The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第79部分

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head　like　a　young　horse　snuffing　with　wild　delight。

The　car　swerved　round　a　corner；　and　Ursula　was　swung　against
Skrebensky。　The　contact　made　her　aware　of　him。　With　a　swift；
foraging　impulse　she　sought　for　his　hand　and　clasped　it　in　her
own；　so　close；　so　bined；　as　if　they　were　two　children。

The　wind　blew　in　on　Ursula's　face；　the　mud　flew　in　a　soft；
wild　rush　from　the　wheels；　the　country　was　blackish　green；　with
the　silver　of　new　hay　here　and　there；　and　masses　of　trees　under
a　silver…gleaming　sky。

Her　hand　tightened　on　his　with　a　new　consciousness；　troubled。
They　did　not　speak　for　some　time；　but　sat；　hand…fast；　with
averted；　shining　faces。

And　every　now　and　then　the　car　swung　her　against　him。　And
they　waited　for　the　motion　to　bring　them　together。　Yet　they
stared　out　of　the　windows；　mute。

She　saw　the　familiar　country　racing　by。　But　now；　it　was　no
familiar　country；　it　was　wonderland。　There　was　the　Hemlock　Stone
standing　on　its　grassy　hill。　Strange　it　looked　on　this　wet；
early　summer　evening；　remote；　in　a　magic　land。　Some　rooks　were
flying　out　of　the　trees。

Ah；　if　only　she　and　Skrebensky　could　get　out；　dismount　into
this　enchanted　land　where　nobody　had　ever　been　before！　Then　they
would　be　enchanted　people；　they　would　put　off　the　dull；
customary　self。　If　she　were　wandering　there；　on　that　hill…slope
under　a　silvery；　changing　sky；　in　which　many　rooks　melted　like
hurrying　showers　of　blots！　If　they　could　walk　past　the　wetted
hay…swaths；　smelling　the　early　evening；　and　pass　in　to　the　wood
where　the　honeysuckle　scent　was　sweet　on　the　cold　tang　in　the
air；　and　showers　of　drops　fell　when　one　brushed　a　bough；　cold
and　lovely　on　the　face！

But　she　was　here　with　him　in　the　car；　close　to　him；　and　the
wind　was　rushing　on　her　lifted；　eager　face；　blowing　back　the
hair。　He　turned　and　looked　at　her；　at　her　face　clean　as　a
chiselled　thing；　her　hair　chiselled　back　by　the　wind；　her　fine
nose　keen　and　lifted。

It　was　agony　to　him；　seeing　her　swift　and　clean…cut　and
virgin。　He　wanted　to　kill　himself；　and　throw　his　detested
carcase　at　her　feet。　His　desire　to　turn　round　on　himself　and
rend　himself　was　an　agony　to　him。

Suddenly　she　glanced　at　him。　He　seemed　to　be　crouching
towards　her；　reaching；　he　seemed　to　wince　between　the　brows。　But
instantly；　seeing　her　lighted　eyes　and　radiant　face；　his
expression　changed；　his　old　reckless　laugh　shone　to　her。　She
pressed　his　hand　in　utter　delight；　and　he　abided。　And　suddenly
she　stooped　and　kissed　his　hand；　bent　her　head　and　caught　it　to
her　mouth；　in　generous　homage。　And　the　blood　burned　in　him。　Yet
he　remained　still；　he　made　no　move。

She　started。　They　were　swinging　into　Cossethay。　Skrebensky
was　going　to　leave　her。　But　it　was　all　so　magic；　her　cup　was　so
full　of　bright　wine；　her　eyes　could　only　shine。

He　tapped　and　spoke　to　the　man。　The　car　swung　up　by　the　yew
trees。　She　gave　him　her　hand　and　said　good…bye；　naive　and　brief
as　a　schoolgirl。　And　she　stood　watching　him　go；　her　face
shining。　The　fact　of　his　driving　on　meant　nothing　to　her；　she
was　so　filled　by　her　own　bright　ecstacy。　She　did　not　see　him　go；
for　she　was　filled　with　light；　which　was　of　him。　Bright　with　an
amazing　light　as　she　was；　how　could　she　miss　him。

In　her　bedroom　she　threw　her　arms　in　the　air　in　clear　pain　of
magnificence。　Oh；　it　was　her　transfiguration；　she　was　beyond
herself。　She　wanted　to　fling　herself　into　all　the　hidden
brightness　of　the　air。　It　was　there；　it　was　there；　if　she　could
but　meet　it。

But　the　next　day　she　knew　he　had　gone。　Her　glory　had　partly
died　down……but　never　from　her　memory。　It　was　too　real。　Yet
it　was　gone　by；　leaving　a　wistfulness。　A　deeper　yearning　came
into　her　soul；　a　new　reserve。

She　shrank　from　touch　and　question。　She　was　very　proud；　but
very　new；　and　very　sensitive。　Oh；　that　no　one　should　lay　hands
on　her！

She　was　happier　running　on　by　herself。　Oh；　it　was　a　joy　to
run　along　the　lanes　without　seeing　things；　yet　being　with　them。
It　was　such　a　joy　to　be　alone　with　all　one's　riches。

The　holidays　came；　when　she　was　free。　She　spent　most　of　her
time　running　on　by　herself；　curled　up　in　a　squirrel…place　in　the
garden；　lying　in　a　hammock　in　the　coppice；　while　the　birds　came
near……near……so　near。　Oh；　in　rainy　weather；　she　flitted
to　the　Marsh；　and　lay　hidden　with　her　book　in　a　hay…loft。

All　the　time；　she　dreamed　of　him；　sometimes　definitely；　but
when　she　was　happiest；　only　vaguely。　He　was　the　warm　colouring
of　her　dreams；　he　was　the　hot　blood　beating　within　them。

When　she　was　less　happy；　out　of　sorts；　she　pondered　over　his
appearance；　his　clothes；　the　buttons　with　his　regimental　badge；
which　he　had　given　her。　Or　she　tried　to　imagine　his　life　in
barracks。　Or　she　conjured　up　a　vision　of　herself　as　she　appeared
in　his　eyes。

His　birthday　was　in　August；　and　she　spent　some　pains　on
making　him　a　cake。　She　felt　that　it　would　not　be　in　good　taste
for　her　to　give　him　a　present。

Their　correspondence　was　brief；　mostly　an　exchange　of
post…cards；　not　at　all　frequent。　But　with　her　cake　she　must　send
him　a　letter。

〃Dear　Anton。　The　sunshine　has　e　back　specially　for　your
birthday；　I　think。　I　made　the　cake　myself；　and　wish　you　many
happy　returns　of　the　day。　Don't　eat　it　if　it　is　not　good。　Mother
hopes　you　will　e　and　see　us　when　you　are　near　enough。

　〃I　am

　〃Your　Sincere　Friend；

　〃Ursula　Brangwen。〃

It　bored　her　to　write　a　letter　even　to　him。　After　all；
writing　words　on　paper　had　nothing　to　do　with　him　and　her。

The　fine　weather　had　set　in；　the　cutting　machine　went　on　from
dawn　till　sunset；　chattering　round　the　fields。　She　heard　from
Skrebensky；　he　too　was　on　duty　in　the　country；　on　Salisbury
Plain。　He　was　now　a　second　lieutenant　in　a　Field　Troop。　He　would
have　a　few　days　off　shortly；　and　would　e　to　the　Marsh　for　the
wedding。

Fred　Brangwen　was　going　to　marry　a　schoolmistress　out　of
Ilkeston　as　soon　as　corn…harvest　was　at　an　end。

The　dim　blue…and…gold　of　a　hot；　sweet　autumn　saw　the　close　of
the　corn…harvest。　To　Ursula；　it　was　as　if　the　world　had　opened
its　softest　purest　flower；　its　chicory　flower；　its　meadow
saffron。　The　sky　was　blue　and　sweet；　the　yellow　leaves　down　the
lane　seemed　like　free；　wandering　flowers　as　they　chittered　round
the　feet；　making　a　keen；　poignant；　almost　unbearable　music　to
her　heart。　And　the　scents　of　autumn　were　like　a　summer　madness
to　her。　She　fled　away　from　the　little；　purple…red
button…chrysanthemums　like　a　frightened　dryad；　the　bright　yellow
little　chrysanthemums　smelled　so　strong；　her　feet　seemed　to
dither　in　a　drunken　dance。

Then　her　Uncle　Tom　appeared；　always　like　the　cynical　Bacchus
in　the　picture。　He　would　have　a　jolly　wedding；　a　harvest　supper
and　a　wedding　feast　in　one：　a　tent　in　the　home　close；　and　a　band
for　dancing；　and　a　great　feast　out　of　doors。

Fred　demurred；　but　Tom　must　be　satisfied。　Also　Laura；　a
handsome；　clever　girl；　the　bride；　she　also　must　have　a　great　and
jolly　feast。　It　appealed　to　her　educated　sense。　She　had　been　to
Salisbury　Training　College；　knew　folk…songs　and
morris…dancing。

So　the　preparations　were　begun；　directed　by　Tom　Brangwen。　A
marquee　was　set　up　on　the　home　close；　two　large　bonfires　were
prepared。　Musicians　were　hired；　feast　made　ready。

Skrebensky　was　to　e；　arriving　in　the　morning。　Ursula　had　a
new　white　dress　of　soft　crepe；　and　a　white　hat。　She　liked　to
wear　white。　With　her　black　hair　and　clear　golden　skin；　she
looked　southern；　or　rather　tropical；　like　a　Creole。　She　wore　no
colour　whatsoever。

She　trembled　that　day　as　she　appeared　to　go　down　to　the
wedding。　She　was　to　be　a　bridesmaid。　Skrebensky　would　not　arrive
till　afternoon。　The　wedding　was　at　two　o'clock。

As　the　wedding…party　returned　home；　Skrebensky　stood　in　the
parlour　at　the　Marsh。　Through　the　window　he　saw　Tom　Brangwen；
who　was　best　man；　ing　up　the　garden　path　most　elegant　in
cut…away　coat　and　white　slip　and　spats；　with　Ursula　laughing　on
his　arm。　Tom　Brangwen　was　handsome；　with　his　womanish　colouring
and　dark　eyes　and　black　close…cut　moustache。　But　there　was
something　subtly　coarse　and　suggestive　about　him　for　all　his
beauty；　his　strange；　bestial　nostrils　opened　so　hard　and　wide；
and　his　well…shaped　head　almost　disquieting　in　its