malvina of brittany-第30部分

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limbs　were　always　ready　for　sudden　flight。　　He　called　her　that　one
day。　　Neither　of　them　had　ever　thought　to　ask　one　another's　names；
it　did　not　seem　to　matter。

〃My　little　brown　fawn；〃　he　had　whispered；　〃I　am　always　expecting　you
to　suddenly　dig　your　little　heels　into　the　ground　and　spring　away〃；
and　she　had　laughed　and　drawn　a　little　closer　to　him。　　And　even　that
was　just　the　movement　of　a　fawn。　　He　had　known　them；　creeping　near
to　them　upon　the　hill…sides　when　he　was　a　child。

There　was　much　in　common　between　them；　so　they　found。　　Though　he
could　claim　a　few　distant　relatives　scattered　about　the　North；　they
were　both；　for　all　practical　purposes；　alone　in　the　world。　　To　her；
also；　home　meant　a　bed…sitting　room〃over　there；〃　as　she　indicated
with　a　wave　of　the　little　fawn　glove　embracing　the　north…west
district　generally；　and　he　did　not　press　her　for　any　more　precise
address。

It　was　easy　enough　for　him　to　picture　it：　　the　mean；　close…smelling
street　somewhere　in　the　neighbourhood　of　Lisson　Grove；　or　farther　on
towards　the　Harrow　Road。　　Always　he　preferred　to　say　good…bye　to　her
at　some　point　in　the　Outer　Circle；　with　its　peaceful　vista　of　fine
trees　and　stately　houses；　watching　her　little　fawn…like　figure
fading　away　into　the　twilight。

No　friend　or　relative　had　she　ever　known；　except　the　pale；
girlish…looking　mother　who　had　died　soon　after　they　had　come　to
London。　　The　elderly　landlady　had　let　her　stay　on；　helping　in　the
work　of　the　house；　and　when　even　this　last　refuge　had　failed　her；
well…meaning　folk　had　interested　themselves　and　secured　her
employment。　　It　was　light　and　fairly　well　paid；　but　there　were
objections　to　it；　so　he　gathered；　more　from　her　halting　silences
than　from　what　she　said。　　She　had　tried　for　a　time　to　find　something
else；　but　it　was　so　difficult　without　help　or　resources。　　There　was
nothing　really　to　complain　about　it；　except　　And　then　she　paused
with　a　sudden　clasp　of　the　gloved　hands；　and；　seeing　the　troubled
look　in　her　eyes；　he　had　changed　the　conversation。

It　did　not　matter；　he　would　take　her　away　from　it。　　It　was　very
sweet　to　him；　the　thought　of　putting　a　protective　arm　about　this
little　fragile　creature　whose　weakness　gave　him　strength。　　He　was
not　always　going　to　be　a　clerk　in　an　office。　　He　was　going　to　write
poetry；　books；　plays。　　Already　he　had　earned　a　little。　　He　told　her
of　his　hopes；　and　her　great　faith　in　him　gave　him　new　courage。　　One
evening；　finding　a　seat　where　few　people　ever　passed；　he　read　to
her。　　And　she　had　understood。　　All　unconsciously　she　laughed　in　the
right　places；　and　when　his　own　voice　trembled；　and　he　found　it
difficult　to　continue　for　the　lump　in　his　own　throat；　glancing　at
her　he　saw　the　tears　were　in　her　eyes。　　It　was　the　first　time　he　had
tasted　sympathy。

And　so　spring　grew　to　summer。　　And　then　one　evening　a　great　thing
happened。　　He　could　not　make　out　at　first　what　it　was　about　her：
some　little　added　fragrance　that　made　itself　oddly　felt；　while　she
herself　seemed　to　be　conscious　of　increased　dignity。　　It　was　not
until　he　took　her　hand　to　say　good…bye　that　he　discovered　it。　　There
was　something　different　about　the　feel　of　her；　and；　looking　down　at
the　little　hand　that　lay　in　his；　he　found　the　reason。　　She　had　on　a
pair　of　new　gloves。　　They　were　still　of　the　same　fawn　colour；　but　so
smooth　and　soft　and　cool。　　They　fitted　closely　without　a　wrinkle；
displaying　the　slightness　and　the　gracefulness　of　the　hands　beneath。
The　twilight　had　almost　faded；　and；　save　for　the　broad　back　of　a
disappearing　policeman；　they　had　the　Outer　Circle　to　themselves；
and；　the　sudden　impulse　coming　to　him；　he　dropped　on　one　knee；　as
they　do　in　plays　and　story　books　and　sometimes　elsewhere；　and
pressed　the　little　fawn　gloves　to　his　lips　in　a　long；　passionate
kiss。　　The　sound　of　approaching　footsteps　made　him　rise　hurriedly。
She　did　not　move；　but　her　whole　body　was　trembling；　and　in　her　eyes
was　a　look　that　was　almost　of　fear。　　The　approaching　footsteps　came
nearer；　but　a　bend　of　the　road　still　screened　them。　　Swiftly　and　in
silence　she　put　her　arms　about　his　neck　and　kissed　him。　　It　was　a
strange；　cold　kiss；　but　almost　fierce；　and　then　without　a　word　she
turned　and　walked　away；　and　he　watched　her　to　the　corner　of　Hanover
Gate；　but　she　did　not　look　back。

It　was　almost　as　if　it　had　raised　a　barrier　between　them；　that　kiss。
The　next　evening　she　came　to　meet　him　with　a　smile　as　usual；　but　in
her　eyes　was　still　that　odd　suggestion　of　lurking　fear；　and　when；
seated　beside　her；　he　put　his　hand　on　hers　it　seemed　to　him　she
shrank　away　from　him。　　It　was　an　unconscious　movement。　　It　brought
back　to　him　that　haunting　memory　of　hill　and　stream　when　some　soft…
eyed　fawn；　strayed　from　her　fellows；　would　let　him　approach　quite
close　to　her；　and　then；　when　he　put　out　his　hand　to　caress　her；
would　start　away　with　a　swift；　quivering　movement。

〃Do　you　always　wear　gloves？〃　he　asked　her　one　evening　a　little
later。

〃Yes；〃　she　answered；　speaking　low；　〃when　I'm　out　of　doors。〃

〃But　this　is　not　out　of　doors；〃　he　had　pleaded。　　〃We　have　come　into
the　garden。　　Won't　you　take　them　off？〃

She　had　looked　at　him　from　under　bent　brows；　as　if　trying　to　read
him。　　She　did　not　answer　him　then。　　But　on　the　way　out；　on　the　last
seat　close　to　the　gate；　she　had　sat　down；　motioning　him　to　sit
beside　her。　　Quietly　she　unbuttoned　the　fawn　gloves；　drew　each　one
off　and　laid　them　aside。　　And　then；　for　the　first　time；　he　saw　her
hands。

Had　he　looked　at　her；　seen　the　faint　hope　die　out；　the　mute　agony　in
the　quiet　eyes　watching　him；　he　would　have　tried　to　hide　the
disgust；　the　physical　repulsion　that　showed　itself　so　plainly　in　his
face；　in　the　involuntary　movement　with　which　he　drew　away　from　her。
They　were　small　and　shapely　with　rounded　curves；　but　raw　and　seared
as　with　hot　irons；　with　a　growth　of　red；　angry…coloured　warts；　and
the　nails　all　worn　away。

〃I　ought　to　have　shown　them　to　you　before；〃　she　said　simply　as　she
drew　the　gloves　on　again。　　〃It　was　silly　of　me。　　I　ought　to　have
known。〃

He　tried　to　comfort　her；　but　his　phrases　came　meaningless　and
halting。

It　was　the　work；　she　explained　as　they　walked　on。　　It　made　your
hands　like　that　after　a　time。　　If　only　she　could　have　got　out　of　it
earlier！　　But　now！　　It　was　no　good　worrying　about　it　now。

They　parted　near　to　the　Hanover　Gate；　but　to…night　he　did　not　stand
watching　her　as　he　had　always　done　till　she　waved　a　last　good…bye　to
him　just　before　disappearing；　so　whether　she　turned　or　not　he　never
knew。

He　did　not　go　to　meet　her　the　next　evening。　　A　dozen　times　his
footsteps　led　him　unconsciously　almost　to　the　gate。　　Then　he　would
hurry　away　again；　pace　the　mean　streets；　jostling　stupidly　against
the　passers…by。　　The　pale；　sweet　face；　the　little　nymph…like　figure；
the　little　brown　shoes　kept　calling　to　him。　　If　only　there　would
pass　away　the　horror　of　those　hands！　　All　the　artist　in　him
shuddered　at　the　memory　of　them。　　Always　he　had　imagined　them　under
the　neat；　smooth　gloves　as　fitting　in　with　all　the　rest　of　her；
dreaming　of　the　time　when　he　would　hold　them　in　his　own；　caressing
them；　kissing　them。　　Would　it　be　possible　to　forget　them；　to
reconcile　oneself　to　them？　　He　must　thinkmust　get　away　from　these
crowded　streets　where　faces　seemed　to　grin　at　him。　　He　remembered
that　Parliament　had　just　risen；　that　work　was　slack　in　the　office。
He　would　ask　that　he　might　take　his　holiday　nowthe　next　day。　　And
they　had　agreed。

He　packed　a　few　things　into　a　knapsack。　　From　the　voices　of　the
hills　and　streams　he　would　find　counsel。

He　took　no　count　of　his　wanderings。　　One　evening　at　a　lonely　inn　he
met　a　young　doctor。　　The　innkeeper's　wife　was　expecting　to　be　taken
with　child　that　night；　and　the　doctor　was　waiting　downstairs　till
summoned。　　While　they　were　talking；　the　idea　came　to　him。　　Why　had
he　not　thought　of　it？　　Overcoming　his　shyness；　he　put　his　questions。
What　work　would　it　be　that　would　cause　such　injuries？　　He　described
them；　seeing　them　before　him　in　the　shadows　of　the　dimly　lighted
room；　those　poor；　pitiful　little　hands。

Oh！　a　dozen　things　might　account　for　itthe　doctor's　voice　sounded
callousthe　handling　of　flax；　even　of　linen　under　certain
conditions。　　Chemicals　entered　so　much　nowadays　into　all　sorts　of
processes　and　preparations。　　All　this　new　photography；　cheap　colour
printing；　dyeing　and　cleaning；　metal　work。　　Might　all　be　avoided　by
providing　rubber　gloves。　　It　ought　to　be　made　compulsory。　　The
doctor　seemed　inclined　to　hold　forth。　　He　interrupted　him。

But　could　it　be　cured？　　Was　there　any　hope？

Cured？　　Hope？　　Of　course　it　could　be　cured。　　It　was　only　localthe
effect　being　confined　to　the　hands　proved　that。　　A　poisoned
condition　of　the　skin　aggravated　by　general　poverty　of　blood。　　Take
her　away　from　it；　let　her　have　plenty　of　fresh　air　and　careful　diet；
using　some　such　simple　ointment　or　another　as　any　local　man；　seeing
them；　would　prescribe；　and　in　three　or　four　months　they　would
recover。

He　could　hardly　stay　to　thank　the　young　doctor。　　He　wanted　to　get
away　by　himself；　to　shout；　to　wave　his　arms；　to　leap。　　Had　it　been
possible　he　would　have　returned　that　very　night。　　He　cursed　himself
for　the　fancifulness　that　had　prevented　his　inquiring　her　address。
He　could　have　sent　a　telegram。　　Rising　at　dawn；　for　he　had　not
attempted　to　sleep；　he　walked　the　ten　miles　to　the　nearest　railway
station；　and　waited　for　the　train。　　All　day　long　it　seemed　to　creep
with　him　through　the　endless　country。　　But　London　came　at　last。

It　was　still　the　afternoon；　but　he　did　not　care　to　go　to　his　room。
Leaving　his　knapsack　at　the　station；　he　made　his　way　to　Westminster。
He　wanted　all　things　to　be　unchanged；　so　that　between　this　evening
and　their　parting　it　might　seem　as　if　there　had　merely　passed　an
ugly　dream；　and　timing　himself；　he　reached　the　park　just　at　their
usual　hour。

He　waited　till　the　gates　were　closed；　but　she　did　not　come。　　All　day
long　at　the　back　of　his　mind　had　been　that　fear；　but　he　had　driven
it　away。　　She　was　ill；　just　a　headache；　or　merely　tired。

And　the　next　evening　he　told　himself　the　same。　　He　dared　not　whisper
to　himself　anything　else。　　And　each　succeeding　evening　again。　　He
never　remembered