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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第70部分


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to understand something or other about his own desires 
hitherto undefined by him; the source of his difficulty 
with Katharine。 The wish to hurt her; which had 
urged him to begin; had pletely left him; and he felt 
that it was only Katharine now who could help him to be 
sure。 He must take his time。 There were so many things 
that he could not say without the greatest difficulty— 
that name; for example; Cassandra。 Nor could he move 
his eyes from a certain spot; a fiery glen surrounded by 
high mountains; in the heart of the coals。 He waited in 
suspense for Katharine to continue。 She had said that he 
might be very happy with some one he loved in that way。 

“I don’t see why it shouldn’t last with you;” she resumed。 
“I can imagine a certain sort of person—” she 
paused; she was aware that he was listening with the 
greatest intentness; and that his formality was merely 
the cover for an extreme anxiety of some sort。 There was 
some person then—some woman—who could it be? 
Cassandra? Ah; possibly— 

“A person;” she added; speaking in the most matterof


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fact tone she could mand; “like Cassandra Otway; for 
instance。 Cassandra is the most interesting of the 
Otways—with the exception of Henry。 Even so; I like 
Cassandra better。 She has more than mere cleverness。 She 
is a character—a person by herself。” 

“Those dreadful insects!” burst from William; with a 
nervous laugh; and a little spasm went through him as 
Katharine noticed。 It was Cassandra then。 Automatically 
and dully she replied; “You could insist that she confined 
herself to—to—something else… 。 But she cares for 
music; I believe she writes poetry; and there can be no 
doubt that she has a peculiar charm—” 

She ceased; as if defining to herself this peculiar charm。 
After a moment’s silence William jerked out: 

“I thought her affectionate?” 

“Extremely affectionate。 She worships Henry。 When you 
think what a house that is—Uncle Francis always in one 
mood or another—” 

“Dear; dear; dear;” William muttered。 

“And you have so much in mon。” 

“My dear Katharine!” William exclaimed; flinging him


self back in his chair; and uprooting his eyes from the 
spot in the fire。 “I really don’t know what we’re talking 
about… 。 I assure you… 。” 

He was covered with an extreme confusion。 

He withdrew the finger that was still thrust between 
the pages of Gulliver; opened the book; and ran his eye 
down the list of chapters; as though he were about to 
select the one most suitable for reading aloud。 As 
Katharine watched him; she was seized with preliminary 
symptoms of his own panic。 At the same time she was 
convinced that; should he find the right page; take out 
his spectacles; clear his throat; and open his lips; a chance 
that would never e again in all their lives would be 
lost to them both。 

“We’re talking about things that interest us both very 
much;” she said。 “Shan’t we go on talking; and leave 
Swift for another time? I don’t feel in the mood for Swift; 
and it’s a pity to read any one when that’s the case— 
particularly Swift。” 

The presence of wise literary speculation; as she calculated; 
restored William’s confidence in his security; and 

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Virginia Woolf 

he replaced the book in the bookcase; keeping his back 
turned to her as he did so; and taking advantage of this 
circumstance to summon his thoughts together。 

But a second of introspection had the alarming result 
of showing him that his mind; when looked at from within; 
was no longer familiar ground。 He felt; that is to say; 
what he had never consciously felt before; he was revealed 
to himself as other than he was wont to think 
him; he was afloat upon a sea of unknown and tumultuous 
possibilities。 He paced once up and down the room; 
and then flung himself impetuously into the chair by 
Katharine’s side。 He had never felt anything like this before; 
he put himself entirely into her hands; he cast off 
all responsibility。 He very nearly exclaimed aloud: 

“You’ve stirred up all these odious and violent emotions; 
and now you must do the best you can with them。” 

Her near presence; however; had a calming and reassuring 
effect upon his agitation; and he was conscious only 
of an implicit trust that; somehow; he was safe with her; 
that she would see him through; find out what it was 
that he wanted; and procure it for him。 

“I wish to do whatever you tell me to do;” he said。 “I 
put myself entirely in your hands; Katharine。” 

“You must try to tell me what you feel;” she said。 

“My dear; I feel a thousand things every second。 I don’t 
know; I’m sure; what I feel。 That afternoon on the heath— 
it was then—then—” He broke off; he did not tell her 
what had happened then。 “Your ghastly good sense; as 
usual; has convinced me—for the moment—but what the 
truth is; Heaven only knows!” he exclaimed。 

“Isn’t it the truth that you are; or might be; in love 
with Cassandra?” she said gently。 

William bowed his head。 After a moment’s silence he 
murmured: 

“I believe you’re right; Katharine。” 

She sighed; involuntarily。 She had been hoping all this 
time; with an intensity that increased second by second 
against the current of her words; that it would not in the 
end e to this。 After a moment of surprising anguish; 
she summoned her courage to tell him how she wished 
only that she might help him; and had framed the first 
words of her speech when a knock; terrific and startling 

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Night and Day 

to people in their overwrought condition; sounded upon 

the door。 
“Katharine; I worship you;” he urged; half in a whisper。 
“Yes;” she replied; withdrawing with a little shiver; “but 

you must open the door。” 

CHAPTER XXIII 


When Ralph Denham entered the room and saw Katharine 
seated with her back to him; he was conscious of a change 
in the grade of the atmosphere such as a traveler meets 
with sometimes upon the roads; particularly after sunset; 
when; without warning; he runs from clammy chill to a 
hoard of unspent warmth in which the sweetness of hay 
and beanfield is cherished; as if the sun still shone although 
the moon is up。 He hesitated; he shuddered; he 
walked elaborately to the window and laid aside his coat。 
He balanced his stick most carefully against the folds of 
the curtain。 Thus occupied with his own sensations and 
preparations; he had little time to observe what either of 
the other two was feeling。 Such symptoms of agitation 
as he might perceive (and they had left their tokens in 
brightness of eye and pallor of cheeks) seemed to him 
well befitting the actors in so great a drama as that of 
Katharine Hilbery’s daily life。 Beauty and passion were 
the breath of her being; he thought。 

She scarcely noticed his presence; or only as it forced 

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Virginia Woolf 

her to adopt a manner of posure; which she was certainly 
far from feeling。 William; however; was even more 
agitated than she was; and her first instalment of promised 
help took the form of some monplace upon the 
age of the building or the architect’s name; which gave 
him an excuse to fumble in a drawer for certain designs; 
which he laid upon the table between the three of them。 

Which of the three followed the designs most carefully 
it would be difficult to tell; but it is certain that not one 
of the three found for the moment anything to say。 Years 
of training in a drawingroom came at length to Katharine’s 
help; and she said something suitable; at the same moment 
withdrawing her hand from the table because she 
perceived that it trembled。 William agreed effusively; 
Denham corroborated him; speaking in rather highpitched 
tones; they thrust aside the plans; and drew nearer to the 
fireplace。 

“I’d rather live here than anywhere in the whole of London;” 
said Denham。 

(“And I’ve got nowhere to live”) Katharine thought; as 
she agreed aloud。 

“You could get rooms here; no doubt; if you wanted 
to;” Rodney replied。 

“But I’m just leaving Lond

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