the captives-第9部分

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　to　her；　and　with　little　sudden；　almost　surreptitious　visits　to　corners　of　the　house；　the　garden；　the　wood　where　she　had　at　one　time　or　another　been　happy。

As　the　evening　fell　and　a　sudden　storm　of　rain　leapt　up　from　beneath　the　hill　and　danced　about　the　house；　she　had　a　wild　longing　to　stay…　…to　stay　at　any　cost　and　in　any　discomfort。　London　had　no　longer　interest；　but　only　terror　and　dismay。　She　ran　out　into　the　dark　and　rain…drenched　garden；　felt　her　way　to　an　old　and　battered　seat　that　had　seen　in　older　days　dolls'　tea…parties　and　the　ravages　of　bad…　temper；　stared　from　it　across　the　kitchen…garden　to　the　lights　of　the　village；　that　seemed　to　rock　and　shiver　in　the　wind　and　rain。

She　stared　passionately　at　the　lights；　her　heart　beating　as　though　it　would　suffocate　her。　At　last；　her　clothes　soaked　with　the　storm；　her　hair　dripping；　she　returned　to　the　house。　Her　aunt　was　in　the　hall。

〃My　dear　Maggie；　where　have　you　been？〃　in　a　voice　that　was　kind　but　aghast。

〃In　the　garden；〃　said　Maggie；　hating　her　aunt。

〃But　it's　pouring　with　rain！　You're　soaking！　You　must　change　at　once！　Did　you　go　out　to　find　something？〃

Maggie　made　no　answer。　She　stood　there；　her　face　sulky　and　closed；　the　water　dripping　from　her。　Afterwards；　as　she　changed　her　clothes；　she　reflected　that　there　had　been　many　occasions　during　these　three　days　when　her　aunt　would　have　felt　irritation　with　her　had　she　known　her　longer。　She　had　always　realised　that　she　was　careless；　that　when　she　should　be　thinking　of　one　thing　she　thought　of　another；　that　her　housekeeping　and　management　of　shops　and　servants　had　been　irregular　and　undisciplined；　but　until　now　she　had　not　sharply　surveyed　her　weaknesses。　Since　the　coming　of　her　aunt　she　had　been　involved　in　a　perfect　network　of　little　blunders；　she　had　gone　out　of　the　room　without　shutting　the　door；　had　started　into　the　village　on　an　errand；　and　then；　when　she　was　there；　had　forgotten　what　it　was；　there　had　been　holes　in　her　stockings　and　rents　in　her　blouses。　After　Ellen's　departure　she　had　endeavoured　to　help　in　the　kitchen；　but　had　made　so　many　mistakes　that　Aunt　Anne　and　the　kitchen…maid　had　been　compelled　to　banish　her。　She　now　wondered　how　during　so　many　years　she　had　run　the　house　at　all；　but　then　her　father　had　cared　about　nothing　so　that　money　was　not　wasted。　She　knew　that　Aunt　Anne　excused　her　mistakes　just　now　because　of　the　shock　of　her　father's　death　and　the　events　that　followed　it；　but　Maggie　knew　also　that　these　faults　were　deep　in　her　character。　She　could　explain　it　quite　simply　to　herself　by　saying　that　behind　the　things　that　she　saw　there　was　always　something　that　she　did　not　see；　something　of　the　greatest　importance　and　just　beyond　her　vision；　in　her　efforts　to　catch　this　farther　thing　she　forgot　what　was　immediately　in　front　of　her。　It　had　always　been　so。　Since　a　tiny　child　she　had　always　supposed　that　the　shapes　and　forms　with　which　she　was　presented　were　only　masks　to　hide　the　real　thing。　Such　a　view　might　lend　interest　to　life；　but　it　certainly　made　one　careless；　and　although　Uncle　Mathew　might　understand　it　and　put　it　down　to　the　Cardinal　imagination；　she　instinctively　knew　that　Aunt　Anne；　unless　Maggie　definitely　attributed　it　to　religion；　would　be　dismayed　and　even；　if　it　persisted；　angered。　Maggie　had　not；　after　all；　the　excuse　and　defence　of　being　a　dreamy　child。　With　her　square　body　and　plain　face；　her　clear；　unspeculative　eyes；　her　stolid　movements；　she　could　have　no　claim　to　dreams。　With　a　sudden　desolate　pang　Maggie　suspected　that　Uncle　Mathew　was　the　only　person　who　would　ever　understand　her。　Well；　then；　she　must　train　herself。

She　would　close　doors；　turn　out　lights；　put　things　back　where　she　found　them；　mend　her　clothes；　keep　accounts。　Indeed　a　new　life　was　beginning　for　her。　She　felt；　with　a　sudden　return　to　the　days　before　her　walk　on　the　moor；　that　if　only　her　aunts　would　love　her　she　would　improve　much　more　rapidly。　And　then　with　her　new　independence　she　assured　herself　that　if　they　did　not　love　her　she　most　certainly　would　not　love　them　。　。　。

That　night　she　sat　opposite　her　aunt　beside　the　fire。　The　house　lay　dead　and　empty　behind　them。　Aunt　Anne　was　so　neat　in　her　thin　black　silk；　her　black　shining　hair；　her　pale　pointed　face；　a　little　round　white　locket　rising　and　falling　ever　so　slowly　with　the　lift　of　her　breast。　There　were　white　frills　to　her　sleeves；　and　she　read　a　slim　book　bound　in　purple　leather。　Her　body　never　moved；　only　once　and　again　her　thin；　delicate　hand　ever　so　gently　lifted；　turned　a　page；　then　settled　down　on　to　her　lap　once　more。　She　never　raised　her　eyes。

The　fire　was　heavy　and　sullen；　the　wind　howled；　that　old　familiar　beating　of　the　twigs　upon　the　pane　seemed　to　reiterate　to　Maggie　that　this　was　her　last　evening。　She　pretended　to　read。　She　had　found　a　heavy　gilt　volume　of　Paradise　Lost　with　Dore's　pictures。　She　read　these　words：

Beyond　this　flood　a　frozen　Continent　Lies　dark　and　wilde；　beat　with　perpetual　storms　Of　whirlwind　and　dire　hail；　which　on　firm　land　Thaws　not；　but　gathers　heap；　and　ruin　seems　Of　ancient　pile；　all　else　deep　snow　and　ice；　A　gulf　profound　as　that　Serbonian　bay　Betwixt　Damiata　and　Mount　Casius　old；　Where　armies　whole　have　sunk；　the　parching　Air　Burns　froze；　and　cold　performs　the　effect　of　Fire。

Further　again；　words　caught　her　eye。

Thus　roving　on　In　confused　march　forlorn；　th'　adventurous　Bands　With　shuddering　horror　pale；　and　eyes　aghast　Viewed　first　their　lamentable　lot；　and　found　No　rest；　through　many　a　dark　and　drearie　Vaile　They　passed；　and　many　a　Region　dolorous。　O'er　many　a　frozen；　many　a　fiery　Alpe；　Rocks；　Caves；　Lakes；　Fens；　Bogs；　Dens　and　shades　of　death；　A　Universe　of　death；　which　God　by　curse　Created　evil；　for　evil　only　good　Where　all　life　dies；　death　lives；　and　nature　breaks　Perverse；　all　monstrous；　all　prodigious　things；　Abominable；　inutterable；　and　worse　Than　Fables　yet　have　feigned；　or　fear　conceived；　Gorgons；　and　Hydras；　and　Chimaeras　dire。

She　did　not　care　for　reading；　most　especially　she　did　not　care　for　poetry；　but　to…night　she　saw　the　picture。　Up　to　the　very　bounds　of　the　house　this　waste　country；　filled　with　beasts　of　prey；　animals　with　fiery　eyes　and　incredible　names；　the　long　stretch　of　snow　and　ice；　the　black　water　with　no　stars　reflected　in　it；　the　wind。

A　coal　crashed　in　the　fire；　she　gave　a　little　cry。

〃My　dear；　what　is　it？〃　said　Aunt　Anne。　Then；　with　a　little　shake　of　her　shoulders；　she　added：　〃There's　a　horrid　draught。　Perhaps　you　forgot　to　close　the　kitchen…door　when　you　came　away；　Maggie　dear。〃

Maggie　flushed。　Of　course　she　had　forgotten。　She　left　the　room；　crossed　the　hall。　Yes；　there　was　the　door；　wide　open。　She　locked　it；　the　place　was　utterly　cold　and　desolate。　She　closed　the　door；　stood　for　a　moment　in　the　little　hall。

〃I　don't　care　what's　going　to　happen！〃　she　cried　aloud。　So　ended　her　life　in　that　house。




CHAPTER　III

THE　LONDON　HOUSE


It　was　strange　after　this　that　the　start　on　the　London　journey　should　be　so　curiously　unexciting；　it　was　perhaps　the　presence　of　Aunt　Anne　that　reduced　everything　to　an　unemotional　level。　Maggie　wondered　as　she　sat　in　the　old　moth…eaten；　whisky…smelling　cab　whether　her　Aunt　Anne　was　ever　moved　about　anything。　Then　something　occurred　that　showed　her　that；　as　yet；　she　knew　very　little　about　her　aunt。　As；　clamping　down　the　stony　hill；　they　had　a　last　glimpse　at　the　corner　of　the　two　Vicarage　chimneys；　looking　above　the　high　hedge　like　a　pair　of　inquisitive　lunatics；　Maggie　choked。　She　pressed　her　hands　together；　pushed　her　hair　from　her　face　and；　in　so　doing；　touched　her　black　hat。

〃Your　hat's　crooked；　Maggie　dear；〃　said　her　aunt　gently。　The　girl's　hot　hands　clutched　the　soft　packet　of　sandwiches　and　a　little　black　handbag　that　yesterday　Aunt　Anne　had　bought　for　her　in　the　village。　It　was　a　shabby　little　bag；　and　had　strange　habits　of　opening　when　it　was　not　expected　to　do　so　and　remaining　shut　when　something　was　needed　from　it。　It　gaped　now　and；　just　as　the　cab　climbed　Cator　Hill；　it　fell　forward　and　flung　the　contents　on　to　the　floor。　Maggie；　blushing；　looked　up　expecting　a　reproof。　She　saw　that　her　aunt's　eyes　were　fixed　upon　the　view；　as　upon　the　day　of　her　arrival；　so　now。　Her　face　wore　a　look　of　rapture。　She　drank　it　in。

Maggie　also　took　the　last　joy　of　the　familiar　scene。　The　Vicarage；　like　a　grey　crouching　cat；　lay　basking　on　the　green　hill。　The　sunlight　flooded　the　dark　wood；　galleons　of　clouds　rolled　like　lumbering　vessels　across　the　blue　sky。

〃It's　lovely；　isn't　it？〃　whispered　Maggie。

〃Beautifulbeautiful；〃　sighed　her　aunt。

〃I've　always　loved　just　this　view。　I've　often　walked　here　just　to　see　it；〃　Maggie　said。

Aunt　Anne　sat　back　in　her　seat。

〃It's　been　hard　for　me　always　to　live　in　London。　I　love　the　country　so。〃

〃So　do　I；〃　said　Maggie；　passionately。

For　a　moment　they　were　together；　caught　up　by　the　same　happiness。

Then　Aunt　Anne　said：

〃Why；　your　bag；　dear！　The　things　are　all　about　the　place。〃

Maggie　bent　down。　When　she　looked　up　again　they　had　dipped　down　on　the　other　side　of　the　hill。

Maggie　had　only　once　in　all　her　life　been　in　a　train；　but　on　this　present　occasion　she　did　not　find　it　very　thrilling。　It　was　rather　like　being　in　anything　else；　and　her　imagination　exercised　itself　upon　the　people　in　the　carriage　rather　than　the　scenery　outside。　She　was　at　first　extremely　self…conscious　and　fancied　that　every　one　whispered　about　her。　Then；　lulled　by　the　motion　of　the　train　and　the　warmth；　she　slept；　she　was　more　deeply　exhausted　by　the　events　of　the　last　week　than　she　knew；　and　throughout　the　day　she　slumbered；　woke；　and　slumbered　again。

Quite　suddenly　she　awoke　with　a　definite　shock　to　a　new　world。　Evening　had　come；　there　were　lights　that　rushed　up　to　the　train；　stared　in　at　the　window；　and　rushed　away　again。　On　every　side　things　seemed　to　change　places　in　a　general　post；　trees　and　houses；　hedges　and　roads；　all　lit　by　an　evening　moon　and　wrapt　in　a　white　and　wavering　mist。　Then　the　town　was　upon　them；　quite　instantly；　streets　ran　like　ribbons　into　grey　folds　of　buildings；　rows　of　lamps；　scattered　at　first；　drew　into　a　single　point　of　dancing　flame；　towers　and　chimneys　seemed　to　jump　from　place　to　place　as　though　they　were　trying　to　keep　in　time　with　the　train；　a　bell　rang　mon