adam bede(亚当[1].比德)-第35章
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look at the tall queen of the white…footed nymphs。
It was along the broadest of these paths that Arthur
Donnithorne passed； under an avenue of limes and beeches。 It was
a still afternoon—the golden light was lingering languidly among
the upper boughs； only glancing down here and there on the
purple pathway and its edge of faintly sprinkled moss： an
afternoon in which destiny disguises her cold awful face behind a
hazy radiant veil； encloses us in warm downy wings； and poisons
us with violet…scented breath。 Arthur strolled along carelessly；
with a book under his arm； but not looking on the ground as
meditative men are apt to do； his eyes would fix themselves on the
distant bend in the road round which a little figure must surely
appear before long。 Ah！ There she comes。 First a bright patch of
colour； like a tropic bird among the boughs； then a tripping figure；
with a round hat on； and a small basket under her arm； then a
deep…blushing； almost frightened； but bright…smiling girl； making
her curtsy with a fluttered yet happy glance； as Arthur came up to
her。 If Arthur had had time to think at all； he would have thought
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it strange that he should feel fluttered too； be conscious of
blushing too—in fact； look and feel as foolish as if he had been
taken by surprise instead of meeting just what he expected。 Poor
things！ It was a pity they were not in that golden age of childhood
when they would have stood face to face； eyeing each other with
timid liking； then given each other a little butterfly kiss； and
toddled off to play together。 Arthur would have gone home to his
silk…curtained cot； and Hetty to her home…spun pillow； and both
would have slept without dreams； and to…morrow would have been
a life hardly conscious of a yesterday。
Arthur turned round and walked by Hetty’s side without giving
a reason。 They were alone together for the first time。 What an
overpowering presence that first privacy is！ He actually dared not
look at this little butter…maker for the first minute or two。 As for
Hetty； her feet rested on a cloud； and she was borne along by
warm zephyrs； she had forgotten her rose…coloured ribbons； she
was no more conscious of her limbs than if her childish soul had
passed into a water…lily； resting on a liquid bed and warmed by the
midsummer sun…beams。 It may seem a contradiction； but Arthur
gathered a certain carelessness and confidence from his timidity：
it was an entirely different state of mind from what he had
expected in such a meeting with Hetty； and full as he was of vague
feeling； there was room； in those moments of silence； for the
thought that his previous debates and scruples were needless。
“You are quite right to choose this way of coming to the Chase；”
he said at last； looking down at Hetty； “it is so much prettier as
well as shorter than coming by either of the lodges。”
“Yes； sir；” Hetty answered； with a tremulous； almost
whispering voice。 She didn’t know one bit how to speak to a
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gentleman like Mr。 Arthur； and her very vanity made her more coy
of speech。
“Do you come every week to see Mrs。 Pomfret？”
“Yes； sir； every Thursday； only when she’s got to go out with
Miss Donnithorne。”
“And she’s teaching you something； is she？”
“Yes； sir； the lace…mending as she learnt abroad； and the
stocking…mending—it looks just like the stocking； you can’t tell it’s
been mended； and she teaches me cutting…out too。”
“What！ are you going to be a lady’s maid？”
“I should like to be one very much indeed。” Hetty spoke more
audibly now； but still rather tremulously； she thought； perhaps she
seemed as stupid to Captain Donnithorne as Luke Britton did to
her。
“I suppose Mrs。 Pomfret always expects you at this time？”
“She expects me at four o’clock。 I’m rather late to…day； because
my aunt couldn’t spare me； but the regular time is four； because
that gives us time before Miss Donnithorne’s bell rings。”
“Ah； then； I must not keep you now； else I should like to show
you the Hermitage。 Did you ever see it？”
“No； sir。”
“This is the walk where we turn up to it。 But we must not go
now。 I’ll show it you some other time； if you’d like to see it。”
“Yes； please； sir。”
“Do you always come back this way in the evening； or are you
afraid to come so lonely a road？”
“Oh no； sir； it’s never late； I always set out by eight o’clock； and
it’s so light now in the evening。 My aunt would be angry with me if
I didn’t get home before nine。”
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“Perhaps Craig； the gardener； comes to take care of you？”
A deep blush overspread Hetty’s face and neck。 “I’m sure he
doesn’t； I’m sure he never did； I wouldn’t let him； I don’t like him；”
she said hastily； and the tears of vexation had come so fast that
before she had done speaking a bright drop rolled down her hot
cheek。 Then she felt ashamed to death that she was crying； and for
one long instant her happiness was all gone。 But in the next she
felt an arm steal round her； and a gentle voice said； “Why； Hetty；
what makes you cry？ I didn’t mean to vex you。 I wouldn’t vex you
for the world； you little blossom。 Come； don’t cry； look at me； else I
shall think you won’t forgive me。”
Arthur had laid his hand on the soft arm that was nearest to
him； and was stooping towards Hetty with a look of coaxing
entreaty。 Hetty lifted her long dewy lashes； and met the eyes that
were bent towards her with a sweet； timid； beseeching look。 What
a space of time those three moments were while their eyes met
and his arms touched her！ Love is such a simple thing when we
have only one…and…twenty summers and a sweet girl of seventeen
trembles under our glance； as if she were a bud first opening her
heart with wondering rapture to the morning。 Such young
unfurrowed souls roll to meet each other like two velvet peaches
that touch softly and are at rest； they mingle as easily as two
brooklets that ask for nothing but to entwine themselves and
ripple with ever…interlacing curves in the leafiest hiding…places。
While Arthur gazed into Hetty’s dark beseeching eyes； it made no
difference to him what sort of English she spoke； and even if hoops
and powder had been in fashion； he would very likely not have
been sensible just then that Hetty wanted those signs of high
breeding。
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But they started asunder with beating hearts： something had
fallen on the ground with a rattling noise； it was Hetty’s basket； all
her little workwoman’s matters were scattered on the path； some
of them showing a capability of rolling to great lengths。 There was
much to be done in picking up； and not a word was spoken； but
when Arthur hung the basket over her arm again； the poor child
felt a strange difference in his look and manner。 He just pressed
her hand； and said； with a look and tone that were almost chilling
to her； “I have been hindering you； I must not keep you any longer
now。 You will be expected at the house。 Good…bye。”
Without waiting for her to speak； he turned away from her and
hurried back towards the road that led to the Hermitage； leaving
Hetty to pursue her way in a strange dream that seemed to have
begun in bewildering delight and was now passing into
contrarieties and sadness。 Would he meet her again as she came
home？ Why had he spoken almost as if he were displeased with
her？ And then run away so suddenly？ She cried； hardly knowing
why。
Arthur too was very uneasy； but his feelings were lit up for him
by a more distinct consciousness。 He hurried to the Hermitage；
which stood in the heart of the wood； unlocked the door with a
hasty wrench； slammed it after him； pitched Zeluco into the most
distant corner； and thrusting his right hand into his pocket； first
walked four or five times up and down the scanty length of the
little room； and then seated himself on the ottoman in an
uncomfortable stiff way； as we often do when we wish not to
abandon ourselves to feeling。
He was getting in love with Hetty—that was quite plain。 He was
ready to pitch everything else—no matter where—for the sake of
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surrendering himself to this delicious feeling which had just
disclosed itself。 It was no use blinking the fact now—they would
get too fond of each other； if he went on taking notice of her—and
what would come of it？ He should have to go away in a few weeks；
and the poor little thing would be miserable。 He must not see her
alone again； he must keep out of her way。 What a fool he was for
coming back from Gawaine’s！
He got up and threw open the windows； to let in the soft breath
of the afternoon； and the healthy scent of the firs that
