　One　point　was　evident　in　this；　that　she　had　been　existing　in　a　suppressed　state；　and　not　in　one　of　languor；　or　stagnation。
Far　away　down　the　valley　the　faint　shine　from　the　window　of　the　inn　still　lasted　on；　and　a　few　additional　moments　proved　that　the　window；　or　what　was　within　it；　had　more　to　do　with　the　woman’s　sigh　than　had　either　her　own　actions　or　the　scene　immediately　around。　　She　lifted　her　left　hand；　which　held　a　closed　telescope。　　This　she　rapidly　extended；　as　if　she　were　well　accustomed　to　the　operation；　and　raising　it　to　her　eye　directed　it　towards　the　light　beaming　from　the　inn。　
The　handkerchief　which　had　hooded　her　head　was　now　a　little　thrown　back；　her　face　being　somewhat　elevated。　　A　profile　was　visible　against　the　dull　monochrome　of　cloud　around　her；　and　it　was　as　though　side　shadows　from　the　features　of　Sappho　and　Mrs。　Siddons　had　converged　upwards　from　the　tomb　to　form　an　image　like　neither　but　suggesting　both。　　This；　however；　was　mere　superficiality。　　In　respect　of　character　a　face　may　make　certain　admissions　by　its　outline；　but　it　fully　confesses　only　in　its　changes。　　So　much　is　this　the　case　that　what　is　called　the　play　of　the　features　often　helps　more　in　understanding　a　man　or　woman　than　the　earnest　labours　of　all　the　other　members　together。　　Thus　the　night　revealed　little　of　her　whose　form　it　was　embracing；　for　the　mobile　parts　of　her　countenance　could　not　be　seen。　
At　last　she　gave　up　her　spying　attitude；　closed　the　telescope；　and　turned　to　the　decaying　embers。　　From　these　no　appreciable　beams　now　radiated；　except　when　a　more　than　usually　smart　gust　brushed　over　their　faces　and　raised　a　fitful　glow　which　came　and　went　like　the　blush　of　a　girl。　　She　stooped　over　the　silent　cir