小说园

第93部分（第2页）

tramping　heavily　up　the　wet　road；　their　voices　sounding　out；

their　shoulders　up　to　their　ears；　their　figures　blotched　and

spectral　in　the　rain。　Some　did　not　see　her。　She　opened　her　eyes

languidly　as　they　passed　by。　Then　one　man　going　alone　saw　her。

The　whites　of　his　eyes　showed　in　his　black　face　as　he　looked　in

wonderment　at　her。　He　hesitated　in　his　walk；　as　if　to　speak　to

her；　out　of　frightened　concern　for　her。　How　she　dreaded　his

speaking　to　her；　dreaded　his　questioning　her。

She　slipped　from　her　seat　and　went　vaguely　along　the

path……vaguely。　It　was　a　long　way　home。　She　had　an　idea　that

she　must　walk　for　the　rest　of　her　life；　wearily；　wearily。　Step

after　step；　step　after　step；　and　always　along　the　wet；　rainy

road　between　the　hedges。　Step　after　step；　step　after　step；　the

monotony　produced　a　deep；　cold　sense　of　nausea　in　her。　How

profound　was　her　cold　nausea；　how　profound！　That　too　plumbed　the

bottom。　She　seemed　destined　to　find　the　bottom　of　all　things

to…day：　the　bottom　of　all　things。　Well；　at　any　rate　she　was

walking　along　the　bottom…most　bed……she　was　quite　safe：

quite　safe；　if　she　had　to　go　on　and　on　for　ever；　seeing　this　was

the　very　bottom；　and　there　was　nothing　deeper。　There　was　nothing

deeper；　you　see；　so　one　could　not　but　feel　certain；　passive。

She　arrived　home　at　last。　The　climb　up　the　hill　to　Beldover

had　been　very　trying。　Why　must　one　climb　the　hill？　Why　must　one

climb？　Why　not　stay　below？　Why　force　ones　way　up　the　slope？　Why

force　ones　way　up　and　up；　when　one　is　at　the　bottom？　Oh；　it　was

very　trying；　very　wearying；　very　burdensome。　Always　burdens；

always；　always　burdens。　Still；　she　must　get　to　the　top　and　go

home　to　bed。　She　must　go　to　bed。

She　got　in　and　went　upstairs　in　the　dusk　without　its　being

noticed　she　was　in　such　a　sodden　condition。　She　was　too　tired　to

go　downstairs　again。　She　got　into　bed　and　lay　shuddering　with

cold；　yet　too　apathetic　to　get　up　or　call　for　relief。　Then

gradually　she　became　more　ill。

She　was　very　ill　for　a　fortnight；　delirious；　shaken　and

racked。　But　always；　amid　the　ache　of　delirium；　she　had　a　dull

firmness　of　being；　a　sense　of　permanency。　She　was　in　some　way

like　the　stone　at　the　bottom　of　the　river；　inviolable　and

unalterable；　no　matter　what　storm　raged　in　her　body。　Her　soul

lay　still　and　permanent；　full　of　pain；　but　itself　for　ever。