“什么？”她喃喃地说。这下她有点害怕了。
“爱你。”
她这时候恨极了他，因为他在使她痛苦。爱她！她知道他爱她。他确实属于她。至于什么在身体上、肉体上不爱她，那只是他的任性胡说，因为他知道她爱他。他愚蠢得象个孩子，他属于她，他的灵魂需要她，她猜测可能什么人在影响他。她觉得受了外来影响，态度生硬蛮横。
“在家时，他们说了些什么？”她问。
“这和那无关！”他回答。
然而，很清楚和那有关系。她看不起他家人的那种俗气。他们不懂事物的真正价值。
这天晚上，他俩再没谈什么。他还是丢下她和艾德加骑车玩去了。
他只要回到了母亲身边，母爱才是他生命中最重要的纽带。每当他就这么左思右想时，米丽亚姆就被 他置之脑后，她只是一种模糊而虚幻的感觉。这世上，别人都无关紧要。只有一块地方牢不可摧，也不会变得虚无缥缈，那就是他母亲所处的位置。在他眼中，其余的人都会逐渐模糊，甚至完全消失，但她不会。母亲仿佛是 他的主心骨，生命的支柱，让 他无法逃避。
同样，母亲也在等待着他。如今她的生命就寄托在他身上，已往的生活毕竟没能给莫瑞尔太太很多东西，她知道人们能在这个世界上有所作为，而她的机会，将由保罗来证实。他要做个没有什么能拖往他后腿的男子汉，他要以某种特别的方法改变世界的面貌。不论他去哪儿，她都觉得自己的心灵在陪伴着 他；不论他做什么，她都觉得自己的心灵和他在一起，仿佛随时准备好替他传替工具。他和米丽亚姆在一起时，她就忍受不了。威廉已经死了，她要为留住保罗而斗争。
他回到了她身边。在他内心有一种自我牺牲的满足感，因为他是忠于她的。她最爱的是他，而他，最爱的是她，不过这还不能让 他满足，他正年轻，身强力壮，还迫切需要一些别的。这让他苦恼得烦躁不安。 他知道这一点，苦苦地祈求米丽亚姆是他所希望的那种女子，只占有他新萌发的生命力，而把根基留给她。他竭力抵抗着母亲，几乎就象抵制米丽亚姆的诱惑一样。
一个星期后，他才去了威利农场。米丽亚姆心里痛苦极了，生怕再 见到他。她现在要忍受他抛弃她的屈辱吗？这不过是表面的和暂时的。他会回 来的。她掌握着他灵魂的钥匙。但是，与此同时，想到他会处处跟她作对来折磨她，她就不由得退缩了。
然而，复活节后的星期天，他来吃茶点了，雷渥斯太太 看到他很高兴。她猜测可能他碰上什么困难让他烦恼不已。他好象是来到这里寻求慰藉。她对他很好，用非常友好，几乎有些谦卑的态度对待他。
他在前面的院子里碰到她和几个孩子在一起。
“我很高兴你来了，”这位母亲说，那双富有魅力的棕色的大眼睛看着他，“天气真好。我正要到田野里走走。这还是今年的头一回呢。”
他感觉到她对他的到来十分高兴，这让他心里感到慰藉，他们一路走着，一路随便聊着，他恭敬而有礼。她对他的尊敬几乎要让他感激得哭了。他感到自己太软弱。
在草场尽头，他们发现了一个画眉的鸟巢。
“要不要我给你摸几个鸟蛋？”他说。
“要！”雷渥斯太太说，“这真让人感到春天的来临，一切都充满希望。”
他拨开荆棘，掏出鸟蛋，把它们捧在手掌上。
“它们还是热的呢——我想我们把正在孵它们的母亲给吓跑了。”他说。
“唉，可怜的东酉！”雷混斯太太说。
米丽亚姆情不自禁地伸手去摸这些蛋，碰碰他的手。她感觉他小心地牢牢地捧着蛋。
“这真是奇怪的温暖！”她喃喃说着靠近了他。
“是体温。”他回答。
她看着他把蛋放回去。他身体紧靠着树篱，胳膊慢慢地伸进荆棘丛里，手里小心翼翼地握着鸟蛋。他正全神贯注地这么做着。看到他这副神态，她疼爱极了。他看上去天真而满足，但她却无法接近他。
茶点后，她犹豫不决地站在书架前，他取出一本《达拉斯贡城的达达兰》，他俩又坐到草垛边的干草上，保罗心不在焉地翻了几页，那条狗又和上次一样跑来跟 他闹着。狗把鼻子拱到了他怀里，保罗抚摸着狗的耳朵，然后把它推开了。
“走开，比尔。”他说，“我不想让你 过来。”
比尔跑开了。米丽亚姆有些奇怪，心里害怕什么事会发生。小伙子的沉默仍然叫她担心。她害怕的倒不是他发火生气，而是害怕他那种沉默的决心。
他稍稍侧了一下脸，这样她就 看不到了，接着，他开始痛苦地一字一句地说：
“你觉不觉得——如果我没有来得这么频繁——你也许会喜欢上别人——另外一个男人？”
原来，还是那句话。
“但我不认识别的男人，你为什么要问这句话？”她用低沉但责备的口气回答。
“哦，”他冲口而出，“因为别人说我没有权利如此频繁地来这儿—一如果我们不想结婚的话……”
米丽亚姆向来讨厌别人干涉他们之间的事。她曾因为父亲笑呵呵地对保罗暗示，说他知道保罗为什么来的这么勤，而大发脾气。
“谁说的？”她问，想知道是否自己家人和这闲话有关。然而，他们 与此无关。
“妈妈说的——还有别人，他们 说到了这个程度大家都会认为我已经订婚了，我自己也应当这样考虑，否则就对你不公平。我一直想弄清楚—一我认为我并没有象一个男人爱他的妻子那样爱着你。对这件事你是怎么想的？”
米丽亚姆不高兴地低着头。她为这种纠葛而生气。别人不应该干涉 他们俩的事。
“ 我不知道。”她喃喃地说。
“你觉得我们彼此深爱，到了结婚的程度吗？”他明确地问她。这话让她不禁颤抖起来。
“不。”她坦率地说，“我认为还没有—一我们太年轻了。”
“我想或许。”他可怜巴巴地接着说，“你，凡事较真，寄予我的期望太高——也许超过了我所能承受的一切。即使是现在——如果你觉得比较合适的话——我们还是订婚吧。”
米丽亚姆现在真想大哭一场。同时她也很生气。她总象个孩子似的任人摆布。
“不，我觉得不行。”她坚决地说。
他沉默了一会儿。
“你知道。”他说，“与我在一起——我觉得没有任何人能够独占我——成为我的一切——我觉得决不会有。”
这点她确实没有想到。
“是的，”她喃喃地说，停了一下之后，她抬头望着他，黑黑的眼睛突然一亮。
“是你妈妈说的。”她说，“ 我知道她从不喜欢我。”
“不，不，不是这样。”他急忙说，“这次完全是为了你好她才说的。她只是说，如果 我们再这样下去，我就应该认为自己已经是个订了婚的人了。”一阵沉默。“倘若以后我叫你来我家，你不会不来的，对吗？”
她没有回答。但此时她已怒不可遏了。
“好吧，那我们该怎么办？”她急促地问：“我想我最好还是扔了法语。虽然我才刚刚摸到了一点门道，但我觉得我可以自学了。”
“我觉得没有这个必要。”他说，“我可以继续给你上法语课，没问题。”
“噢——还有星期天的晚上，我不会停止做礼拜的。因为我喜欢它，况且那是我仅有的社交活动，但你不用送我回家，我可以自己走。”
“好的，”他说，显出很吃惊的样子，“但如果让艾德加和我们一起走的话，他们就没话说了。”
又是一阵沉默。其实，她并没有失去太多。接下来的谈活，他们之间没多少分歧。她祈愿那些人少管闲事。
“你不会老想着这件事，为它感到烦恼吧？”他问。
“哦，不会。”米丽亚姆回答道，看也不看他一眼。
他默不作声，她认为他反复无常，没有坚定的目标，也没有指导自己行动规范的固定准则。
“因为，”他继续说，“男人跨上自行车——就去工作了——干各种各样的事。但女人呢，老爱想事。”
“不，我不会因此而烦恼的。”米丽亚姆说，而且她决定这么做。
天冷，他们走进了屋子。
“保罗的脸色多苍白啊！”雷渥斯太太惊呼道，“米丽亚姆，你不该让他呆在外面。你是不是着凉了，保罗？”
“哦，没有！”他笑着说。
然而，他自己觉得精疲力竭，内心的矛盾拖垮了他。米丽亚姆此刻非常同情他，保罗起身想走，但时间还早，不到九点。
“你要回家吗？”雷渥斯太太焦急地问。
“嘿，”他说，“ 我告诉他们我会早点回来的。”他异常尴尬。
“可现在还早呢。”雷渥斯太太说。
米丽亚姆在摇椅里，没有作声，他犹豫着，期望着她能站起来和往常一样陪他一起去马厩取自行车，可她独自坐在那里一动不动。他有些不知所措了。
“好吧，那么各位晚安。”他结结巴巴地说。
她和别人一起跟他道了声晚安。不过当他走过窗户时朝里张望了一下。米丽亚姆看见他脸色苍白，像惯常那样紧锁着眉，黑黑的眼睛里满是痛苦。
她站起来走到门口，在他走过大门时挥手与他告别。在松树下他慢慢骑着车，觉得自己是个可怜虫、窝囊废。他的自行车横冲直撞地冲下了山。他想要是把脖子摔断了，那倒是一种解脱呢。
两天后，他给了她一本书和一张纸条，催促她看书和用功。
这段时间，他和艾德加已成了挚友。他狂热地爱着这家人。爱着这个农场。对他来说，这是世上最可亲的地方了，他自己的家没有这么可爱。只是他的母亲让人留恋。然而，和母亲在一起，他只是高兴罢了。而他却深爱着威利农场。他爱那个小小的简陋的厨房。在那儿，男人们的靴声阵阵，那只狗也警惕地睡着生怕被踩着。晚上，那里桌子上还挂着盏灯，一切都是那么寂静。他爱米丽亚姆那间长长的、矮矮的起居室，爱屋里那种浪漫的气氛，还 有那鲜花和书，以及那高高的花梨木钢琴。他爱那些花园和分布在光秃秃的田野的红屋顶房子。这些房于向后面的树林延伸过去，仿佛在寻求庇护。山谷这边向下一直延伸到另一边的荒山坡。那是一片旷野，只有在这里，他才会觉得心情快乐，精神振奋，他爱雷渥斯太太。她文雅脱俗，有些玩世不恭；他爱雷渥斯先生，他充满热情，充满活力，可亲可爱；他爱艾德加，每当保罗到来时，他都会兴奋不已。他还爱那些孩子们，还有比尔——甚至还爱老母猪塞西和叫替浦的那只印度斗鸡。除了米丽亚姆外，他舍不下这一切。
因此，他还是经常去，只不过他通常都是和艾德加呆在一起，只有到了晚上全家人包括父亲，聚在一起玩字迷、做游戏。尔后，米丽亚姆又把大家都聚拢来，朗诵《麦克白斯》之类的书，大家各自扮演一个角色，玩的可真痛快。米丽亚姆很高兴，雷渥斯太太也很高兴，连雷渥斯先生也玩得很投入。接着，一家人就围着火炉，根据首调唱法学着唱歌。这样一来，保罗就很少单独和米丽亚姆在一起。她等待着。每当她和他还有艾德加从教堂或从贝斯伍德文学联谊会堂一起往家走时，她终于明白了他的意图。深情的、常带有异端邪说的话都是说给她听的。然而，她还是嫉妒艾德加，嫉妒他陪保罗骑自行车，嫉妒他每星期五晚上与保罗呆在一起，嫉妒他们白天又一起在田里劳动。因为她的星期五晚上和法语课都已成为了过去。她几乎总是独自一人散步，在树林里溜跶，看书、学习、冥想、等待。他仍然频繁地写信给她。
一个星期天的晚上， 他们的关系又达到了过去那少有的和谐。艾德加留下跟莫瑞尔太太一起等领圣餐——他不知道领圣餐是怎么一回事。因此，保罗就独自陪米丽亚姆一起回到自己家。他又或多或少地被她迷住了，象往常一样，他俩又谈论着布道。此时他正在不可知论领域里游荡。米丽亚姆对宗教的不可知论没有什么受不了的。他们对勒南的《耶稣传》争论不休，米丽亚姆成了他争论的讲坛，他借助它把自己的信念都摆了出来。就在他把自己的思想竭力向她的内心灌输时，他似乎觉得真理越来越清晰了。只有她一个人成了他争论的讲坛，只有她一个人帮助他认清道理。她对他的争论和解释几乎无动于衷，丝毫不加辩解。可不知怎么的，就是因为她这样，他逐渐认识到自己错在哪儿。而他所意识到的，她也意识到了。她觉得他少不了她。
他们走向静悄悄的屋子，保罗从洗碗间的窗户上掏出钥匙，进了屋。他一直谈着自己的论点。他点亮了煤气灯，拨旺了火，从伙房里拿了几块蛋糕给她。她默默地坐在沙发上，膝头上搁着盘子。她带着一顶插着几朵粉色花的大白帽子，帽子虽然是便宜货，可他喜欢，帽子下她的脸平静安详，似在沉思，金黄色红扑扑的脸，耳朵掩藏在短短的卷发后面。她望着他。
"Love you."
He hated her bitterly at that moment because he made her suffer. Love her! She knew he loved her. He really belonged to her. This about not loving her, physically, bodily, was a mere perversityon his part, because he knew she loved him. He was stupid likea child. He belonged to her. His soul wanted her. She guessedsomebody had been influencing him. She felt upon him the hardness,the foreignness of another influence.
"What have they been saying at home?" she asked.
"It's not that," he answered.
And then she knew it was. She despised them for their commonness,his people. They did not know what things were really worth.
He and she talked very little more that night. After all heleft her to cycle with Edgar.
He had come back to his mother. Hers was the strongesttie in his life. When he thought round, Miriam shrank away. There was a vague, unreal feel about her. And nobody else mattered. There was one place in the world that stood solid and did not meltinto unreality: the place where his mother was. Everybody elsecould grow shadowy, almost non-existent to him, but she could not. It was as if the pivot and pole of his life, from which he couldnot escape, was his mother.
And in the same way she waited for him. In him was establishedher life now. After all, the life beyond offered very little toMrs. Morel. She saw that our chance for DOING is here, and doingcounted with her. Paul was going to prove that she had been right;he was going to make a man whom nothing should shift off his feet;he was going to alter the face of the earth in some way which mattered. Wherever he went she felt her soul went with him. Whatever he did shefelt her soul stood by him, ready, as it were, to hand him his tools. She could not bear it when he was with Miriam. William was dead. She would fight to keep Paul.
And he came back to her. And in his soul was a feeling of thesatisfaction of self-sacrifice because he was faithful to her. She loved him first; he loved her first. And yet it was not enough. His new young life, so strong and imperious, was urged towardssomething else. It made him mad with restlessness. She saw this,and wished bitterly that Miriam had been a woman who could take thisnew life of his, and leave her the roots. He fought against his motheralmost as he fought against Miriam.
It was a week before he went again to Willey Farm. Miriam had suffered a great deal, and was afraid to see him again. Was she now to endure the ignominy of his abandoning her? That would only be superficial and temporary. He would come back. She held the keys to his soul. But meanwhile, how he would tortureher with his battle against her. She shrank from it.
However, the Sunday after Easter he came to tea. Mrs. Leiverswas glad to see him. She gathered something was fretting him,that he found things hard. He seemed to drift to her for comfort. And she was good to him. She did him that great kindness of treatinghim almost with reverence.
He met her with the young children in the front garden.
"I'm glad you've come," said the mother, looking at himwith her great appealing brown eyes. "It is such a sunny day. I was just going down the fields for the first time this year."
He felt she would like him to come. That soothed him. They went,talking simply, he gentle and humble. He could have wept with gratitudethat she was deferential to him. He was feeling humiliated.
At the bottom of the Mow Close they found a thrush's nest.
"Shall I show you the eggs?" he said.
"Do!" replied Mrs. Leivers. "They seem SUCH a sign of spring,and so hopeful."
He put aside the thorns, and took out the eggs, holding themin the palm of his hand.
"They are quite hot--I think we frightened her off them,"he said.
"Ay, poor thing!" said Mrs. Leivers.
Miriam could not help touching the eggs, and his hand which,it seemed to her, cradled them so well.
"Isn't it a strange warmth!" she murmured, to get near him.
"Blood heat," he answered.
She watched him putting them back, his body pressed againstthe hedge, his arm reaching slowly through the thorns, his handfolded carefully over the eggs. He was concentrated on the act. Seeing him so, she loved him; he seemed so simple and sufficientto himself. And she could not get to him.
After tea she stood hesitating at the bookshelf. He took"Tartarin de Tarascon". Again they sat on the bank of hay at the footof the stack. He read a couple of pages, but without any heart for it. Again the dog came racing up to repeat the fun of the other day. He shoved his muzzle in the man's chest. Paul fingered his earfor a moment. Then he pushed him away.
"Go away, Bill," he said. "I don't want you."
Bill slunk off, and Miriam wondered and dreadedwhat was coming. There was a silence about theyouth that made her still with apprehension. It was not his furies, but his quiet resolutions that she feared.
Turning his face a little to one side, so that she couldnot see him, he began, speaking slowly and painfully:
"Do you think--if I didn't come up so much--you might getto like somebody else--another man?"
So this was what he was still harping on.
"But I don't know any other men. Why do you ask?" she replied,in a low tone that should have been a reproach to him.
"Why," he blurted, "because they say I've no right to come uplike this--without we mean to marry---"
Miriam was indignant at anybody's forcing the issues between them. She had been furious with her own father for suggesting to Paul,laughingly, that he knew why he came so much.
"Who says?" she asked, wondering if her people had anythingto do with it. They had not.
"Mother--and the others. They say at this rate everybody willconsider me engaged, and I ought to consider myself so, because it'snot fair to you. And I've tried to find out--and I don't think Ilove you as a man ought to love his wife. What do you think about it?"
Miriam bowed her head moodily. She was angry at havingthis struggle. People should leave him and her alone.
"I don't know," she murmured.
"Do you think we love each other enough to marry?"he asked definitely. It made her tremble.
"No," she answered truthfully. "I don't think so--we'retoo young."
"I thought perhaps," he went on miserably, "that you, with yourintensity in things, might have given me more--than I could ever makeup to you. And even now--if you think it better--we'll be engaged."
Now Miriam wanted to cry. And she was angry, too. He wasalways such a child for people to do as they liked with.
"No, I don't think so," she said firmly.
He pondered a minute.
"You see," he said, "with me--I don't think one person wouldever monopolize me--be everything to me--I think never."
This she did not consider.
"No," she murmured. Then, after a pause, she looked at him,and her dark eyes flashed.
"This is your mother," she said. "I know she never liked me."
"No, no, it isn't," he said hastily. "It was for your sakeshe spoke this time. She only said, if I was going on, I oughtto consider myself engaged." There was a silence. "And if I askyou to come down any time, you won't stop away, will you?"
She did not answer. By this time she was very angry.
"Well, what shall we do?" she said shortly. "I suppose I'dbetter drop French. I was just beginning to get on with it. But I suppose I can go on alone."
"I don't see that we need," he said. "I can give youa French lesson, surely."
"Well--and there are Sunday nights. I shan't stop comingto chapel, because I enjoy it, and it's all the social life I get. But you've no need to come home with me. I can go alone."
"All right," he answered, rather taken aback. "But if I ask Edgar,he'll always come with us, and then they can say nothing."
There was silence. After all, then, she would not lose much. For all their talk down at his home there would not be much difference. She wished they would mind their own business.
"And you won't think about it, and let it trouble you, will you?"he asked.
"Oh no," replied Miriam, without looking at him.
He was silent. She thought him unstable. He had no fixityof purpose, no anchor of righteousness that held him.
"Because," he continued, "a man gets across his bicycle--andgoes to work--and does all sorts of things. But a woman broods."
"No, I shan't bother," said Miriam. And she meant it.
It had gone rather chilly. They went indoors.
"How white Paul looks!" Mrs. Leivers exclaimed. "Miriam, youshouldn't have let him sit out of doors. Do you think you'vetaken cold, Paul?"
"Oh, no!" he laughed.
But he felt done up. It wore him out, the conflict in himself. Miriam pitied him now. But quite early, before nine o'clock, he roseto go.
"You're not going home, are you?" asked Mrs. Leivers anxiously.
"Yes," he replied. "I said I'd be early." He was very awkward.
"But this IS early," said Mrs. Leivers.
Miriam sat in the rocking-chair, and did not speak. He hesitated, expecting her to rise and go with him to the barnas usual for his bicycle. She remained as she was. He was at a loss.
"Well--good-night, all!" he faltered.
She spoke her good-night along with all the others. But as he went past the window he looked in. She saw him pale,his brows knit slightly in a way that had become constant with him,his eyes dark with pain.
She rose and went to the doorway to wave good-bye to him as hepassed through the gate. He rode slowly under the pine-trees,feeling a cur and a miserable wretch. His bicycle went tilting downthe hills at random. He thought it would be a relief to break one's neck.
Two days later he sent her up a book and a little note,urging her to read and be busy.
At this time he gave all his friendship to Edgar. He loved the family so much, he loved the farm so much; it wasthe dearest place on earth to him. His home was not so lovable. It was his mother. But then he would have been just as happy withhis mother anywhere. Whereas Willey Farm he loved passionately. He loved the little pokey kitchen, where men's boots tramped,and the dog slept with one eye open for fear of being trodden on;where the lamp hung over the table at night, and everything was so silent. He loved Miriam's long, low parlour, with its atmosphere of romance,its flowers, its books, its high rosewood piano. He loved the gardensand the buildings that stood with their scarlet roofs on the nakededges of the fields, crept towards the wood as if for cosiness,the wild country scooping down a valley and up the uncultured hills ofthe other side. Only to be there was an exhilaration and a joy to him. He loved Mrs. Leivers, with her unworldliness and her quaint cynicism;he loved Mr. Leivers, so warm and young and lovable; he loved Edgar,who lit up when he came, and the boys and the children andBill--even the sow Circe and the Indian game-cock called Tippoo. All this besides Miriam. He could not give it up.
So he went as often, but he was usually with Edgar. Only allthe family, including the father, joined in charades and gamesat evening. And later, Miriam drew them together, and they readMacbeth out of penny books, taking parts. It was great excitement. Miriam was glad, and Mrs. Leivers was glad, and Mr. Leivers enjoyed it. Then they all learned songs together from tonic sol-fa, singingin a circle round the fire. But now Paul was very rarely alonewith Miriam. She waited. When she and Edgar and he walked hometogether from chapel or from the literary society in Bestwood,she knew his talk, so passionate and so unorthodox nowadays,was for her. She did envy Edgar, however, his cycling with Paul,his Friday nights, his days working in the fields. For her Fridaynights and her French lessons were gone. She was nearly always alone,walking, pondering in the wood, reading, studying, dreaming, waiting. And he wrote to her frequently.
One Sunday evening they attained to their old rare harmony. Edgar had stayed to Communion--he wondered what it was like--withMrs. Morel. So Paul came on alone with Miriam to his home. He wasmore or less under her spell again. As usual, they were discussingthe sermon. He was setting now full sail towards Agnosticism,but such a religious Agnosticism that Miriam did not suffer so badly. They were at the Renan Vie de Jesus stage. Miriam was thethreshing-floor on which he threshed out all his beliefs. While hetrampled his ideas upon her soul, the truth came out for him. She alonewas his threshing-floor. She alone helped him towards realization. Almost impassive, she submitted to his argument and expounding.And somehow, because of her, he gradually realized where he was wrong.And what he realized, she realized. She felt he could not do without her.
They came to the silent house. He took the key out ofthe scullery window, and they entered. All the time he wenton with his discussion. He lit the gas, mended the fire,and brought her some cakes from the pantry. She sat on the sofa,quietly, with a plate on her knee. She wore a large white hatwith some pinkish flowers. It was a cheap hat, but he liked it. Her face beneath was still and pensive, golden-brown and ruddy. Always her ears were hid in her short curls. She watched him.
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