霍华德庄园 英文版 Howards End
爱德华.摩根.福斯特 Edward Morgan Forster
Chapter 29
"Henry dear--" was her greeting.
He had finished his breakfast, and was beginning theTIMES. His sister-in-law was packing. She knelt by him andtook the paper from him, feeling that it was unusually heavyand thick. Then, putting her face where it had been, shelooked up in his eyes.
"Henry dear, look at me. No, I won't have youshirking. Look at me. There. That's all."
"You're referring to last evening," he said huskily. "Ihave released you from your engagement. I could findexcuses, but I won't. No, I won't. A thousand times no.I'm a bad lot, and must be left at that."
Expelled from his old fortress, Mr. Wilcox was buildinga new one. He could no longer appear respectable to her, sohe defended himself instead in a lurid past. It was nottrue repentance.
"Leave it where you will, boy. It's not going totrouble us: I know what I'm talking about, and it will makeno difference."
"No difference?" he inquired. "No difference, when youfind that I am not the fellow you thought?" He was annoyedwith Miss Schlegel here. He would have preferred her to beprostrated by the blow, or even to rage. Against the tideof his sin flowed the feeling that she was not altogetherwomanly. Her eyes gazed too straight; they had read booksthat are suitable for men only. And though he had dreaded ascene, and though she had determined against one, there wasa scene, all the same. It was somehow imperative.
"I am unworthy of you," he began. "Had I been worthy, Ishould not have released you from your engagement. I knowwhat I am talking about. I can't bear to talk of suchthings. We had better leave it. "
She kissed his hand. He jerked it from her, and, risingto his feet, went on: "You, with your sheltered life, andrefined pursuits, and friends, and books, you and yoursister, and women like you--I say, how can you guess thetemptations that lie round a man?"
"It is difficult for us," said Margaret; "but if we areworth marrying, we do guess."
"Cut off from decent society and family ties, what doyou suppose happens to thousands of young fellows overseas?Isolated. No one near. I know by bitter experience, andyet you say it makes 'no difference.'"
"Not to me."
He laughed bitterly. Margaret went to the side-boardand helped herself to one of the breakfast dishes. Beingthe last down, she turned out the spirit-lamp that kept themwarm. She was tender, but grave. She knew that Henry wasnot so much confessing his soul as pointing out the gulfbetween the male soul and the female, and she did not desireto hear him on this point.
"Did Helen come?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"But that won't do at all, at all! We don't want hergossiping with Mrs. Bast."
"Good God! no!" he exclaimed, suddenly natural. Thenhe caught himself up. "Let them gossip. My game's up,though I thank you for your unselfishness--little as mythanks are worth."
"Didn't she send me a message or anything?"
"I heard of none."
"Would you ring the bell, please?"
"What to do?"
"Why, to inquire."
He swaggered up to it tragically, and sounded a peal.Margaret poured herself out some coffee. The butler came,and said that Miss Schlegel had slept at the George, so faras he had heard. Should he go round to the George?
"I'll go, thank you," said Margaret, and dismissed him.
"It is no good," said Henry. "Those things leak out;you cannot stop a story once it has started. I have knowncases of other men--I despised them once, I thought that I'Mdifferent, I shall never be tempted. Oh, Margaret--" Hecame and sat down near her, improvising emotion. She couldnot bear to listen to him. "We fellows all come to griefonce in our time. Will you believe that? There are momentswhen the strongest man--'Let him who standeth, take heedlest he fall.' That's true, isn't it? If you knew all, youwould excuse me. I was far from good influences--far evenfrom England. I was very, very lonely, and longed for awoman's voice. That's enough. I have told you too muchalready for you to forgive me now."
"Yes, that's enough, dear."
"I have"--he lowered his voice--"I have been through hell."
Gravely she considered this claim. Had he? Had hesuffered tortures of remorse, or had it been, "There!that's over. Now for respectable life again"? The latter,if she read him rightly. A man who has been through helldoes not boast of his virility. He is humble and hides it,if, indeed, it still exists. Only in legend does the sinnercome forth penitent, but terrible, to conquer pure woman byhis resistless power. Henry was anxious to be terrible, buthad not got it in him. He was a good average Englishman,who had slipped. The really culpable point--hisfaithlessness to Mrs. Wilcox--never seemed to strike him.She longed to mention Mrs. Wilcox.
On her return from the George the building operationswere complete, and the old Henry fronted her, competent,cynical, and kind. He had made a clean breast, had beenforgiven, and the great thing now was to forget his failure,and to send it the way of other unsuccessful investments.Jacky rejoined Howards End and Ducie Street, and thevermilion motor-car, and the Argentine Hard Dollars, and allthe things and people for whom he had never had much use andhad less now. Their memory hampered him. He could scarcelyattend to Margaret who brought back disquieting news fromthe George. Helen and her clients had gone.
"Well, let them go--the man and his wife, I mean, forthe more we see of your sister the better."
"But they have gone separately--Helen very early, theBasts just before I arrived. They have left no message.They have answered neither of my notes. I don't like tothink what it all means."
"What did you say in the notes?"
"I told you last night."
"Oh--ah--yes! Dear, would you like one turn in the garden?"
Margaret took his arm. The beautiful weather soothedher. But the wheels of Evie's wedding were still at work,tossing the guests outwards as deftly as they had drawn themin, and she could not be with him long. It had beenarranged that they should motor to Shrewsbury, whence hewould go north, and she back to London with theWarringtons. For a fraction of time she was happy. Thenher brain recommenced.
"I am afraid there has been gossiping of some kind atthe George. Helen would not have left unless she had heardsomething. I mismanaged that. It is wretched. I oughtto--have parted her from that woman at once.
"Margaret!" he exclaimed, loosing her arm impressively.
"Yes--yes, Henry?"
"I am far from a saint--in fact, the reverse--but youhave taken me, for better or worse. Bygones must bebygones. You have promised to forgive me. Margaret, apromise is a promise. Never mention that woman again."
"Except for some practical reason--never."
"Practical! You practical!"
"Yes, I'm practical," she murmured, stooping over themowing-machine and playing with the grass which trickledthrough her fingers like sand.
? How did she stand?enough, dear."exclaimed, loosing her?
"At all events, you mustn't worry," he said. "This is aman's business." He thought intently. "On no accountmention it to anybody."
Margaret flushed at advice so elementary, but he wasreally paving the way for a lie. If necessary he would denythat he had ever known Mrs. Bast, and prosecute her forlibel. Perhaps he never had known her. Here was Margaret,who behaved as if he had not. There the house. Round themwere half a dozen gardeners, clearing up after hisdaughter's wedding. All was so solid and spruce, that thepast flew up out of sight like a spring-blind, leaving onlythe last five minutes unrolled.
Glancing at these, he saw that the car would be roundduring the next five, and plunged into action. Gongs weretapped, orders issued, Margaret was sent to dress, and thehousemaid to sweep up the long trickle of grass that she hadleft across the hall. As is Man to the Universe, so was themind of Mr. Wilcox to the minds of some men--a concentratedlight upon a tiny spot, a little Ten Minutes movingself-contained through its appointed years. No Pagan he,who lives for the Now, and may be wiser than allphilosophers. He lived for the five minutes that have past,and the five to come; he had the business mind.
How did he stand now, as his motor slipped out of Onitonand breasted the great round hills? Margaret had heard acertain rumour, but was all right. She had forgiven him,God bless her, and he felt the manlier for it. Charles andEvie had not heard it, and never must hear. No more mustPaul. Over his children he felt great tenderness, which hedid not try to track to a cause: Mrs. Wilcox was too farback in his life. He did not connect her with the suddenaching love that he felt for Evie. Poor little Evie! hetrusted that Cahill would make her a decent husband.
And Margaret? How did she stand?
She had several minor worries. Clearly her sister hadheard something. She dreaded meeting her in town. And shewas anxious about Leonard, for whom they certainly wereresponsible. Nor ought Mrs. Bast to starve. But the mainsituation had not altered. She still loved Henry. Hisactions, not his disposition, had disappointed her, and shecould bear that. And she loved her future home. Standingup in the car, just where she had leapt from it two daysbefore, she gazed back with deep emotion upon Oniton.Besides the Grange and the Castle keep, she could now pickout the church and the black-and-white gables of theGeorge. There was the bridge, and the river nibbling itsgreen peninsula. She could even see the bathing-shed, butwhile she was looking for Charles's new springboard, theforehead of the hill rose up and hid the whole scene.
She never saw it again. Day and night the river flowsdown into England, day after day the sun retreats into theWelsh mountains, and the tower chimes, "See the ConqueringHero." But the Wilcoxes have no part in the place, nor inany place. It is not their names that recur in the parishregister. It is not their ghosts that sigh among the aldersat evening. They have swept into the valley and swept outof it, leaving a little dust and a little money behind.