小说园

第67部分（第3页）

stood　up；　really　stood　and　asserted　its　standing；　but　was

ashamed　of　its　own　lack　of　meaning；　he　turned　away　again。

He　took　up　jewellery；　read　Benvenuto　Cellini；　pored　over

reproductions　of　ornament；　and　began　to　make　pendants　in　silver

and　pearl　and　matrix。　The　first　things　he　did；　in　his　start　of

discovery；　were　really　beautiful。　Those　later　were　more

imitative。　But；　starting　with　his　wife；　he　made　a　pendant　each

for　all　his　womenfolk。　Then　he　made　rings　and　bracelets。

Then　he　took　up　beaten　and　chiselled　metal　work。　When　Ursula

left　school；　he　was　making　a　silver　bowl　of　lovely　shape。　How　he

delighted　in　it；　almost　lusted　after　it。

All　this　time　his　only　connection　with　the　real　outer　world

was　through　his　winter　evening　classes；　which　brought　him　into

contact　with　state　education。　About　all　the　rest；　he　was

oblivious；　and　entirely　indifferent……even　about　the　war。

The　nation　did　not　exist　to　him。　He　was　in　a　private　retreat　of

his　own；　that　had　neither　nationality；　nor　any　great

adherent。

Ursula　watched　the　newspapers；　vaguely；　concerning　the　war　in

South　Africa。　They　made　her　miserable；　and　she　tried　to　have　as

little　to　do　with　them　as　possible。　But　Skrebensky　was　out

there。　He　sent　her　an　occasional　post…card。　But　it　was　as　if　she

were　a　blank　wall　in　his　direction；　without　windows　or　outgoing。

She　adhered　to　the　Skrebensky　of　her　memory。

Her　love　for　Winifred　Inger　wrenched　her　life　as　it　seemed

from　the　roots　and　native　soil　where　Skrebensky　had　belonged　to

it；　and　she　was　aridly　transplanted。　He　was　really　only　a

memory。　She　revived　his　memory　with　strange　passion；　after　the

departure　of　Winifred。　He　was　to　her　almost　the　symbol　of　her

real　life。　It　was　as　if；　through　him；　in　him；　she　might　return

to　her　own　self；　which　she　was　before　she　had　loved　Winifred；

before　this　deadness　had　e　upon　her；　this　pitiless

transplanting。　But　even　her　memories　were　the　work　of　her

imagination。

She　dreamed　of　him　and　her　as　they　had　been　together。　She

could　not　dream　of　him　progressively；　of　what　he　was　doing　now；

of　what　relation　he　would　have　to　her　now。　Only　sometimes　she

wept　to　think　how　cruelly　she　had　suffered　when　he　left

her……ah；　how　she　had　suffered！　She　remembered　what

she　had　written　in　her　diary：