她对自己的命运非常不满意。
“你不喜欢呆在家里吗？”保罗惊讶地问她。
“谁会愿意？”她低声激动地回答道，“有什么意思？我整天打扫，可那几个兄弟不消五分钟就会搞得乱七八糟。我不愿困在家里。”
“那你想要什么呢？”
“我想做点事，我想和别人一样有个机会。为什么我就应该呆在家里，不准出去做事？就因为我是个女孩吗？我有什么机会呢？”
“什么机会？”
“了解情况——学点知识，干点事情的机会呗。这真不公平，就因为我是个女人。”
她好像非常伤心。保罗觉得很奇怪。在他家里，安妮总是很高兴做个女孩。她没有那么多责任，她的事情也比较轻松，她从来没想过不 做个女孩。可是米丽亚姆却几乎疯狂地希望自己是一个男人，然而同时她又厌恶男人。
“可是做男人和女人是一样的呀。”他皱着眉说。
“哈，是吗！可男人拥有一切。”
“我认为女人应该乐意做女人，男人也应该乐意做男人。”他回答说。
“不！”——她摇着头——“不，什么都让男人给占了。”
“那你想要什么？”他问。
“ 我想学习。为什么我就应该什么也不懂？”
“什么！就像数学和法语吗？”
“为什么我就不应该懂数学？该懂！”她大声嚷嚷，眼睛睁得偌大，流露出不服气的神情。
“好吧，你可以学的和我一样多，”他说，“如果你愿意，我可以教你。”
她的眼睛睁大了，她不相信他会当老师。
“你愿意吗？”他问。
她低下了头，沉思地吮着手指头。
“愿意。”她犹豫地说。
他常把这些事都讲给母亲听。
“我要去给米丽亚姆教代数了。”他说。
“好吧，”莫瑞尔太太回答道，“我希望她能学到点东西。”
他星期一傍晚到农场去的时候，天色快黑了。当他进屋时，米丽亚姆跪在炉边，打扫着厨房。她家别的人都出去了。她回头看到他，脸红了，黑眼睛亮晶晶的，一头秀发披散在脸前。
“你好！”她说话时声音温柔动 听，“我知道是你来了。”
“怎么知道的？”
“我听得出你的脚步声。别人不会走得那么快，那么有力。”
他坐了下 来，吁了口气。
“准备好学代数了吗？”他问着从口袋里掏 出一本小册子。
“可是……”
他可以感觉到她逐渐退缩了。
“你说过你想学啊。”
他盯着不放说。
“今晚就开始？”她支支吾吾地说。
“我可是特地 来的。如果你想学，你就必须开始。”
她把炉灰倒进畚箕，看着他，有些胆怯地笑了。
“是啊，可是今晚就学，你瞧，我还一点准备都没有呢。”
“噢，得了，把灰倒了就开始吧。”
他走过去坐在后院的一个石凳上，凳上放着几个大牛奶罐，歪斜着在那里晾着。男人们都在牛棚里， 他听到了牛奶喷进桶里那种轻轻的单调的声音。不一会儿她来了，拿着几个大青苹果。
“要知道你喜欢吃这个。”她说。
他咬了一口。
“坐下。”他满嘴含着苹果说。
她眼睛近视，就越过他的肩头费劲地盯着书看。这让他很别扭，他赶紧把书递给了她。
“瞧，” 他说，“代数就是用字母代替数字，你可能用a代替2或6。”
他们上课了。他讲解着，她低着头看着书。他急匆匆地讲着，她却从不应声。偶尔，他问她：“你明白吗？”她则抬头来看着他，由于害怕，眼睛睁得大大的，脸上似笑非笑。“你明白不明白啊？”他叫道。
他教得太快了。不过她什么也没说。他问她的次数多了，不由动了肝火。看见她坐在那儿，可以说受他摆布吧，嘴巴张着，眼睛圆睁着，露出害怕的笑容，又是抱歉，又是害羞，他真是火冒三丈。这时艾德加提着两桶牛奶走过来了。
“嗨，”他说：“你们在干什么？”
“代数。”保罗回答说。
“代数？”艾德加好奇地重复了一句，接着哈哈大笑着走了，保罗咬了一日刚才忘记吃的苹果，看看园子里那些可怜的被鸡啄得像花边似的卷心菜，想去把这些菜拔掉。他看了一眼米丽亚姆。她正扑在那本书上，像是全神贯注的样子，然而身子却直打哆嗦，生怕自己不明白。她这副模样真让他生气。她脸色红润而美丽，然而她的内心却似乎在拚命地祈求什么。她合上那本代数书，知道他生气了，不由畏缩了。与此同时也看出，她因为听不懂而伤了自尊心，他态度就温柔了些。
接着，讲课进度慢了些。她战战兢兢地竭力想明白讲的内容，那城惶诚恐的紧张兮兮的样子又让他冒火。他对她大发雷霆，接着又觉得不好意思了，又接着上课。后来，教着教着又发火了，又责备了她，她只默默地听着。偶尔，很难得的，她也为自己辩解几句。那双水汪汪的大眼睛对他直冒火星。
“你没有给我时间去理解。”她 说。
“好吧。”他回答着，把书扔到桌子上，点了一支烟。过了一会儿，他又后悔地回到她身边。就这样继续上课。他就是这样，一会儿大发雷霆，一会儿特别温柔。
“你上课时为什么战战兢兢，魂不附体啊？”他大声叫道。”你又不是用魂来学代数的，你就不能用清醒的头脑来看看书吗？”
他再回到厨房时，雷渥斯太太常常责备地看着他，说：
“保罗，不要对米丽亚姆太严格了。她可能学得不快，但我肯定她尽力了。
“我也没办法，”他有些可怜巴巴地说，“我总是无法控制自己。”
“你不会生我的气吧？米丽亚姆，你不会吧？”后 来，他问了那姑娘。
“没有，”她那低沉悦耳的声调让他放心了，“没有，我没生气。”
“别生我的气啊，是我的错。”
可是，他又不由自主地对她发起火来。很奇怪，谁也没惹他发过这么大的脾气。 他会突然对她火冒三丈。有一次，他竟把铅笔扔在她脸上。接着大家默不作声。她把脸稍微扭到一边。
“我不是……”他说着，可又说不下去了，只觉得浑身上下都虚软无力。她从来没有责备过他或生过他的气。他常常感到非常羞愧。可是他的怒火还是一次次爆发，就像一只气泡被压崩一样。而且一看到她那张热切、沉默、茫然的脸庞时，他仍感到忍不住要把铅笔扔到她脸上去。当他看到她双手直打哆嗦，嘴巴痛苦地半张时，他不禁为她感 到痛心。同时由于她唤起了他的激情， 他渴求着她。
此后，他常常避开她而和艾德加在一起。米丽亚姆和她哥哥是天生的对头。艾德加是个讲求理性的人，他天生好奇，对生活有一种科学的兴趣。看见保罗为了艾德加而冷落了她，米丽亚姆感到非常伤心。在她看来，艾德加似乎低下得多。可是保罗和她大哥在一起居然非常开心。两人一起在田里消磨了几个下午，碰到下雨天，就在草料棚子里干木匠活。他们还在一起聊天， 有时保罗把钢琴边跟安妮学唱的歌教给艾德加。男人在一起，包括雷渥斯先生在内，经常很激烈地争论土地国有化之类的问题。保罗早已经听到他母亲在这方面的见解，就把这些见解当成自己的，为她而辩解。米丽亚姆也来凑凑热闹，但总是等到争论结束时，才能只剩下他们俩自己谈谈。
“说到头来，”她心里说，“如果土地国有化了，艾德加、保罗和我也还一个样子。”因此她等着这个年轻人回 到她身边。
当时 他正在学画画，他特别喜欢晚上单独和母亲在一起，坐在家里，画啊画啊。她则做些针线活，或者看看书。有时候，他抬起头来，目光会在母亲那张容光焕发、充满活力的脸上停留一会儿，再高高兴兴地画他的画。
“有你坐在这儿的摇椅上，我能画出我最好的作品来，妈妈。”他说。
“真的！”她惊呼着，还假装怀疑地嗤之以鼻。其实她感觉得到他说的是真的，她的心高兴得颤抖了。当她做针线活或者看书时，她一连几个小时坐着纹丝不动，隐隐觉察到他在旁边画着。他呢，满腔热情地挥动着笔，感觉到她的热情在他身上化成了一种力量。娘儿俩都很快乐，但彼此都没意识到这一点。这一段生活是多么地有意义，这才是真正的生活，然而他们却几乎忽略了它。
只有受到激励时他才意识到这些。一幅素描完成了，他总是拿给米丽亚姆看看。在那儿受到激励后，他才对自己无意识的画加深了认识。在 和米丽亚姆的接触中，他增强了洞察力，他对事物的领悟更深了。从他母亲身上，他汲取了生活的热情和创作的力量。米丽亚姆把这种热情激励成了白热化的激情。
当他回到工厂时，工作条件已有所改善。每星期三，他可以不上班而去美术学校——由乔丹小姐的资助——傍晚回来。后来，工厂每逢星期四和星期五又由八点下班改为六点下班。
夏天的一个傍晚，米丽亚姆和他从图书馆回家去，穿过了赫罗德农场的田地。从这儿到威利农场只有三英里路。田里收割下来的干草发出一片黄里透红的光，栗色的顶部已变成了深红色。当他们沿着高地走时，西方那一缕金光逐渐消褪，转为红色，红色又转为深红色，再后来，一片阴森森的蓝色又悄悄升了上来，和那片黄里透红的光彩成了对比。
在黑漆漆的田野里，他们走了往阿弗雷顿的公路。这条泛白的公路蜿蜒向前。走到这儿，保罗犹豫了一下。这儿到他的家还有两英里，往前再走一英里是米丽亚姆的家。他俩不约而同地眺望着酉北方天际晚霞下这条在阴影中绵延远去的公路。小山顶上是库尔贝矿井，那儿有几所荒凉的房子，远远的天边看得见矿井中的吊车竖着的黑影子。
他看了看表。
“九点钟了。”他说。
这俩人挟着几本书站在那儿，不愿分手。
“这早晚的树林看起来可爱极了，”她说，“我想让你去看看。”
他跟着她慢吞吞地穿过了那条公路，走向那扇白色的门。
“如果我回去晚了，他们会埋怨 我的。”他说。
“可你又没做什么坏事？”她不耐烦地回答。
他跟着她穿过暮色中那片刚被牲口啃过的牧场，树林里凉意袭人，树叶发出一股香味，忍冬的香味沁人心脾，一切都朦朦胧胧的。他俩就这样默默地走着。在这片黑糊糊的树丛里，夜色奇妙地降临了。他环顾四周，期待着。
她想给他看她发现的一株野玫瑰花。她知道这株玫瑰花好看极了。然而，如果他没有见到过这株野玫瑰花，她就觉得这花就不会铭刻在心。只有他才能使这株玫瑰花变成她的，不朽的。她现在还不满足。
小路上已经有露珠了。一片雾气正从老橡树林里升起，他一时摸不清那一片白茫茫的究竟是一片雾呢，还是在纷坛中显得苍白无力的石竹花。
等他们走到松树林旁边时，米丽亚姆变得焦急和紧张起来。她的野玫瑰花可能已经不在了。她也许找不到它了，她是多么想找到它啊。她几乎迫不急待地希望自己能和他一起站在花前。他们要在花前心心相印——享受一种令她神往的，圣洁的境界。他在她身边默默地走着，俩人挨得很近。她颤抖着，他聆听着，心里暗暗着急。
走近林子边际，他们看见前方的天空宛若珍珠母，大地已经暮色苍茫。不知从哪儿飘来附在松树林外层枝桠上的忍冬香味。
“在哪儿呀？”他问道。
“就在中间那条路下面。”她哆嗦着喃喃地说。
他们刚走到小路拐弯处时，她站住不动了。有些害怕地盯着松树间的宽阔大路，有几分钟，她什么也分不清，灰暗的光线使各种东西的颜色都模糊得无法分辨。后来，她才看见那株野玫瑰。
“啊！”她叫道，赶紧走上前去。
这株玫瑰静止不动。它的树干长得很高，枝叶蔓生。有刺的花梗披挂在一棵山植树上，长长的枝条密密实实地垂在草地上，纯白色的玫瑰花朵犹如一丛丛凸起的象牙球，宛若撒落的星斗，在昏暗的簇叶、枝干和青草上熠熠发光。保罗和米丽亚姆紧靠在一起，默默无言地站着观看。从容自若的玫瑰花的光一点一点地笼罩了他们，似乎点亮了他们心灵的某个角落。暮色四合，宛如烟雾，但仍然掩盖不了那些白色的玫瑰花。
保罗深深地凝望着米丽亚姆的眼睛。她脸色苍白，带着惊叹的神情期待着。她的双唇半启，黑眼睛坦率地盯着他。他的眼光似乎看穿了她的心。她的心儿颤抖了。这正是她所要的心心相印。他却好像很苦恼地转过身去，又面对着那株玫瑰去了。
“花儿看来好像蝴蝶一样会飞，会晃动。”他说。
她看着这些玫瑰花。花儿是白色的，有些花卷曲着，显得那么圣洁，还有些花却欣喜若狂的竞相怒放。这株野玫瑰树黑得象个影子。她一时冲动，冲着花儿举起了手，不胜仰慕地走上前去抚摸这些花儿。
"Don't you like being at home?" Paul asked her, surprised.
"Who would?" she answered, low and intense. "What is it? I'm all day cleaning what the boys make just as bad in five minutes. I don't WANT to be at home."
"What do you want, then?"
"I want to do something. I want a chance like anybody else. Why should 1, because I'm a girl, be kept at home and not allowedto be anything? What chance HAVE I?"
"Chance of what?"
"Of knowing anything--of learning, of doing anything. It's not fair, because I'm a woman."
She seemed very bitter. Paul wondered. In his own home Anniewas almost glad to be a girl. She had not so much responsibility;things were lighter for her. She never wanted to be other than a girl. But Miriam almost fiercely wished she were a man. And yet she hatedmen at the same time.
"But it's as well to be a woman as a man," he said, frowning.
"Ha! Is it? Men have everything."
"I should think women ought to be as glad to be women as menare to be men," he answered.
"No!"--she shook her head--"no! Everything the men have."
"But what do you want?" he asked.
"I want to learn. Why SHOULD it be that I know nothing?"
"What! such as mathematics and French?"
"Why SHOULDN'T I know mathematics? Yes!" she cried, her eyeexpanding in a kind of defiance.
"Well, you can learn as much as I know," he said. "I'll teach you,if you like."
Her eyes dilated. She mistrusted him as teacher.
"Would you?" he asked.
Her head had dropped, and she was sucking her finger broodingly.
"Yes," she said hesitatingly.
He used to tell his mother all these things.
"I'm going to teach Miriam algebra," he said.
"Well," replied Mrs. Morel, "I hope she'll get fat on it."
When he went up to the farm on the Monday evening, it wasdrawing twilight. Miriam was just sweeping up the kitchen, and waskneeling at the hearth when he entered. Everyone was out but her. She looked round at him, flushed, her dark eyes shining, her finehair falling about her face.
"Hello!" she said, soft and musical. "I knew it was you."
"How?"
"I knew your step. Nobody treads so quick and firm."
He sat down, sighing.
"Ready to do some algebra?" he asked, drawing a little bookfrom his pocket.
"But---"
He could feel her backing away.
"You said you wanted," he insisted.
"To-night, though?" she faltered.
"But I came on purpose. And if you want to learn it,you must begin."
She took up her ashes in the dustpan and looked at him,half tremulously, laughing.
"Yes, but to-night! You see, I haven't thought of it."
"Well, my goodness! Take the ashes and come."
He went and sat on the stone bench in the back-yard, wherethe big milk-cans were standing, tipped up, to air. The men werein the cowsheds. He could hear the little sing-song of the milkspurting into the pails. Presently she came, bringing some biggreenish apples.
"You know you like them," she said.
He took a bite.
"Sit down," he said, with his mouth full.
She was short-sighted, and peered over his shoulder. It irritated him. He gave her the book quickly.
"Here," he said. "It's only letters for figures. You putdown 'a' instead of '2' or '6'."
They worked, he talking, she with her head down on the book. He was quick and hasty. She never answered. Occasionally, when hedemanded of her, "Do you see?" she looked up at him, her eyes widewith the half-laugh that comes of fear. "Don't you?" he cried.
He had been too fast. But she said nothing. He questionedher more, then got hot. It made his blood rouse to see her there,as it were, at his mercy, her mouth open, her eyes dilated withlaughter that was afraid, apologetic, ashamed. Then Edgar camealong with two buckets of milk.
"Hello!" he said. "What are you doing?"
"Algebra," replied Paul.
"Algebra!" repeated Edgar curiously. Then he passed on witha laugh. Paul took a bite at his forgotten apple, looked at themiserable cabbages in the garden, pecked into lace by the fowls,and he wanted to pull them up. Then he glanced at Miriam. She was poring over the book, seemed absorbed in it, yet tremblinglest she could not get at it. It made him cross. She was ruddyand beautiful. Yet her soul seemed to be intensely supplicating. The algebra-book she closed, shrinking, knowing he was angered;and at the same instant he grew gentle, seeing her hurt because she didnot understand.
But things came slowly to her. And when she held herselfin a grip, seemed so utterly humble before the lesson, it made hisblood rouse. He stormed at her, got ashamed, continued the lesson,and grew furious again, abusing her. She listened in silence. Occasionally, very rarely, she defended herself. Her liquid darkeyes blazed at him.
"You don't give me time to learn it," she said.
"All right," he answered, throwing the book on the table and lightinga cigarette. Then, after a while, he went back to her repentant. So the lessons went. He was always either in a rage or very gentle.
"What do you tremble your SOUL before it for?" he cried. "You don't learn algebra with your blessed soul. Can't you lookat it with your clear simple wits?"
Often, when he went again into the kitchen, Mrs. Leivers wouldlook at him reproachfully, saying:
"Paul, don't be so hard on Miriam. She may not be quick,but I'm sure she tries."
"I can't help it," he said rather pitiably. "I go off like it."
"You don't mind me, Miriam, do you?" he asked of the girl later.
"No," she reassured him in her beautiful deep tones--"no, Idon't mind."
"Don't mind me; it's my fault."
But, in spite of himself, his blood began to boil with her. It was strange that no one else made him in such fury. He flared against her. Once he threw the pencil in her face. There was a silence. She turned her face slightly aside.
"I didn't---" he began, but got no farther, feeling weak inall his bones. She never reproached him or was angry with him. He was often cruelly ashamed. But still again his anger burstlike a bubble surcharged; and still, when he saw her eager, silent,as it were, blind face, he felt he wanted to throw the pencilin it; and still, when he saw her hand trembling and her mouthparted with suffering, his heart was scalded with pain for her. And because of the intensity to which she roused him, he sought her.
Then he often avoided her and went with Edgar. Miriam andher brother were naturally antagonistic. Edgar was a rationalist,who was curious, and had a sort of scientific interest in life. It was a great bitterness to Miriam to see herself deserted by Paulfor Edgar, who seemed so much lower. But the youth was very happywith her elder brother. The two men spent afternoons togetheron the land or in the loft doing carpentry, when it rained. And they talked together, or Paul taught Edgar the songs he himselfhad learned from Annie at the piano. And often all the men,Mr. Leivers as well, had bitter debates on the nationalizing of the landand similar problems. Paul had already heard his mother's views,and as these were as yet his own, he argued for her. Miriam attendedand took part, but was all the time waiting until it should be overand a personal communication might begin.
"After all," she said within herself, "if the landwere nationalized, Edgar and Paul and I would be just the same." So she waited for the youth to come back to her.
He was studying for his painting. He loved to sit at home,alone with his mother, at night, working and working. She sewedor read. Then, looking up from his task, he would rest his eyesfor a moment on her face, that was bright with living warmth,and he returned gladly to his work.
"I can do my best things when you sit there in yourrocking-chair, mother," he said.
"I'm sure!" she exclaimed, sniffing with mock scepticism. But she felt it was so, and her heart quivered with brightness. For many hours she sat still, slightly conscious of him labouring away,whilst she worked or read her book. And he, with all his soul'sintensity directing his pencil, could feel her warmth inside himlike strength. They were both very happy so, and both unconsciousof it. These times, that meant so much, and which were real living,they almost ignored.
He was conscious only when stimulated. A sketch finished,he always wanted to take it to Miriam. Then he was stimulatedinto knowledge of the work he had produced unconsciously. In contact with Miriam he gained insight; his vision went deeper. From his mother he drew the life-warmth, the strength to produce;Miriam urged this warmth into intensity like a white light.
When he returned to the factory the conditions of work were better. He had Wednesday afternoon off to go to the Art School--Miss Jordan's provision--returning in the evening. Then the factoryclosed at six instead of eight on Thursday and Friday evenings.
One evening in the summer Miriam and he went over the fieldsby Herod's Farm on their way from the library home. So it wasonly three miles to Willey Farm. There was a yellow glow over themowing-grass, and the sorrel-heads burned crimson. Gradually, as theywalked along the high land, the gold in the west sank down to red,the red to crimson, and then the chill blue crept up against the glow.
They came out upon the high road to Alfreton, which ranwhite between the darkening fields. There Paul hesitated. It was two miles home for him, one mile forward for Miriam. They both looked up the road that ran in shadow right under theglow of the north-west sky. On the crest of the hill, Selby,with its stark houses and the up-pricked headstocks of the pit,stood in black silhouette small against the sky.
He looked at his watch.
"Nine o'clock!" he said.
The pair stood, loth to part, hugging their books.
"The wood is so lovely now," she said. "I wanted you to see it."
He followed her slowly across the road to the white gate.
"They grumble so if I'm late," he said.
"But you're not doing anything wrong," she answered impatiently.
He followed her across the nibbled pasture in the dusk. There was a coolness in the wood, a scent of leaves, of honeysuckle,and a twilight. The two walked in silence. Night came wonderfully there,among the throng of dark tree-trunks. He looked round, expectant.
She wanted to show him a certain wild-rose bush shehad discovered. She knew it was wonderful. And yet,till he had seen it, she felt it had not come into her soul. Only he could make it her own, immortal. She was dissatisfied.
Dew was already on the paths. In the old oak-wood a mistwas rising, and he hesitated, wondering whether one whitenesswere a strand of fog or only campion-flowers pallid in a cloud.
By the time they came to the pine-trees Miriam was getting veryeager and very tense. Her bush might be gone. She might not beable to find it; and she wanted it so much. Almost passionatelyshe wanted to be with him when be stood before the flowers. They were going to have a communion together--something thatthrilled her, something holy. He was walking beside her in silence. They were very near to each other. She trembled, and he listened,vaguely anxious.
Coming to the edge of the wood, they saw the sky in front,like mother-of-pearl, and the earth growing dark. Somewhere on theoutermost branches of the pine-wood the honeysuckle was streaming scent.
"Where?" he asked.
"Down the middle path," she murmured, quivering.
When they turned the corner of the path she stood still. In the wide walk between the pines, gazing rather frightened,she could distinguish nothing for some moments; the greying lightrobbed things of their colour. Then she saw her bush.
"Ah!" she cried, hastening forward.
It was very still. The tree was tall and straggling. It had thrown its briers over a hawthorn-bush, and its longstreamers trailed thick, right down to the grass, splashing thedarkness everywhere with great spilt stars, pure white. In bossesof ivory and in large splashed stars the roses gleamed on thedarkness of foliage and stems and grass. Paul and Miriam stoodclose together, silent, and watched. Point after point the steadyroses shone out to them, seeming to kindle something in their souls. The dusk came like smoke around, and still did not put out the roses.
Paul looked into Miriam's eyes. She was pale and expectantwith wonder, her lips were parted, and her dark eyes lay open to him. His look seemed to travel down into her. Her soul quivered. It was the communion she wanted. He turned aside, as if pained. He turned to the bush.
"They seem as if they walk like butterflies, and shake themselves,"he said.
She looked at her roses. They were white, some incurved and holy,others expanded in an ecstasy. The tree was dark as a shadow. She lifted her hand impulsively to the flowers; she went forwardand touched them in worship.
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