小说园

第91部分（第6页）

Her　people　asked　her　what　was　the　matter。　She　told　them　she　had

broken　off　the　engagement　with　Skrebensky。　They　looked　blank　and

angry。　But　she　could　not　feel　any　more。

The　weeks　crawled　by　in　apathy。　He　would　have　sailed　for

India　now。　She　was　scarcely　interested。　She　was　inert；　without

strength　or　interest。

Suddenly　a　shock　ran　through　her；　so　violent　that　she　thought

she　was　struck　down。　Was　she　with　child？　She　had　been　so

stricken　under　the　pain　of　herself　and　of　him；　this　had　never

occurred　to　her。　Now　like　a　flame　it　took　hold　of　her　limbs　and

body。　Was　she　with　child？

In　the　first　flaming　hours　of　wonder；　she　did　not　know　what

she　felt。　She　was　as　if　tied　to　the　stake。　The　flames　were

licking　her　and　devouring　her。　But　the　flames　were　also　good。

They　seemed　to　wear　her　away　to　rest。　What　she　felt　in　her　heart

and　her　womb　she　did　not　know。　It　was　a　kind　of　swoon。

Then　gradually　the　heaviness　of　her　heart　pressed　and　pressed

into　consciousness。　What　was　she　doing？　Was　she　bearing　a　child？

Bearing　a　child？　To　what？

Her　flesh　thrilled；　but　her　soul　was　sick。　It　seemed；　this

child；　like　the　seal　set　on　her　own　nullity。　Yet　she　was　glad　in

her　flesh　that　she　was　with　child。　She　began　to　think；　that　she

would　write　to　Skrebensky；　that　she　would　go　out　to　him；　and

marry　him；　and　live　simply　as　a　good　wife　to　him。　What　did　the

self；　the　form　of　life　matter？　Only　the　living　from　day　to　day

mattered；　the　beloved　existence　in　the　body；　rich；　peaceful；

plete；　with　no　beyond；　no　further　trouble；　no　further

plication。　She　had　been　wrong；　she　had　been　arrogant　and

wicked；　wanting　that　other　thing；　that　fantastic　freedom；　that

illusory；　conceited　fulfilment　which　she　had　imagined　she　could

not　have　with　Skrebensky。　Who　was　she　to