“我真想让你看看这个窝。”雷渥斯太太说。

    他蹲下身来，小心地用手慢慢穿过荆棘模进鸟窝那圆圆的门。

    “简直就像摸到了鸟儿的身体内部一样，”他说，“这里很暖和。人家说鸟儿是用胸脯把窝压成杯子那么圆的。但我弄不明白怎么顶也是圆的呢？”

    这鸟窝似乎闯入了这娘俩的生活，从那以后，米丽亚姆每天都为看看这个鸟窝。鸟窝对她来说似乎很亲密。还有一次，当他和米丽亚姆一起走过树篱时，他注意到了那些白屈菜，仿佛一片片金黄色的光斑撒在沟边上。

    “我喜欢这些白屈菜，”他说：“在阳光下，花瓣就平展开来，仿佛被阳光烫平了似的。”

    从那以后，白屈菜对她也有了吸引力。她很善于拟人想象，但还是鼓励他像这样去欣赏各种事物。这样，这些事物在她眼里就变得栩栩如生了。她似乎需要外界的东西先在她的想象中或她的心灵中燃起火花，然后她才能确切地感受到它们的存在。由于她一心信教，她仿佛跟凡俗生活断了线。她认为，这个世界如果不能成为一个没有罪恶的修道院或者天堂，那么，就是一个丑恶、残忍的地方。

    就是在这种微妙的亲密气氛中，在对自然界的东西具有一致看法而产生的情投意和中， 他们逐渐萌发了爱情。

    单方面来说，他是经过好久才了解她的。由于生病，他不得不在家待了十个月。有一段时间，他跟母亲去了斯肯格涅斯，在那里过的相当不错。不过，即使在海滨，他也写了几封长长的信给雷渥斯太太，给她讲了海岸和海。他还带回来他心爱的几幅单调的林肯海岸的素描，急着给她们看。雷渥斯太太家人对他的画比他母亲还感兴趣。当然莫瑞尔太太关心的不是他的艺术，而是他本人和他的成就。但雷渥斯太太和她的孩子们都几乎成了他的信徒。 他们鼓舞了他，让 他对他的工作满腔热情，而他的母亲的影响就是让他更加坚定，孜孜不倦，不屈不挠，坚持不懈。

    他不久就和几个男孩子们交上了朋友。他们的粗鲁只不过是表面现象罢了。一旦他们遇到了自己信得过的人，他们就变得相当温文尔雅，和蔼可亲。

    “你想跟我一起去修耕地吗？”艾德加有些犹豫地问他。

    保罗高高兴兴地去了，整个下午都帮着朋友锄地，或者拣青萝卜。他常常和三兄弟躺在谷仓里的干草堆上，给他们讲关于诺丁汉和乔丹的事情。投桃报李，他们也教他挤牛奶，让他干些小杂活——切干草、捣烂萝卜——他愿干多少就干多少。到了仲夏，整个干草收获季节，他都和他们一起干活，而且喜欢上了他们。实际上，这个家庭与世隔绝，他们多少有点像“遗民”。虽然这些小伙子们都强壮而健康，然而他们生性过于敏感，爱踌躇不前的性格使他们相当孤寂，而你一旦赢得他们的亲密情谊，他们也是相当亲切的贴心朋友。保罗深深地爱上了他们，他们同样也爱保罗。

    米丽亚姆是后来才接近他的。不过他却早在她还没在他生活中留下任何痕迹时就已经进入了她的生活圈子。一个无聊的下午，男子汉们在地里干活，其它人去了学校，家里只有米丽亚姆和她的母亲。这姑娘犹豫了一会儿，对他说：

    “你 见过秋千吗？”

    “没有。”他回答，“在哪儿？”

    “在牛棚里。”她回答。

    在准备给他什么东西，或给他看什么东西之前，她总是要犹豫不决。男人对事物的价值标准和女人的大不一样。她喜欢的东西——对她来说很宝贵的东西——却常常受到几个兄弟的嘲弄取笑。

    “好，走吧。”他回答着，跳起身来。

    这儿有两个牛棚，谷仓两边各有一个。一个低暗一些的牛棚有四头母牛，当小伙子 和姑娘向吊在黑暗处屋梁上的又粗又大的绳子走去时，母鸡乱飞到食糟边上吵个不停。那根绳子向后绕在一根钉子上。

    “这倒真是挺不错的绳子呢！”他赞赏地惊叫着搂着它坐上去了，急着想显显身手。但立即他又站起身来。

    “来，你先来。”他对姑娘说。

    “喂，”她回答着向谷仓走去，“我们先在坐的地方铺几个袋子。”她把秋千为他弄得舒舒服服的。她很高兴这样做，他抓住了绳子。

    “好，来吧。”他对她说。

    “不，我不先来。”她回答。

    她静静地站在一边。

    “为什么？”

    “你来吧。”她恳求道。

    这几乎是她生命中第一次尝到对一个男人让步的乐趣，尝到了宠爱他的乐趣。保罗看着她。

    “好吧，”他说着坐了下来，“当心！”

    他跳上了秋千，几下子就飞上了空中，几乎飞出牛棚门口。门的上半部分是开着的，只见外面正下蒙蒙细雨，院子肮脏不堪。牛群无精打彩地靠着黑色的车棚，远处是一排灰绿色的林墙。她戴一顶绊红色的宽顶无檐帽，站在下面望着。他往下看她，她看见他那双蓝眼睛闪闪发光。

    “荡秋千真是一种享受。”他说。

    “是啊。”

    他在空中全身心荡啊荡啊，凌空而过，活像一只高兴的飞扑而来的鸟。他朝下看着她。那顶绊红的帽子扣在她的黑卷发上，她冲着他仰起那美丽而热情的脸蛋，一动不动地沉思着。牛棚里又黑又冷。突然，一只燕子从高高的屋顶上俯冲下来，飞出了门。

    “我不知道还有一只鸟在看着我们呢。”他喊起来。

    他悠闲地荡着，她可以感觉到他在空中一起一落，仿佛有什么力量推动着他。

    “哦，我要死了。” 他说，声音恍恍惚惚，宛如梦中，好像他就是那逐渐停止摆动的秋千。她看着他，很痴迷的样子。突然，他停下了，跳了下来。

    “我荡得太久了，”他说：“荡秋千真是一种享受——真是一种享受。”

    米丽亚姆看到他对荡秋千这么认真，这么热衷，心里高兴极了。

    “噢，你继续荡吧。”她说。

    “为什么？你难道不想荡一下？”他吃惊地问。

    “嗯，不是很想，我只荡一会儿吧。”

    他为她铺好口袋，她坐下了。

    “这很有意思，”他说着开始推她。“抬起脚后跟，要不会撞到食槽边上的？

    她感觉到他灵巧地正好及时抓住了她，每推她一下用力也恰到好处。她不禁害怕起来，她的心里涌起一股热浪。她在他手里了。 接着，他又恰到好处地用力推了一把，她紧紧抓住绳子，几乎要晕过去。

    “哈，”她害怕地笑了，“别再高了！”

    “可这一点也不高呀。”他分辩 说。

    “可别再高了。”

    他听出了她声音里的恐惧，就住了手。在等他再一次来推她时，她的心紧张地像在煎熬中。不过他没来推，她这才喘了一口气。

    “你真的不想荡得再高一点吗？”他问，“就保持这个高度吗？”

    “不，让我自己来吧。”她回答。

    他走到一边，看着她。

    “咦，你几乎没动嘛。”他说。

    她不好意思地笑了，一会儿就下来了。

    “人家说你如果能荡秋千，你就不会晕船。”他说着又爬上了秋千，“我相信我不会晕船。”

    他又荡了起来。在她眼里，他身上仿佛有什么引人入迷之处。这会儿他全心全意凌空荡着，浑身上下没有一处不在飘荡着。她从来不会这么投入，她的兄弟们也不会的。她的心不由升起一股热流。他仿佛是一团火焰，在空中荡来荡去时点燃了她心中的热情。

    保罗和这家人的亲密感情逐渐集中到了三个人身上——母亲、艾德加和米丽亚姆。对于母亲，他是去寻求同情和那股能使他袒露胸襟的反常。艾德加是他的密友。至于米丽亚姆呢，他多少有点俯就她，因为她看来是那么卑微。

    但是，这姑娘逐渐爱找他作伴。要是 他带来了他的素描本，她会看到最后一张画，对着画沉思的时间最长。然后她会抬起头来望着他。她那对黑黑的双眸会突然变得亮晶晶的，宛如一汪清泉，在黑暗中闪闪发光。她会问：

    “为什么我会这么喜欢这幅画？”

    可是，她心里总有股力量，害怕自己流露出那种亲密眼神。

    “为什么你会喜欢呢？”他问。

    “我不知道，它看上去像是真的。”

    “这是因为——因为这幅画里几乎没有阴影，看上去很亮，仿佛我画出了树叶里发亮的原生质，其它地方也都这么画，不是去画那种僵硬的形，那些对我来说是死的。只有发亮的部分才是真正的生命力。外形是没有生命力的空壳，只有发亮的才是真正的精华。”

    她把小指头含在嘴里，一言不发地思索着这些话。它们再次给了她生命的感觉，使很多在她看来没有任何意义的东西变得栩栩如生起来。她好不容易才理解了他的那些深奥而不易讲清楚的话。而正是这些话，让她领悟了很多她所钟爱的东西。

    又有一天，她坐在黄昏的阳光下，他在画着西下夕照里的几株松树。他一直没说话。

    “你瞧！”他突然说，“我就要这个。来，看看这幅画，告诉我，这些是桦树干很像黑暗中火堆里的红煤块？上帝为你点燃了灌木丛，永远也燃不尽。”

    米丽亚姆朝画上看了一眼，吓了一跳。不过这些松树干在她看来的确妙不可言，而且风格独特。他收拾好画箱，站起身来。突然，他盯住她。

    “为什么你总是很伤心？”他问她。

    “伤心！”她惊叫起来，抬起那双受惊的、奇妙的棕色眼睛望着他。

    “是啊，”他回答道，“你总是一副伤心的样子。”

    “我不是——哦，我一点都不伤心。”她叫道。

    “甚至你高兴时也只是悲伤之余一时的热情，”他坚持说，“你从来没有高兴过，甚至连好脸色也没有过。”

    “不，”她想了一会说，“我也不 知道——为什么？”

    “因为你不高兴，因为你的内心与众不同。像一棵松树，你突然一下子燃烧起来。不过你并不像一棵普通的松树，长着摇曳不定的叶子，兴高采烈的……” 他变得语无伦次了。她却默默地琢磨着他的话，他感觉到一种奇特的激情，仿佛这激情是刚刚产生的。她顿时变得跟他如此亲近。这真是一种奇怪的兴奋剂。

    然而有些时候他又极为厌恶她。她的最小的弟弟只有五岁，是个身体虚弱的孩子，那张苍白而又秀气的脸上有一双大大的棕色眼睛——就像雷诺鹚画的《天使唱诗班》里的人物，有几分淘气。米丽亚姆常常跪在这孩子面前，把他拉到身边。

    “哦，我的休伯特，”她充满深情地低叫着，“哦，我的休伯特！”

    她把他拥在怀里，怜爱地把他轻轻地摇来摇去，她稍稍仰着脸，眼睛半闭着，声音热情洋溢。

    “不要！”孩子不舒服地说，“不要，米丽亚姆！”

    “哦，你爱我，是吗？”她喉咙里喃喃地说，仿佛有些神志恍惚，晃动着身子，如痴如醉。

    “不要！”孩子又喊了一声，清秀的眉毛皱了起来。

    “你爱我，是吗？”她喃喃地说。

    “你这么小题大做干什么呢？”保罗喊着，对她这种狂热的感情觉得很难受。“为什么你不能对他正常一些？”

    她放开孩子，站起 来了，一声不吭。她的过分热烈使任何感情都不能保持正常状态，这让小伙子烦到了极点。这种无缘无故流露出来的可怕的、毫无遮拦的亲近叫他感到震惊。他习惯于他母亲的那种稳重。碰到眼前这种场合，他从内心深处庆幸自己有这么一位明智而健全的母亲。

    米丽亚姆身上最有活力的要算她的眼睛了。这对眼睛往往黑得像一座黑漆漆的教堂，但也能亮得仿佛喷出的熊熊烈火。她的脸总是一副沉思的样子，难得 有什么变化。她很像是那个当年和玛利亚一起去静观耶稣升天的女人之一。她的身体既不柔软也没有生气。走路时摇摇摆摆，显得很笨重，头向前低着，默默地沉思着。她倒不是笨手笨脚，但她的每一个动作都不像样。她擦碟子的时候，常常站在那儿发愣和犯愁，因为她把茶杯或酒杯弄成两片了。她似乎由于害怕和不自信，而使劲过猛。她没有松松散散，也没有大大咧咧。她 把一切都抓得死紧，然而她的努力，由于过分紧张，反而起了反作用。

    她难得改变自己的那种摇摇摆摆、向前倾的紧张的走路姿势，偶尔她和保罗在田野里奔跑，那时她的眼睛炯炯发亮，那种狂喜的神情会让他大吃一惊。不过具体说来她很害怕运动，如果她要跨过一级踏级，就不免有些苦恼，她会紧紧地抓住他的手，心慌意乱。而且即使他劝她从一点也不高的地方跳下来，她也不肯。她的眼睛会大睁着，心怦怦乱跳，窘相毕露。

    “不，”她叫道，心里害怕，脸上似笑非笑——“不！”

    “你跳呀！”有二次他一面喊道，一面往前推了她一把，带着她跳下了栅栏。她惊恐地拚命大叫了一声“啊！”似乎眼看要昏过去了。他听了真懵了。可结果她双脚安然地落了地，而且从此在这方面有了勇气。

    "I DO want you to see this," said Mrs. Leivers.
　　He crouched down and carefully put his finger through thethorns into the round door of the nest.
　　"It's almost as if you were feeling inside the live bodyof the bird," he said, "it's so warm. They say a bird makesits nest round like a cup with pressing its breast on it. Then how did it make the ceiling round, I wonder?"
　　The nest seemed to start into life for the two women. After that, Miriam came to see it every day. It seemed so closeto her. Again, going down the hedgeside with the girl, he noticedthe celandines, scalloped splashes of gold, on the side of the ditch.
　　"I like them," he said, "when their petals go flat back withthe sunshine. They seemed to be pressing themselves at the sun."
　　And then the celandines ever after drew her with a little spell. Anthropomorphic as she was, she stimulated him into appreciatingthings thus, and then they lived for her. She seemed to need thingskindling in her imagination or in her soul before she felt shehad them. And she was cut off from ordinary life by her religiousintensity which made the world for her either a nunnery gardenor a paradise, where sin and knowledge were not, or else an ugly,cruel thing.
　　So it was in this atmosphere of subtle intimacy, this meetingin their common feeling for something in Nature, that their love started.
　　Personally, he was a long time before he realized her. For ten months he had to stay at home after his illness. For awhile he went to Skegness with his mother, and was perfectly happy. But even from the seaside he wrote long letters to Mrs. Leiversabout the shore and the sea. And he brought back his belovedsketches of the flat Lincoln coast, anxious for them to see. Almost they would interest the Leivers more than they interestedhis mother. It was not his art Mrs. Morel cared about; it was himselfand his achievement. But Mrs. Leivers and her children were almosthis disciples. They kindled him and made him glow to his work,whereas his mother's influence was to make him quietly determined,patient, dogged, unwearied.
　　He soon was friends with the boys, whose rudeness wasonly superficial. They had all, when they could trust themselves,a strange gentleness and lovableness.
　　"Will you come with me on to the fallow?" asked Edgar,rather hesitatingly.
　　Paul went joyfully, and spent the afternoon helping to hoe or tosingle turnips with his friend. He used to lie with the three brothersin the hay piled up in the barn and tell them about Nottingham andabout Jordan's. In return, they taught him to milk, and let him dolittle jobs--chopping hay or pulping turnips--just as much as he liked. At midsummer he worked all through hay-harvest with them, and thenhe loved them. The family was so cut off from the world actually. They seemed, somehow, like "les derniers fils d'une race epuisee".Though the lads were strong and healthy, yet they had all thatover-sensitiveness and hanging-back which made them so lonely,yet also such close, delicate friends once their intimacy was won. Paul loved them dearly, and they him.
　　Miriam came later. But he had come into her life before shemade any mark on his. One dull afternoon, when the men were onthe land and the rest at school, only Miriam and her motherat home, the girl said to him, after having hesitated for some time:
　　"Have you seen the swing?"
　　"No," he answered. "Where?"
　　"In the cowshed," she replied.
　　She always hesitated to offer or to show him anything. Men have such different standards of worth from women, and her dearthings--the valuable things to her--her brothers had so often mockedor flouted.
　　"Come on, then," he replied, jumping up.
　　There were two cowsheds, one on either side of the barn. In the lower, darker shed there was standing for four cows. Hens flew scolding over the manger-wall as the youth and girl wentforward for the great thick rope which hung from the beam in thedarkness overhead, and was pushed back over a peg in the wall.
　　"It's something like a rope!" he exclaimed appreciatively;and he sat down on it, anxious to try it. Then immediately he rose.
　　"Come on, then, and have first go," he said to the girl.
　　"See," she answered, going into the barn, "we put some bagson the seat"; and she made the swing comfortable for him. That gave her pleasure. He held the rope.
　　"Come on, then," he said to her.
　　"No, I won't go first," she answered.
　　She stood aside in her still, aloof fashion.
　　"Why?"
　　"You go," she pleaded.
　　Almost for the first time in her life she had the pleasureof giving up to a man, of spoiling him. Paul looked at her.
　　"All right," he said, sitting down. "Mind out!"
　　He set off with a spring, and in a moment was flying throughthe air, almost out of the door of the shed, the upper half of whichwas open, showing outside the drizzling rain, the filthy yard,the cattle standing disconsolate against the black cartshed, and atthe back of all the grey-green wall of the wood. She stood belowin her crimson tam-o'-shanter and watched. He looked down at her,and she saw his blue eyes sparkling.
　　"It's a treat of a swing," he said.
　　"Yes."
　　He was swinging through the air, every bit of him swinging,like a bird that swoops for joy of movement. And he looked downat her. Her crimson cap hung over her dark curls, her beautifulwarm face, so still in a kind of brooding, was lifted towards him. It was dark and rather cold in the shed. Suddenly a swallow camedown from the high roof and darted out of the door.
　　"I didn't know a bird was watching," he called.
　　He swung negligently. She could feel him falling and liftingthrough the air, as if he were lying on some force.
　　"Now I'll die," he said, in a detached, dreamy voice, as thoughhe were the dying motion of the swing. She watched him, fascinated. Suddenly he put on the brake and jumped out.
　　"I've had a long turn," he said. "But it's a treatof a swing--it's a real treat of a swing!"
　　Miriam was amused that he took a swing so seriously and feltso warmly over it.
　　"No; you go on," she said.
　　"Why, don't you want one?" he asked, astonished.
　　"Well, not much. I'll have just a little."
　　She sat down, whilst he kept the bags in place for her.
　　"It's so ripping!" he said, setting her in motion. "Keep yourheels up, or they'll bang the manger wall."
　　She felt the accuracy with which he caught her, exactly at theright moment, and the exactly proportionate strength of his thrust,and she was afraid. Down to her bowels went the hot wave of fear. She was in his hands. Again, firm and inevitable came the thrust atthe right moment. She gripped the rope, almost swooning.
　　"Ha!" she laughed in fear. "No higher!"
　　"But you're not a BIT high," he remonstrated.
　　"But no higher."
　　He heard the fear in her voice, and desisted. Her heart meltedin hot pain when the moment came for him to thrust her forward again. But he left her alone. She began to breathe.
　　"Won't you really go any farther?" he asked. "Should I keepyou there?"
　　"No; let me go by myself," she answered.
　　He moved aside and watched her.
　　"Why, you're scarcely moving," he said.
　　She laughed slightly with shame, and in a moment got down.
　　"They say if you can swing you won't be sea-sick," he said,as he mounted again. "I don't believe I should ever be sea-sick."
　　Away he went. There was something fascinating to her in him. For the moment he was nothing but a piece of swinging stuff;not a particle of him that did not swing. She could never loseherself so, nor could her brothers. It roused a warmth in her. It was almost as if he were a flame that had lit a warmth in herwhilst he swung in the middle air.
　　And gradually the intimacy with the family concentratedfor Paul on three persons--the mother, Edgar, and Miriam. To the mother he went for that sympathy and that appeal which seemedto draw him out. Edgar was his very close friend. And to Miriamhe more or less condescended, because she seemed so humble.
　　But the girl gradually sought him out. If he brought up hissketch-book, it was she who pondered longest over the last picture. Then she would look up at him. Suddenly, her dark eyes alight likewater that shakes with a stream of gold in the dark, she would ask:
　　"Why do I like this so?"
　　Always something in his breast shrank from these close,intimate, dazzled looks of hers.
　　"Why DO you?" he asked.
　　"I don't know. It seems so true."
　　"It's because--it's because there is scarcely any shadow in it;it's more shimmery, as if I'd painted the shimmering protoplasmin the leaves and everywhere, and not the stiffness of the shape. That seems dead to me. Only this shimmeriness is the real living. The shape is a dead crust. The shimmer is inside really."
　　And she, with her little finger in her mouth, would ponderthese sayings. They gave her a feeling of life again, and vivifiedthings which had meant nothing to her. She managed to find somemeaning in his struggling, abstract speeches. And they werethe medium through which she came distinctly at her beloved objects.
　　Another day she sat at sunset whilst he was painting somepine-trees which caught the red glare from the west. He had been quiet.
　　"There you are!" he said suddenly. "I wanted that. Now, look atthem and tell me, are they pine trunks or are they red coals,standing-up pieces of fire in that darkness? There's God's burningbush for you, that burned not away."
　　Miriam looked, and was frightened. But the pine trunks werewonderful to her, and distinct. He packed his box and rose. Suddenly he looked at her.
　　"Why are you always sad?" he asked her.
　　"Sad!" she exclaimed, looking up at him with startled,wonderful brown eyes.
　　"Yes," he replied. "You are always sad."
　　"I am not--oh, not a bit!" she cried.
　　"But even your joy is like a flame coming off of sadness,"he persisted. "You're never jolly, or even just all right."
　　"No," she pondered. "I wonder--why?"
　　"Because you're not; because you're different inside,like a pine-tree, and then you flare up; but you're not justlike an ordinary tree, with fidgety leaves and jolly---"
　　He got tangled up in his own speech; but she brooded on it,and he had a strange, roused sensation, as if his feelings were new. She got so near him. It was a strange stimulant.

    Then sometimes he hated her. Her youngest brother was only five. He was a frail lad, with immense brown eyes in his quaint fragileface--one of Reynolds's "Choir of Angels", with a touch of elf. Often Miriam kneeled to the child and drew him to her.
　　"Eh, my Hubert!" she sang, in a voice heavy and surchargedwith love. "Eh, my Hubert!"
　　And, folding him in her arms, she swayed slightly from sideto side with love, her face half lifted, her eyes half closed,her voice drenched with love.
　　"Don't!" said the child, uneasy--"don't, Miriam!"
　　"Yes; you love me, don't you?" she murmured deep in her throat,almost as if she were in a trance, and swaying also as if she wereswooned in an ecstasy of love.
　　"Don't!" repeated the child, a frown on his clear brow.
　　"You love me, don't you?" she murmured.
　　"What do you make such a FUSS for?" cried Paul, all in sufferingbecause of her extreme emotion. "Why can't you be ordinary with him?"
　　She let the child go, and rose, and said nothing. Her intensity,which would leave no emotion on a normal plane, irritated the youthinto a frenzy. And this fearful, naked contact of her on smalloccasions shocked him. He was used to his mother's reserve. And on such occasions he was thankful in his heart and soul that hehad his mother, so sane and wholesome.
　　All the life of Miriam's body was in her eyes, which were usuallydark as a dark church, but could flame with light like a conflagration. Her face scarcely ever altered from its look of brooding. She might have been one of the women who went with Mary when Jesuswas dead. Her body was not flexible and living. She walkedwith a swing, rather heavily, her head bowed forward, pondering. She was not clumsy, and yet none of her movements seemed quiteTHE movement. Often, when wiping the dishes, she would standin bewilderment and chagrin because she had pulled in two halvesa cup or a tumbler. It was as if, in her fear and self-mistrust,she put too much strength into the effort. There was no loosenessor abandon about her. Everything was gripped stiff with intensity,and her effort, overcharged, closed in on itself.
　　She rarely varied from her swinging, forward, intense walk. Occasionally she ran with Paul down the fields. Then her eyesblazed naked in a kind of ecstasy that frightened him. But she wasphysically afraid. If she were getting over a stile, she gripped hishands in a little hard anguish, and began to lose her presence of mind. And he could not persuade her to jump from even a small height. Her eyes dilated, became exposed and palpitating.
　　"No!" she cried, half laughing in terror--"no!"
　　"You shall!" he cried once, and, jerking her forward, he broughther falling from the fence. But her wild "Ah!" of pain, as if shewere losing consciousness, cut him. She landed on her feet safely,and afterwards had courage in this respect.