The Rainbow-虹(英文版)- 第69节

No　reply。

〃Ursula！　Eh……our　Ursula？〃　the　name　was　shouted　now　Still
no　answer。

〃Mother；　she　won't　answer；〃　came　the　yell。　〃She's　dead。〃

〃Go　away……I'm　not　dead。　What　do　you　want？〃　came　the
angry　voice　of　the　girl。

〃Open　the　door；　our　Ursula；〃　came　the　plaining　cry。　It　was
all　over。　She　must　open　the　door。　She　heard　the　screech　of　the
bucket　downstairs　dragged　across　the　flagstones　as　the　woman
washed　the　kitchen　floor。　And　the　children　were　prowling　in　the
bedroom；　asking：

〃What　were　you　doing？　What　had　you　locked　the　door　for？〃　Then
she　discovered　the　key　of　the　parish　room；　and　betook　herself
there；　and　sat　on　some　sacks　with　her　books。　There　began　another
dream。

She　was　the　only　daughter　of　the　old　lord；　she　was　gifted
with　magic。　Day　followed　day　of　rapt　silence；　whilst　she
wandered　ghost…like　in　the　hushed；　ancient　mansion；　or　flitted
along　the　sleeping　terraces。

Here　a　grave　grief　attacked　her：　that　her　hair　was　dark。　She
must　have　fair　hair　and　a　white　skin。　She　was　rather
bitter　about　her　black　mane。

Never　mind；　she　would　dye　it　when　she　grew　up；　or　bleach　it
in　the　sun；　till　it　was　bleached　fair。　Meanwhile　she　wore　a　fair
white　coif　of　pure　Venetian　lace。

She　flitted　silently　along　the　terraces；　where　jewelled
lizards　basked　upon　the　stone；　and　did　not　move　when　her　shadow
fell　upon　them。　In　the　utter　stillness　she　heard　the　tinkle　of
the　fountain；　and　smelled　the　roses　whose　blossoms　hung　rich　and
motionless。　So　she　drifted；　drifted　on　the　wistful　feet　of
beauty；　past　the　water　and　the　swans；　to　the　noble　park；　where；
underneath　a　great　oak；　a　doe　all　dappled　lay　with　her　four　fine
feet　together；　her　fawn　nestling　sun…coloured　beside　her。

Oh；　and　this　doe　was　her　familiar。　It　would　talk　to　her；
because　she　was　a　magician；　it　would　tell　her　stories　as　if　the
sunshine　spoke。

Then　one　day；　she　left　the　door　of　the　parish　room　unlocked；
careless　and　unheeding　as　she　always　was；　the　children　found
their　way　in；　Katie　cut　her　finger　and　howled；　Billy　hacked
notches　in　the　fine　chisels；　and　did　much　damage。　There　was　a
great　motion。

The　crossness　of　the　mother　was　soon　finished。　Ursula　locked
up　the　room　again；　and　considered　all　was　over。　Then　her　father
came　in　with　the　notched　tools；　his　forehead　knotted。

〃Who　the　deuce　opened　the　door？〃　he　cried　in　anger。

〃It　was　Ursula　who　opened　the　door；〃　said　her　mother。　He　had
a　duster　in　his　hand。　He　turned　and　flapped　the　cloth　hard
across　the　girl's　face。　The　cloth　stung；　for　a　moment　the　girl
was　as　if　stunned。　Then　she　remained　motionless；　her　face　closed
and　stubborn。　But　her　heart　was　blazing。　In　spite　of　herself　the
tears　surged　higher；　in　spite　of　her　they　surged　higher。

In　spite　of　her；　her　face　broke；　she　made　a　curious　gulping
grimace；　and　the　tears　were　falling。　So　she　went　away；　desolate。
But　her　blazing　heart　was　fierce　and　unyielding。　He　watched　her
go；　and　a　pleasurable　pain　filled　him；　a　sense　of　triumph　and
easy　power；　followed　immediately　by　acute　pity。

〃I'm　sure　that　was　unnecessary……to　hit　the　girl　across
the　face；〃　said　the　mother　coldly。

〃A　flip　with　the　duster　won't　hurt　her；〃　he　said。

〃Nor　will　it　do　her　any　good。〃

For　days；　for　weeks；　Ursula's　heart　burned　from　this　rebuff。
She　felt　so　cruelly　vulnerable。　Did　he　not　know　how　vulnerable
she　was；　how　exposed　and　wincing？　He；　of　all　people；　knew。　And
he　wanted　to　do　this　to　her。　He　wanted　to　hurt　her　right　through
her　closest　sensitiveness；　he　wanted　to　treat　her　with　shame；　to
maim　her　with　insult。

Her　heart　burnt　in　isolation；　like　a　watchfire　lighted。　She
did　not　forget；　she　did　not　forget；　she　never　forgot。　When　she
returned　to　her　love　for　her　father；　the　seed　of　mistrust　and
defiance　burned　unquenched；　though　covered　up　far　from　sight。
She　no　longer　belonged　to　him　unquestioned。　Slowly；　slowly；　the
fire　of　mistrust　and　defiance　burned　in　her；　burned　away　her
connection　with　him。

She　ran　a　good　deal　alone；　having　a　passion　for　all　moving；
active　things。　She　loved　the　little　brooks。　Wherever　she　found　a
little　running　water；　she　was　happy。　It　seemed　to　make　her　run
and　sing　in　spirit　along　with　it。　She　could　sit　for　hours　by　a
brook　or　stream；　on　the　roots　of　the　alders；　and　watch　the　water
hasten　dancing　over　the　stones；　or　among　the　twigs　of　a　fallen
branch。　Sometimes；　little　fish　vanished　before　they　had　bee
real；　like　hallucinations；　sometimes　wagtails　ran　by　the　water's
brink；　sometimes　other　little　birds　came　to　drink。　She　saw　a
kingfisher　darting　blue……and　then　she　was　very　happy。　The
kingfisher　was　the　key　to　the　magic　world：　he　was　witness　of　the
border　of　enchantment。

But　she　must　move　out　of　the　intricately　woven　illusion　of
her　life：　the　illusion　of　a　father　whose　life　was　an　Odyssey　in
an　outer　world；　the　illusion　of　her　grandmother；　of　realities　so
shadowy　and　far…off　that　they　became　as　mystic
symbols：……peasant…girls　with　wreaths　of　blue　flowers　in
their　hair；　the　sledges　and　the　depths　of　winter；　the
dark…bearded　young　grandfather；　marriage　and　war　and　death；　then
the　multitude　of　illusions　concerning　herself；　how　she　was　truly
a　princess　of　Poland；　how　in　England　she　was　under　a　spell；　she
was　not　really　this　Ursula　Brangwen；　then　the　mirage　of　her
reading：　out　of　the　multicoloured　illusion　of　this　her　life；　she
must　move　on；　to　the　Grammar　School　in　Nottingham。

She　was　shy；　and　she　suffered。　For　one　thing；　she　bit　her
nails；　and　had　a　cruel　consciousness　in　her　finger…tips；　a
shame；　an　exposure。　Out　of　all　proportion；　this　shame　haunted
her。　She　spent　hours　of　torture；　conjuring　how　she　might　keep
her　gloves　on：　if　she　might　say　her　hands　were　scalded；　if　she
might　seem　to　forget　to　take　off　her　gloves。

For　she　was　going　to　inherit　her　own　estate；　when　she　went　to
the　High　School。　There；　each　girl　was　a　lady。　There；　she　was
going　to　walk　among　free　souls；　her　co…mates　and　her　equals；　and
all　petty　things　would　be　put　away。　Ah；　if　only　she　did　not　bite
her　nails！　If　only　she　had　not　this　blemish！　She　wanted　so　much
to　be　perfect……without　spot　or　blemish；　living　the　high；
noble　life。

It　was　a　grief　to　her　that　her　father　made　such　a　poor
introduction。　He　was　brief　as　ever；　like　a　boy　saying　his
errand；　and　his　clothes　looked　ill…fitting　and　casual。　Whereas
Ursula　would　have　liked　robes　and　a　ceremonial　of　introduction
to　this；　her　new　estate。

She　made　a　new　illusion　of　school。　Miss　Grey；　the
headmistress；　had　a　certain　silvery；　school…mistressy　beauty　of
character。　The　school　itself　had　been　a　gentleman's　house。　Dark；
sombre　lawns　separated　it　from　the　dark；　select　avenue。　But　its
rooms　were　large　and　of　good　appearance；　and　from　the　back；　one
looked　over　lawns　and　shrubbery；　over　the　trees　and　the　grassy
slope　of　the　Arboretum；　to　the　town　which　heaped　the　hollow　with
its　roofs　and　cupolas　and　its　shadows。

So　Ursula　seated　herself　upon　the　hill　of　learning；　looking
down　on　the　smoke　and　confusion　and　the　manufacturing；　engrossed
activity　of　the　town。　She　was　happy。　Up　here；　in　the　Grammar
School；　she　fancied　the　air　was　finer；　beyond　the　factory　smoke。
She　wanted　to　learn　Latin　and　Greek　and　French　and　mathematics。
She　trembled　like　a　postulant　when　she　wrote　the　Greek　alphabet
for　the　first　time。

She　was　upon　another　hill…slope；　whose　summit　she　had　not
scaled。　There　was　always　the　marvellous　eagerness　in　her　heart；
to　climb　and　to　see　beyond。　A　Latin　verb　was　virgin　soil　to　her：
she　sniffed　a　new　odour　in　it；　it　meant　something；　though　she
did　not　know　what　it　meant。　But　she　gathered　it　up：　it　was
significant。　When　she　knew　that：

　　　　x2…y2　=　（x　＋　y）（x…y）

then　she　felt　that　she　had　grasped　something；　that　she　was
liberated　into　an　intoxicating　air；　rare　and　unconditioned。　And
she　was　very　glad　as　she　wrote　her　French　exercise：

〃J'AI　DONNE　LE　PAIN　A　MON　PETIT　FRERE。〃

In　all　these　things　there　was　the　sound　of　a　bugle　to　her
heart；　exhilarating；　summoning　her　to　perfect　places。　She　never
forgot　her　brown　〃Longman's　First　French　Grammar〃；　nor　her　〃Via
Latina〃　with　its　red　edges；　nor　her　little　grey　Algebra　book。
There　was　always　a　magic　in　them。

At　learning　she　was　quick；　intelligent；　inst