还乡The Return Of The Native-第12部分

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　“You　may　e　again　to　Rainbarrow　if　you　like；　but　you　won’t　see　me；　and　you　may　call；　but　I　shall　not　listen；　and　you　may　tempt　me；　but　I　won’t　give　myself　to　you　any　more。”
“You　have　said　as　much　before；　sweet；　but　such　natures　as　yours　don’t　so　easily　adhere　to　their　words。　　Neither；　for　the　matter　of　that；　do　such　natures　as　mine。”
“This　is　the　pleasure　I　have　won　by　my　trouble；”　she　whispered　bitterly。　　“Why　did　I　try　to　recall　you？　　Damon；　a　strange　warring　takes　place　in　my　mind　occasionally。　　I　think　when　I　bee　calm　after　you　woundings；　‘Do　I　embrace　a　cloud　of　mon　fog　after　all？’　You　are　a　chameleon；　and　now　you　are　at　your　worst　colour。　　Go　home；　or　I　shall　hate　you！”
He　looked　absently　towards　Rainbarrow　while　one　might　have　counted　twenty；　and　said；　as　if　he　did　not　much　mind　all　this；　“Yes；　I　will　go　home。　　Do　you　mean　to　see　me　again？”
“If　you　own　to　me　that　the　wedding　is　broken　off　because　you　love　me　best。”
“I　don’t　think　it　would　be　good　policy；”　said　Wildeve；　smiling。　
“You　would　get　to　know　the　extent　of　your　power　too　clearly。”
“But　tell　me！”
“You　know。”
“Where　is　she　now？”
“I　don’t　know。　　I　prefer　not　to　speak　of　her　to　you。　　I　have　not　yet　married　her；　I　have　e　in　obedience　to　your　call。　　That　is　enough。”
“I　merely　lit　that　fire　because　I　was　dull；　and　thought　I　would　get　a　little　excitement　by　calling　you　up　and　triumphing　over　you　as　the　Witch　of　Endor　called　up　Samuel。　　I　determined　you　should　e；　and　you　have　e！　I　have　shown　my　power。　　A　mile　and　half　hither；　and　a　mile　and　half　back　again　to　your　home—three　miles　in　the　dark　for　me。　　Have　I　not　shown　my　power？”
He　shook　his　head　at　her。　　“I　know　you　too　well；　my　Eustacia；
I　know　you　too　well。　　There　isn’t　a　note　in　you　which　I　don’t　know；　and　that　hot　little　bosom　couldn’t　play　such　a　cold…blooded　trick　to　save　its　life。　　I　saw　a　woman　on　Rainbarrow　at　dusk　looking　down　towards　my　house。　　I　think　I　drew　out　you　before　you　drew　out　me。”
The　revived　embers　of　an　old　passion　glowed　clearly　in　Wildeve　now；　and　he　leant　forward　as　if　about　to　put　his　face　towards　her　cheek。　
“O　no；”　she　said；　intractably　moving　to　the　other　side　of　the　decayed　fire。　　“What　did　you　mean　by　that？”
“Perhaps　I　may　kiss　your　hand？”
“No；　you　may　not。”
“Then　I　may　shake　your　hand？”
“No。”
“Then　I　wish　you　good　night　without　caring　for　either。
Good…bye；　good…bye。”
She　returned　no　answer；　and　with　the　bow　of　a　dancing…master　he　vanished　on　the　other　side　of　the　pool　as　he　had　e。　
Eustacia　sighed—it　was　no　fragile　maiden　sigh；　but　a
sigh　which　shook　her　like　a　shiver。　　Whenever　a　flash
of　reason　darted　like　an　electric　light　upon　her　lover…
？ as　it　sometimes　would—and　showed　his　imperfections；　she　shivered　thus。　　But　it　was　over　in　a　second；　and　she　loved　on。　　She　knew　that　he　trifled　with　her；　but　she　loved　on。　　She　scattered　the　half…burnt　brands；　went　indoors　immediately；　and　up　to　her　bedroom　without　a　light。　　Amid　the　rustles　which　denoted　her　to　be　undressing　in　the　darkness　other　heavy　breaths　frequently　came；　and　the　same　kind　of　shudder　occasionally　moved　through　her　when；　ten　minutes　later；　she　lay　on　her　bed　asleep。　



7　… Queen　of　Night


Eustacia　Vye　was　the　raw　material　of　a　divinity。　　On　Olympus　she　would　have　done　well　with　a　little　preparation。　　She　had　the　passions　and　instincts　which　make　a　model　goddess；　that　is；　those　which　make　not　quite　a　model　woman。　　Had　it　been　possible　for　the　earth　and　mankind　to　be　entirely　in　her　grasp　for　a　while；　she　had　handled　the　distaff；　the　spindle；　and　the　shears　at　her　own　free　will；　few　in　the　world　would　have　noticed　the　change　of　government。　　There　would　have　been　the　same　inequality　of　lot；　the　same　heaping　up　of　favours　here；　of　contumely　there；　the　same　generosity　before　justice；　the　same　perpetual　dilemmas；　the　same　captious　alteration　of　caresses　and　blows　that　we　endure　now。　
She　was　in　person　full…limbed　and　somewhat　heavy；　without　ruddiness；　as　without　pallor；　and　soft　to　the　touch　as　a　cloud。　　To　see　her　hair　was　to　fancy　that　a　whole　winter　did　not　contain　darkness　enough　to　form　its　shadow—it　closed　over　her　forehead　like　nightfall　extinguishing　the　western　glow。　
Her　nerves　extended　into　those　tresses；　and　her　temper　could　always　be　softened　by　stroking　them　down。　　When　her　hair　was　brushed　she　would　instantly　sink　into　stillness　and　look　like　the　Sphinx。　　If；　in　passing　under　one　of　the　Egdon　banks；　any　of　its　thick　skeins　were　caught；　as　they　sometimes　were；　by　a　prickly　tuft　of　the　large　Ulex　Europoeus—which　will　act　as　a　sort　of　hairbrush—she　would　go　back　a　few　steps；　and　pass　against　it　a　second　time。　
She　had　pagan　eyes；　full　of　nocturnal　mysteries；　and　their　light；　as　it　came　and　went；　and　came　again；　was　partially　hampered　by　their　oppressive　lids　and　lashes；　and　of　these　the　under　lid　was　much　fuller　than　it　usually　is　with　English　women。　　This　enabled　her　to　indulge　in　reverie　without　seeming　to　do　so—she　might　have　been　believed　capable　of　sleeping　without　closing　them　up。　　Assuming　that　the　souls　of　men　and　women　were　visible　essences；　you　could　fancy　the　colour　of　Eustacia’s　soul　to　be　flamelike。　　The　sparks　from　it　that　rose　into　her　dark　pupils　gave　the　same　impression。　
The　mouth　seemed　formed　less　to　speak　than　to　quiver；　less　to　quiver　than　to　kiss。　　Some　might　have　added；　less　to　kiss　than　to　curl。　　Viewed　sideways；　the　closing…line　of　her　lips　formed；　with　almost　geometric　precision；　the　curve　so　well　known　in　the　arts　of　design　as　the　cima…recta；　or　ogee。　　The　sight　of　such　a　flexible　bend　as　that　on　grim　Egdon　was　quite　an　apparition。　　It　was　felt　at　once　that　the　mouth　did　not　e　over　from　Sleswig　with　a　band　of　Saxon　pirates　whose　lips　met　like　the　two　halves　of　a　muffin。　　One　had　fancied　that　such　lip…curves　were　mostly　lurking　underground　in　the　South　as　fragments　of　forgotten　marbles。　　So　fine　were　the　lines　of　her　lips　that；　though　full；　each　corner　of　her　mouth　was　as　clearly　cut　as　the　point　of　a　spear。　　This　keenness　of　corner　was　only　blunted　when　she　was　given　over　to　sudden　fits　of　gloom；　one　of　the　phases　of　the　night…side　of　sentiment　which　she　knew　too　well　for　her　years。
Her　presence　brought　memories　of　such　things　as　Bourbon　roses；　rubies；　and　tropical　midnight；　her　moods　recalled　lotus…eaters　and　the　march　in　Athalie；　her　motions；　the　ebb　and　flow　of　the　sea；　her　voice；　the　viola。　　In　a　dim　light；　and　with　a　slight　rearrangement　of　her　hair；　her　general　figure　might　have　stood　for　that　of　either　of　the　higher　female　deities。　　The　new　moon　behind　her　head；　an　old　helmet　upon　it；　a　diadem　of　accidental　dewdrops　round　her　brow；　would　have　been　adjuncts　sufficient　to　strike　the　note　of　Artemis；　Athena；　or　Hera　respectively；　with　as　close　an　approximation　to　the　antique　as　that　which　passes　muster　on　many　respected　canvases。　
But　celestial　imperiousness；　love；　wrath；　and　fervour　had　proved　to　be　somewhat　thrown　away　on　netherward　Egdon。　　Her　power　was　limited；　and　the　consciousness　of　this　limitation　had　biassed　her　development。　　Egdon　was　her　Hades；　and　since　ing　there　she　had　imbibed　much　of　what　was　dark　in　its　tone；　though　inwardly　and　eternally　unreconciled　thereto。　　Her　appearance　accorded　well　with　this　smouldering　rebelliousness；　and　the　shady　splendour　of　her　beauty　was　the　real　surface　of　the　sad　and　stifled　warmth　within　her。　　A　true　Tartarean　dignity　sat　upon　her　brow；　and　not　factitiously　or　with　marks　of　constraint；　for　it　had　grown　in　her　with　years。　
Across　the　upper　part　of　her　head　she　wore　a　thin　fillet　of　black　velvet；　restraining　the　luxuriance　of　her　shady　hair；　in　a　way　which　added　much　to　this　class　of　majesty　by　irregularly　clouding　her　forehead。　　“Nothing　can　embellish　a　beautiful　face　more　than　a　narrow　band　drawn　over　the　brow；”　says　Richter。　　Some　of　the　neighbouring　girls　wore　coloured　ribbon　for　the　same　purpose；　and　sported　metallic　ornaments　elsewhere；　but　if　anyone　suggested　coloured　ribbon　and　metallic　ornaments　to　Eustacia　Vye　she　laughed　and　went　on。　
Why　did　a　woman　of　this　sort　live　on　Egdon　Heath？　　Budmouth　was　her　native　place；　a　fashionable　seaside　resort　at　that　date。　　She　was　the　daughter　of　the　bandmaster　of　a　regiment　which　had　been　quartered　there—a　Corfiote　by　birth；　and　a　fine　musician—who　met　his　future　wife　during　her　trip　thither　with　her　father　the　captain；　a　man　of　good　family。　　The　marriage　was　scarcely　in　accord　with　the　old　man’s　wishes；　for　the　bandmaster’s　pockets　were　as　light　as　his　occupation。　　But　the　musician　did　his　best；　adopted　his　wife’s　name；　made　England　permanently　his　home；　took　great　trouble　with　his　child’s　education；　the　expenses　of　which　were　defrayed　by　the　grandfather；　and　throve　as　the　chief　local　musician　till　her　mother’s　death；　when　he　left　off　thriving；　drank；　and　died　also。　　The　girl　was　left　to　the　care　of　her　grandfather；　who；　since　three　of　his　ribs　became　broken　in　a　shipwreck；　had　lived　in　this　airy　perch　on　Egdon；　a　spot　which　had　taken　his　fancy　because　the　house　was　to　be　had　for　next　to　nothing；　and　because　a　remote　blue　tinge　on　the　horizon　between　the　hills；　visible　from　the　cottage　door；　was　traditionally　believed　to　be　the　English　Channel。　　She　hated　the　change；　she　felt　like　one　banished；　but　here　she　was　forced　to　abide。　
Thus　it　happened　that　in　Eustacia’s　brain　were　juxtaposed　the　strangest　assortment　of　ideas；　from　old　time　and　from　new。　　There　was　no　middle　distance　in　her　perspective—romantic　recollections　of　sunny　afternoons　on　an　esplanade；　with　military　bands；　officers；　and　gallants　around；　stood　like　gilded　letters　upon　the　dark　tablet　of　surrounding　Egdon。　　Every　bizarre　effect　that　could　result　from　the　random　intertwining　of　watering…place　glitter　with　the　grand　solemnity　of　a　heath；　was　to　be　found　in　her。　　Seeing　nothing　of　human　life　now；　she　imagined　all　the　more　of　what　she　had　seen。　
Where　did　her　dignity　e　from？　　By　a　latent　vein　from　Alcinous’　line；　her　father　hailing　from　Phaeacia’s　isle？or　from　Fitzalan　and　De　Vere；　her　maternal　grandfather　having　had　a　cousin　in　the　peerage？　　Perhaps　it　was　the　gift　of　Heaven—a　happy　convergence　of　natural　laws。　　Among　other　things　opportunity　had　of　late　years　been　denied　her　of　learning　to　be　undignified；　for　she　lived　lonely。　　Isolation　on　a　heath　renders　vulgarity　well…nigh　impossible。　　It　would　have　been　as　easy　for　the　heath…ponies；　bats；　and　snakes　to　be　vulgar　as　for　her。　　A　narrow　life　in　Budmouth　might　have　pletely　demeaned　her。
The　only　way　to　look　queenly　without　realms　or　hearts　to　queen　it　over　is　to　look　as　if　you　had　lost　them；　and　Eustacia　did　that　to　a　triumph。　　In　the　captain’s　cottage　she　could　suggest　mansions　she　had　never　seen。　　Perhaps　that　was　because　she　frequented　a　vaster　mansion　than　any　of　them；　the　open　hills。　　Like　the　summer　condition　of　the　place　around　her；　she　was　an　embodiment　of　the　phrase　“a　populous　solitude”—apparently　so　listless；　void；　and　quiet；　she　was　really　busy　and　full。　
To　be　loved　to　madness—such　was　her　great　desire。　　Love　was　to　her　the　one　cordial　which　could　drive　away　the　eating　loneliness　of　her　days。　　And　she　seemed　to　long　for　the　abstraction　called　passionate　love　more　than　for　any　particular　lover。　
She　could　show　a　most　reproachful　look　at　times；　but　it　was　direc