“你不感到有罪吗？”

    她用一双惊慌失措的灰眼睛看了看他。

    “有罪?”她 说，“没有。”

    “可是你好像是感到自己做错了什么似的，是吗？”

    “不，”她说，“我只是在想要是他们知道了会怎样。”

    “如果他们知道了，他们就会感到不可理解。眼下，他们可以理解，而且他们还会高兴这样。关他们什么事？看，这儿只有树和我，你难道就不觉得多少有点不对吗？”

    他抓住她的胳膊，把她搂到自己面前，让她盯着自己的眼睛。有些事情使他感到烦恼。

    “我们不是罪人，对吗？”他说着，不安地微微皱起了眉头。

    “不是。”她答道。

    他吻了吻她，笑了。

    “我想你喜欢自己多少有点犯罪感，”他说，“我相信夏娃畏缩着走出伊甸园时，心里是乐滋滋的。”

    克莱拉神采飞扬、平和宁静，这倒也使他高兴。当他一个人坐在车厢里的时候，他感到自己异常的幸福，只感到周围的人那么可亲、可爱，夜色是那么美丽，一切都那么美好。

    保罗到家时，莫瑞尔太太正坐着 看书。眼 下身体不太好，面色煞白。当时他并没注意到，后 来想来却令他终身难忘，她没对他提及自己的病，因为她觉得这毕竟不是什么大病。

    “你回来晚了！”她看着他说。

    他双眼炯炯有神，满面红光，对她微笑着。

    “是的，我和克莱拉去了克利夫顿园林。”

    母亲又看了他一眼。

    “可别人不说闲话吗？”她说。

    “为什么？他们知道她是个女权主义者之类的人物，再说，如果他们说闲话又能怎样！”

    “当然，这件事并没有什么错，”母亲说道，“不过你也知道人言可畏的，刀一有人议论她如何……”

    “噢，这我管不着。毕竟，这些闲言碎语并没有什么了不起的。”

    “我想，你应该为她考虑考虑。”

    “我当然替她考虑的，人们能说什么？—一说我们一起散步罢了！我想你是妒嫉了。”

    “你知道，要是她不是一个已婚妇女的话，我是很高兴的。”

    “行了，亲爱的妈妈。她和丈夫分居了，而且还上台讲演，她早已是离开了羊群的孤羊。据我看来，可失 去的东西，的确没有，她的一生对她已无所谓了，那么什么还有价值呢？她跟着我——生活这才有了点意义，那就必须为此付出代价——我们都必须付出代价！人们都非常害怕付出代价，他们宁可饿死。”

    “好吧，我的儿子， 我们等着瞧到底会怎么样。”

    “那好，妈妈，我要坚持到底的。”

    “我们等着瞧吧！”

    “她——她这人好极了，妈妈，真的她很好！你不了解她！”

    “可这和娶她不是一回事。”

    “或许事情会好些。”

    沉默了好一会儿。有些事他想问问母亲，但又不敢问。

    “你想了解她吗？”他迟疑地问。

    “是的，”莫瑞尔太太冷冷地说，“我很想知道她是怎样的一个人。”

    “她人很好，妈妈，很好！一点儿也不俗气！”

    “我从未说过她俗气。”

    “可是你好象认为她——比不上……她是百里挑一的，我保证她比任何人都好，真的！她漂亮，诚实，正直，她为人不卑不亢，请别对她吹毛求疵！”

    莫瑞尔太太的脸被气红了。

    “我绝对没有对她挑三拣回，她也许真像你说的那样好，但是——”

    “你不同意。”他接着替她说完下文。

    “你希望我赞成吗？”她冷冷地问道。

    “是的——是的！——要是你有眼力的话，你会高兴的！你想要见见她吗？”

    “我说过我要 见她。”

    “那么我就带她来——我可以把她带到这儿来吗？”

    “随你便。”

    “那么我带她来——一个星期天——来喝茶，如果你讨厌她的话，我决不会原谅你。”

    母亲大笑起来。

    “好象是真的一样。”她说道。他知道自己已经赢了。

    “啊，她要在这儿真是太好了！她某些方面真有点象女王呢。”

    从教堂出来后，他有时仍旧与米丽亚姆和艾德加一起散散步。他已经不再去农场了。然而她对他依然如故，她在场也不会使他尴尬。有一天晚上只有她一个人，他陪着她。他们谈起书，这是 他们永恒的话题。莫瑞尔太太曾经说过，他和米丽亚姆的恋爱就象用书本燃起来的一把火——如果书烧光了，火也就熄灭了。米丽亚姆也曾自夸她能象一本书一样了解他，甚至还可以随时找到她所想读的章节、段落。轻信的他真的相信米丽亚姆比其他人更了解他。所以他很乐意同她谈他自己的事，就象一个天真的自我主义者。很快话题就扯 到他自己的日常行为上了，他还真感到无上的荣幸，因为他还能引起她这么大的兴致。

    “你最近一直在 做些什么？”

    “我——哟，没有什么！我在花园画了一幅贝斯伍德的速写，快画好了。这是第一百次尝试了。”

    他们就这样谈开了。接着她说：

    “那你最近没有出去？”

    “出去了，星期一下午 和克莱拉去了克利夫顿园。”

    “天气很不好，是吗？”米丽亚姆说。

    “可是我想出去，这就行了。特伦特河涨水了。”

    “你去巴顿了吗？”她问。

    “没有，我们在克利夫顿喝的茶。”

    “真的！那真是太好了。”

    “对，很好！那儿有个乐呵呵的老太太，她给了我们几朵大丽花，要多漂亮有多漂亮。”

    米丽亚姆低下了头，沉思着。他对她毫不隐瞒，无话不说。

    “她怎么会送花给你们呢？”她问。

    他哈哈大笑。

    “我想这是因为她喜欢我们——因为 我们都很快活。”

    米丽亚姆把手指放在嘴里。

    “你回家晚了吧？”她问。

    他终于被她说话的腔调激怒了。

    “我赶上了七点的火车。”

    “嘿！”

    他们默默地走着，他真的生气了。

    “克莱拉怎么样了？”米丽亚姆问。

    “我看很好。”

    “那就好！”她带着点讥讽的口吻说，“顺便问一下，她丈夫怎样啦？没有听说过他的消息。”

    “他找到了别的女人，日子过得相当好，”他回答道，“至少我想是这样。”

    “我明白了——你也并不了解。你不觉得这种处境让一个女人很为难吗？”

    “实在难堪！”

    “真是太不公平了！”米丽亚姆说，“男人可以为所欲为……”

    “那就让女人也如此。”他说。

    “她能怎样？如果她这样做的话，你就 看她的处境好了。”

    “又怎么样？”

    “怎么样，不可能的事！你不了解一个女人会因此失去什么……”

    “是的，我不了解。但是如果一个女人仅靠自己的好名声生活，那就太可怜了，好名声只不过是块不毛之地，光靠它驴也会饿死的。”

    她终于了解了他的道德观，而且知道他会据此行事。

    她从来没有直接问过他什么事，但是她对他了如指掌。

    几天后，他又见到米丽亚姆时，话题转到了婚姻上，接着又谈到了克莱拉和道伍斯的婚姻。

    “你知道，”他说，“她从未意识到婚姻问题的极端重要性。她以为婚姻是日常生活的一部分——人总得过这一关——而道伍斯——唉，多少女人都情愿把灵魂给他来得到他，那他为什么不及时行乐呢？于是她渐渐变成了一个不被人理解的女人。我敢打保票，她对待他态度一定很不好。”

    “那她离开他是因为他不理解她？”

    “我想是这样，我觉得她只能这样，这根本不是个可以理解的问题，这是生活问题，跟他生活，她只有一半是活着的，其余部分是在冬眠，完全死寂的。冬眠的女人是个难以让人理解的女人，她必须觉醒了。”

    “那他呢？”

    “我不知道。我倒相信他是尽其所能去爱她，但他是一个傻瓜。”

    “这倒是有点象你的父母亲。”米丽亚姆说。

    “是的，可是我相信我的母亲起初真从我父亲那儿得到了幸福和满足。我相信她狂热地爱过他，这是她依然与他生活在一起的原因。他们毕竟已经结合在一起。”

    “是的。”米丽亚姆说。

    “我想，”他继续说，“人必须对另一个人有一种火一般的激情，真正的、真正的激情——一次，只要有一次就行，哪怕它只有三个月。你瞧，我母亲看上去似乎拥有了她的生活及生活所需的一切，她一丁点儿也不感到缺憾。”

    “不一定吧。”米丽亚姆说。

    “开始的时候， 我肯定她和我父亲有过真感情，她知道，她经历过的，你能够在她身上感觉到。在她身上，在每天你所见的千百个人身上感觉到的。一旦你经历过这种事，你就能应付任何事，就会成熟起来。”

    “确切讲是什么事情呢？”米丽亚姆问。

    “这很难说。但是当你真正 与其他某个人结合为一体时一种巨大、强烈的体验就可以改变你整个人。这种体验好像能滋润你的灵魂，使你能够继续生活，去应付一切，并且使你变得成熟起来。”

    “你认为你的母亲跟你父亲有过这种体验吗？”

    “不错，她在心底里十分感激他给她的这种体验。尽管现在，两人已经十分隔膜了。”

    “你认为克莱拉从 来没有过这种体验吗？”

    “我敢肯定从来没有过。”

    米丽亚姆思考着这个问题。她明白他所追求的是什么了——情欲之火的洗礼。她觉得他似乎在这么做，她明白他追求不 到是不会满足的。或许他和一些男人一样，都 认为年轻时纵欲是件最基本的事情。在他如愿以偿后，他就不会再欲火难熬，坐卧不宁了，这样他就可以平静安定下来，把自己的一生都交托到她的手中了。好，那么好吧，如果他坚持下去，让他满足他的要求——让他去得到他所要的巨大而强烈的体验吧。至少等他得到这种东西时，他就不想要了——这是他亲口说的。 到那时他就会想要她所能给他带 来的东西了。他就会希望有个归宿，这样他就会好好地工作。他一定要走，这对米丽亚姆来说固然是件痛心的事，可是她既然能允许他去酒馆喝杯威士忌，当然也让他去找克莱拉，只要这能够满足他的需求，而将来他就必须归自己所有。

    “你有没有跟你妈妈谈过克莱拉？”她问。

    他知道这是验证他对另外那个女人感情认真与否的一次考验，她知道如果他告诉他的母亲，那么他去找克莱拉就不是简单的事情了，决不是一般男人找个妓女寻欢作乐而已。

    “是的，”他说道，“她星期天来喝茶。”

    “去你家？”

    “不错，我想让妈妈见见她。”

    “噢！”

    两人都沉默了，事情的进展超过了她的预料，她突然感到一阵悲楚，他竟然这么快就离开她，彻底抛弃她了。难道克莱拉能被他家人接受吗？他家人向来对自己怀有很深的敌意。

    “我去做礼拜时可能会顺便来拜访，”她说，“我好久没见到克莱拉了。”

    “好吧。”他惊讶地说道，无名之火陡然而生。

    星期天下午，他去凯斯敦车站接克莱拉。当他站在月台上，他极力想搞清楚自己是否真的有预感。

    “我感觉她会来吗？”他暗自思索着，他竭力想找出答案。他的心七上八下地十分矛盾。这也许是个预兆。他有种预兆她不会来了！她不会来了，他不能像自己想像的那样带她穿过田野回家去，他只好自己独自回家了。火车晚点了，这个下午的时间将会白费了，晚上看来也是如此。他恨她失约不来。如果她不能守信用，那么她为什么要答应呢？或许她没有赶上——他自己也经常误车——但是这不是原因啊，为什么她偏偏错过这趟车呢？他很生她的气。他愤怒了。

    忽然他看见火车蜿蜒地绕过街角慢慢爬了过来。火车来了，真的来了。可她肯定 没有来。绿色的机车嘶嘶地叫着驶进月台，一长列棕色的车厢靠近了。八扇门打开了。没有，她 没有来！没来！没错！哎，她来了！她戴了顶黑色的大帽子！他立刻赶到她的身边。

    “ 我还以为你不会来了呢。”他说。

    克莱拉笑得上气不接下气。两人的目光相遇了。他带着她沿着月台匆匆地走着，把手伸给她，一面飞快地讲着话，以此来掩饰他激动的心情。她看上去很漂亮，帽子上插着几大朵丝制的玫瑰花，颜色是暗金色的。她的一身黑色的衣服很合身地裹着她的胸脯和双肩。他和她走着，感到很自豪。他感觉到车站上认识他的人都敬慕地看着她。

    “我以为你肯定不会来了。”他颤声笑着。

    她轻喊着笑着答道。

    “我坐在火车里，心里一直在想，如果你要不来，我该怎么办呢？”她说。

    他激动地抓住她的手，两人沿着狭窄的羊肠小道向前走。他们选择了通往纳塔尔和雷肯亨庄农场的路。这天天气很好，风和日丽的，到处可见金黄色的落叶，挨着树林的树篱上长着好多鲜红的野蔷蔽果，他采了一把给她戴上。

    "You don't feel criminal, do you?"
　　She looked at him with startled grey eyes.
　　"Criminal!" she said. "No."
　　"But you seem to feel you have done a wrong?"
　　"No," she said. "I only think, 'If they knew!'"
　　"If they knew, they'd cease to understand. As it is, they dounderstand, and they like it. What do they matter? Here, with onlythe trees and me, you don't feel not the least bit wrong, do you?"
　　He took her by the arm, held her facing him, holding her eyeswith his. Something fretted him.
　　"Not sinners, are we?" he said, with an uneasy little frown.
　　"No," she replied.
　　He kissed her, laughing.
　　"You like your little bit of guiltiness, I believe," he said. "I believe Eve enjoyed it, when she went cowering out of Paradise."
　　But there was a certain glow and quietness about her that madehim glad. When he was alone in the railway-carriage, he foundhimself tumultuously happy, and the people exceedingly nice,and the night lovely, and everything good.
　　Mrs. Morel was sitting reading when he got home. Her healthwas not good now, and there had come that ivory pallor into her facewhich he never noticed, and which afterwards he never forgot. She did not mention her own ill-health to him. After all, she thought,it was not much.
　　"You are late!" she said, looking at him.
　　His eyes were shining; his face seemed to glow. He smiledto her.
　　"Yes; I've been down Clifton Grove with Clara."
　　His mother looked at him again.
　　"But won't people talk?" she said.
　　"Why? They know she's a suffragette, and so on. And whatif they do talk!"
　　"Of course, there may be nothing wrong in it," said his mother. "But you know what folks are, and if once she gets talked about---"
　　"Well, I can't help it. Their jaw isn't so almighty important,after all."
　　"I think you ought to consider HER."
　　"So I DO! What can people say?--that we take a walk together. I believe you're jealous."
　　"You know I should be GLAD if she weren't a married woman."
　　"Well, my dear, she lives separate from her husband, and talkson platforms; so she's already singled out from the sheep, and, as faras I can see, hasn't much to lose. No; her life's nothing to her,so what's the worth of nothing? She goes with me--it becomes something. Then she must pay--we both must pay! Folk are so frightened of paying;they'd rather starve and die."
　　"Very well, my son. We'll see how it will end."
　　"Very well, my mother. I'll abide by the end."
　　"We'll see!"
　　"And she's--she's AWFULLY nice, mother; she is really! You don't know!"
　　"That's not the same as marrying her."
　　"It's perhaps better."
　　There was silence for a while. He wantedto ask his mother something, but was afraid.
　　"Should you like to know her?" He hesitated.
　　"Yes," said Mrs. Morel coolly. "I should like to knowwhat she's like."
　　"But she's nice, mother, she is! And not a bit common!"
　　"I never suggested she was."
　　"But you seem to think she's--not as good as--- She's better thanninety-nine folk out of a hundred, I tell you! She's BETTER, she is! She's fair, she's honest, she's straight! There isn't anythingunderhand or superior about her. Don't be mean about her!"

    Mrs. Morel flushed.
　　"I am sure I am not mean about her. She may be quiteas you say, but---"
　　"You don't approve," he finished.
　　"And do you expect me to?" she answered coldly.
　　"Yes!--yes!--if you'd anything about you, you'd be glad! Do you WANT to see her?"
　　"I said I did."
　　"Then I'll bring her--shall I bring her here?"
　　"You please yourself."
　　"Then I WILL bring her here--one Sunday--to tea. If you thinka horrid thing about her, I shan't forgive you."
　　His mother laughed.
　　"As if it would make any difference!" she said. He knew hehad won.
　　"Oh, but it feels so fine, when she's there! She's sucha queen in her way."
　　Occasionally he still walked a little way from chapel with Miriamand Edgar. He did not go up to the farm. She, however, was very muchthe same with him, and he did not feel embarrassed in her presence. One evening she was alone when he accompanied her. They beganby talking books: it was their unfailing topic. Mrs. Morel hadsaid that his and Miriam's affair was like a fire fed on books--ifthere were no more volumes it would die out. Miriam, for her part,boasted that she could read him like a book, could place her fingerany minute on the chapter and the line. He, easily taken in,believed that Miriam knew more about him than anyone else. So itpleased him to talk to her about himself, like the simplest egoist. Very soon the conversation drifted to his own doings. It flatteredhim immensely that he was of such supreme interest.
　　"And what have you been doing lately?"
　　"I--oh, not much! I made a sketch of Bestwood from the garden,that is nearly right at last. It's the hundredth try."
　　So they went on. Then she said:
　　"You've not been out, then, lately?"
　　"Yes; I went up Clifton Grove on Monday afternoon with Clara."
　　"It was not very nice weather," said Miriam, "was it?"
　　"But I wanted to go out, and it was all right. The TrentIS full."
　　"And did you go to Barton?" she asked.
　　"No; we had tea in Clifton."
　　"DID you! That would be nice."
　　"It was! The jolliest old woman! She gave us severalpompom dahlias, as pretty as you like."
　　Miriam bowed her head and brooded. He was quite unconsciousof concealing anything from her.
　　"What made her give them you?" she asked.
　　He laughed.
　　"Because she liked us--because we were jolly, I should think."
　　Miriam put her finger in her mouth.
　　"Were you late home?" she asked.
　　At last he resented her tone.
　　"I caught the seven-thirty."
　　"Ha!"
　　They walked on in silence, and he was angry.
　　"And how IS Clara?" asked Miriam.
　　"Quite all right, I think."
　　"That's good!" she said, with a tinge of irony. "By the way,what of her husband? One never hears anything of him."
　　"He's got some other woman, and is also quite all right,"he replied. "At least, so I think."
　　"I see--you don't know for certain. Don't you think a positionlike that is hard on a woman?"
　　"Rottenly hard!"
　　"It's so unjust!" said Miriam. "The man does as he likes---"
　　"Then let the woman also," he said.
　　"How can she? And if she does, look at her position!"
　　"What of it?"
　　"Why, it's impossible! You don't understand what a woman forfeits---"
　　"No, I don't. But if a woman's got nothing but her fair fameto feed on, why, it's thin tack, and a donkey would die of it!"
　　So she understood his moral attitude, at least, and she knewhe would act accordingly.
　　She never asked him anything direct, but she got to know enough.
　　Another day, when he saw Miriam, the conversation turnedto marriage, then to Clara's marriage with Dawes.
　　"You see," he said, "she never knew the fearful importanceof marriage. She thought it was all in the day's march--it wouldhave to come--and Dawes--well, a good many women would have giventheir souls to get him; so why not him? Then she developed intothe femme incomprise, and treated him badly, I'll bet my boots."
　　"And she left him because he didn't understand her?"
　　"I suppose so. I suppose she had to. It isn't altogethera question of understanding; it's a question of living. With him,she was only half-alive; the rest was dormant, deadened. And thedormant woman was the femme incomprise, and she HAD to be awakened."
　　"And what about him."
　　"I don't know. I rather think he loves her as much as he can,but he's a fool."
　　"It was something like your mother and father," said Miriam.
　　"Yes; but my mother, I believe, got real joy and satisfactionout of my father at first. I believe she had a passion for him;that's why she stayed with him. After all, they were bound toeach other."
　　"Yes," said Miriam.
　　"That's what one MUST HAVE, I think," he continued--"the real,real flame of feeling through another person--once, only once,if it only lasts three months. See, my mother looks as if she'dHAD everything that was necessary for her living and developing. There's not a tiny bit of feeling of sterility about her."
　　"No," said Miriam.
　　"And with my father, at first, I'm sure she had the real thing. She knows; she has been there. You can feet it about her, and about him,and about hundreds of people you meet every day; and, once it hashappened to you, you can go on with anything and ripen."
　　"What happened, exactly?" asked Miriam.
　　"It's so hard to say, but the something big and intense thatchanges you when you really come together with somebody else. It almost seems to fertilise your soul and make it that you can goon and mature."
　　"And you think your mother had it with your father?"
　　"Yes; and at the bottom she feels grateful to him for givingit her, even now, though they are miles apart."
　　"And you think Clara never had it?"
　　"I'm sure."
　　Miriam pondered this. She saw what he was seeking--a sortof baptism of fire in passion, it seemed to her. She realisedthat he would never be satisfied till he had it. Perhaps it wasessential to him, as to some men, to sow wild oats; and afterwards,when he was satisfied, he would not rage with restlessness any more, but could settle down and give her his life into her hands. Well, then, if he must go, let him go and have his fill--something big and intense,he called it. At any rate, when he had got it, he would not wantit--that he said himself; he would want the other thing that shecould give him. He would want to be owned, so that he could work. It seemed to her a bitter thing that he must go, but she could lethim go into an inn for a glass of whisky, so she could let him goto Clara, so long as it was something that would satisfy a need in him,and leave him free for herself to possess.
　　"Have you told your mother about Clara?" she asked.
　　She knew this would be a test of the seriousness of hisfeeling for the other woman: she knew he was going to Clara forsomething vital, not as a man goes for pleasure to a prostitute,if he told his mother.
　　"Yes," he said, "and she is coming to tea on Sunday."
　　"To your house?"
　　"Yes; I want mater to see her."
　　"Ah!"
　　There was a silence. Things had gone quicker than she thought. She felt a sudden bitterness that he could leave her so soonand so entirely. And was Clara to be accepted by his people,who had been so hostile to herself?
　　"I may call in as I go to chapel," she said. "It is a longtime since I saw Clara."
　　"Very well," he said, astonished, and unconsciously angry.
　　On the Sunday afternoon he went to Keston to meet Clara atthe station. As he stood on the platform he was trying to examinein himself if he had a premonition.
　　"Do I FEEL as if she'd come?" he said to himself, and he triedto find out. His heart felt queer and contracted. That seemedlike foreboding. Then he HAD a foreboding she would not come! Then she would not come, and instead of taking her over thefields home, as he had imagined, he would have to go alone. The train was late; the afternoon would be wasted, and the evening. He hated her for not coming. Why had she promised, then, if shecould not keep her promise? Perhaps she had missed her train--hehimself was always missing trains--but that was no reason whyshe should miss this particular one. He was angry with her;he was furious.
　　Suddenly he saw the train crawling, sneaking round the corner. Here, then, was the train, but of course she had not come. The greenengine hissed along the platform, the row of brown carriages drew up,several doors opened. No; she had not come! No! Yes; ah, thereshe was! She had a big black hat on! He was at her side in a moment.
　　"I thought you weren't coming," he said.
　　She was laughing rather breathlessly as she put out her handto him; their eyes met. He took her quickly along the platform,talking at a great rate to hide his feeling. She looked beautiful. In her hat were large silk roses, coloured like tarnished gold. Her costume of dark cloth fitted so beautifully over her breastand shoulders. His pride went up as he walked with her. He felt the station people, who knew him, eyed her with aweand admiration.
　　"I was sure you weren't coming," he laughed shakily.
　　She laughed in answer, almost with a little cry.
　　"And I wondered, when I was in the train, WHATEVER I shoulddo if you weren't there!" she said.
　　He caught her hand impulsively, and they went alongthe narrow twitchel. They took the road into Nuttall andover the Reckoning House Farm. It was a blue, mild day. Everywhere the brown leaves lay scattered; many scarlet hipsstood upon the hedge beside the wood. He gathered a few for her to wear.