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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第58部分


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instead by running over the list of his gifts and acquirements; 
his knowledge of Greek and Latin; his knowledge 
of art and literature; his skill in the management of meters; 
and his ancient westcountry blood。 But the feeling that 
underlay all these feelings and puzzled him profoundly 
and kept him silent was the certainty that he loved 
Katharine as sincerely as he had it in him to love any 
one。 And yet she could speak to him like that! In a sort 
of bewilderment he lost all desire to speak; and would 
quite readily have taken up some different topic of conversation 
if Katharine had started one。 This; however; 
she did not do。 

He glanced at her; in case her expression might help 
him to understand her behavior。 As usual; she had quickened 
her pace unconsciously; and was now walking a little 
in front of him; but he could gain little information from 
her eyes; which looked steadily at the brown heather; or 
from the lines drawn seriously upon her forehead。 Thus 
to lose touch with her; for he had no idea what she was 
thinking; was so unpleasant to him that he began to talk 

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about his grievances again; without; however; much conviction 
in his voice。 

“If you have no feeling for me; wouldn’t it be kinder to 
say so to me in private?” 

“Oh; William;” she burst out; as if he had interrupted some 
absorbing train of thought; “how you go on about feelings! 
Isn’t it better not to talk so much; not to be worrying always 
about small things that don’t really matter?” 

“That’s the question precisely;” he exclaimed。 “I only 
want you to tell me that they don’t matter。 There are 
times when you seem indifferent to everything。 I’m vain; 
I’ve a thousand faults; but you know they’re not everything; 
you know I care for you。” 

“And if I say that I care for you; don’t you believe me?” 

“Say it; Katharine! Say it as if you meant it! Make me 
feel that you care for me!” 

She could not force herself to speak a word。 The heather 
was growing dim around them; and the horizon was blotted 
out by white mist。 To ask her for passion or for certainty 
seemed like asking that damp prospect for fierce blades of 
fire; or the faded sky for the intense blue vault of June。 

He went on now to tell her of his love for her; in words 
which bore; even to her critical senses; the stamp of truth; 
but none of this touched her; until; ing to a gate 
whose hinge was rusty; he heaved it open with his shoulder; 
still talking and taking no account of his effort。 The 
virility of this deed impressed her; and yet; normally; she 
attached no value to the power of opening gates。 The 
strength of muscles has nothing to do on the face of it 
with the strength of affections; nevertheless; she felt a 
sudden concern for this power running to waste on her 
account; which; bined with a desire to keep possession 
of that strangely attractive masculine power; made 
her rouse herself from her torpor。 

Why should she not simply tell him the truth—which 
was that she had accepted him in a misty state of mind 
when nothing had its right shape or size? that it was 
deplorable; but that with clearer eyesight marriage was 
out of the question? She did not want to marry any one。 
She wanted to go away by herself; preferably to some 
bleak northern moor; and there study mathematics and 
the science of astronomy。 Twenty words would explain 

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Night and Day 

the whole situation to him。 He had ceased to speak; he 
had told her once more how he loved her and why。 She 
summoned her courage; fixed her eyes upon a lightning
splintered ashtree; and; almost as if she were reading a 
writing fixed to the trunk; began: 

“I was wrong to get engaged to you。 I shall never make 
you happy。 I have never loved you。” 

“Katharine!” he protested。 

“No; never;” she repeated obstinately。 “Not rightly。 Don’t 
you see; I didn’t know what I was doing?” 

“You love some one else?” he cut her short。 

“Absolutely no one。” 

“Henry?” he demanded。 

“Henry? I should have thought; William; even you—” 

“There is some one;” he persisted。 “There has been a 
change in the last few weeks。 You owe it to me to be 
honest; Katharine。” 

“If I could; I would;” she replied。 

“Why did you tell me you would marry me; then?” he 
demanded。 

Why; indeed? A moment of pessimism; a sudden con


viction of the undeniable prose of life; a lapse of the 
illusion which sustains youth midway between heaven 
and earth; a desperate attempt to reconcile herself with 
facts—she could only recall a moment; as of waking from 
a dream; which now seemed to her a moment of surrender。 
But who could give reasons such as these for doing 
what she had done? She shook her head very sadly。 

“But you’re not a child—you’re not a woman of moods;” 
Rodney persisted。 “You couldn’t have accepted me if you 
hadn’t loved me!” he cried。 

A sense of her own misbehavior; which she had succeeded 
in keeping from her by sharpening her consciousness 
of Rodney’s faults; now swept over her and almost 
overwhelmed her。 What were his faults in parison with 
the fact that he cared for her? What were her virtues in 
parison with the fact that she did not care for him? 
In a flash the conviction that not to care is the uttermost 
sin of all stamped itself upon her inmost thought; and 
she felt herself branded for ever。 

He had taken her arm; and held her hand firmly in his; 
nor had she the force to resist what now seemed to her 

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his enormously superior strength。 Very well; she would 
submit; as her mother and her aunt and most women; 
perhaps; had submitted; and yet she knew that every 
second of such submission to his strength was a second 
of treachery to him。 

“I did say I would marry you; but it was wrong;” she 
forced herself to say; and she stiffened her arm as if to 
annul even the seeming submission of that separate part 
of her; “for I don’t love you; William; you’ve noticed it; 
every one’s noticed it; why should we go on pretending? 
When I told you I loved you; I was wrong。 I said what I 
knew to be untrue。” 

As none of her words seemed to her at all adequate to 
represent what she felt; she repeated them; and emphasized 
them without realizing the effect that they might 
have upon a man who cared for her。 She was pletely 
taken aback by finding her arm suddenly dropped; then 
she saw his face most strangely contorted; was he laughing; 
it flashed across her? In another moment she saw 
that he was in tears。 In her bewilderment at this apparition 
she stood aghast for a second。 With a desperate 

sense that this horror must; at all costs; be stopped; she 
then put her arms about him; drew his head for a moment 
upon her shoulder; and led him on; murmuring words of 
consolation; until he heaved a great sigh。 They held fast 
to each other; her tears; too; ran down her cheeks; and 
were both quite silent。 Noticing the difficulty with which 
he walked; and feeling the same extreme lassitude in her 
own limbs; she proposed that they should rest for a moment 
where the bracken was brown and shriveled beneath 
an oaktree。 He assented。 Once more he gave a 
great sigh; and wiped his eyes with a childlike unconsciousness; 
and began to speak without a trace of his 
previous anger。 The idea came to her that they were like 
the children in the fairy tale who were lost in a wood; 
and with this in her mind she noticed the scattering of 
dead leaves all round them which had been blown by the 
wind into heaps; a foot or two deep; here and there。 

“When did you begin to feel this; Katharine?” he said; 
“for it isn’t true to say that you’ve always felt it。 I admit 
I was unreasonable the first night when you found that 
your clothes had been left behind。 Still; where’s the fault 

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Night and Day 

in that? I could promise you never to interfere with your 
clothes again。 I admit I was cross when I found you upstairs 
with Henry。 Perhaps I showed it too openly。 But 
that’s not unreasonable either when one’s e

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