[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版- 第112部分

Looking　at　her　at　length；　Katharine　asked　slowly；　as　if　
she　found　the　question　very　difficult　to　ask。　

“But　do　you　care　for　William？”　

She　marked　the　agitation　and　bewilderment　of　the　girl’s　
expression；　and　how　she　looked　away　from　her。　

“Do　you　mean；　am　I　in　love　with　him？”　Cassandra　asked；　
breathing　quickly；　and　nervously　moving　her　hands。　

“Yes；　in　love　with　him；”　Katharine　repeated。　

“How　can　I　love　the　man　you’re　engaged　to　marry？”　
Cassandra　burst　out。　

“He　may　be　in　love　with　you。”　

“I　don’t　think　you’ve　any　right　to　say　such　things；　
Katharine；”　Cassandra　exclaimed。　“Why　do　you　say　them？　
Don’t　you　mind　in　the　least　how　William　behaves　to　other　
women？　If　I　were　engaged；　I　couldn’t　bear　it！”　

“We’re　not　engaged；”　said　Katharine；　after　a　pause。　

“Katharine！”　Cassandra　cried。　

“No；　we’re　not　engaged；”　Katharine　repeated。　“But　no　
one　knows　it　but　ourselves。”　

“But　why—I　don’t　understand—you’re　not　engaged！”　
Cassandra　said　again。　“Oh；　that　explains　it！　You’re　not　in　
love　with　him！　You　don’t　want　to　marry　him！”　

“We　aren’t　in　love　with　each　other　any　longer；”　said　
Katharine；　as　if　disposing　of　something　for　ever　and　ever。　

“How　queer；　how　strange；　how　unlike　other　people　you　
are；　Katharine；”　Cassandra　said；　her　whole　body　and　voice　
seeming　to　fall　and　collapse　together；　and　no　trace　of　anger　
or　excitement　remaining；　but　only　a　dreamy　quietude。　

“You’re　not　in　love　with　him？”　

“But　I　love　him；”　said　Katharine。　

Cassandra　remained　bowed；　as　if　by　the　weight　of　the　
revelation；　for　some　little　while　longer。　Nor　did　Katharine　
speak。　Her　attitude　was　that　of　some　one　who　wishes　to　
be　concealed　as　much　as　possible　from　observation。　She　
sighed　profoundly；　she　was　absolutely　silent；　and　apparently　
overe　by　her　thoughts。　

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“D’you　know　what　time　it　is？”　she　said　at　length；　and　
shook　her　pillow；　as　if　making　ready　for　sleep。　

Cassandra　rose　obediently；　and　once　more　took　up　her　
candle。　Perhaps　the　white　dressinggown；　and　the　loosened　
hair；　and　something　unseeing　in　the　expression　of　
the　eyes　gave　her　a　likeness　to　a　woman　walking　in　her　
sleep。　Katharine；　at　least；　thought　so。　

“There’s　no　reason　why　I　should　go　home；　then？”　
Cassandra　said；　pausing。　“Unless　you　want　me　to　go；　
Katharine？　What　do　you　want　me　to　do？”　

For　the　first　time　their　eyes　met。　

“You　wanted　us　to　fall　in　love；”　Cassandra　exclaimed；　as　
if　she　read　the　certainty　there。　But　as　she　looked　she　saw　
a　sight　that　surprised　her。　The　tears　rose　slowly　in　
Katharine’s　eyes　and　stood　there；　brimming　but　contained—
the　tears　of　some　profound　emotion；　happiness；　
grief；　renunciation；　an　emotion　so　plex　in　its　nature　
that　to　express　it　was　impossible；　and　Cassandra；　bending　
her　head　and　receiving　the　tears　upon　her　cheek；　
accepted　them　in　silence　as　the　consecration　of　her　love。　

“Please；　miss；”　said　the　maid；　about　eleven　o’clock　on　

the　following　morning；　“Mrs。　Milvain　is　in　the　kitchen。”　

A　long　wicker　basket　of　flowers　and　branches　had　arrived　
from　the　country；　and　Katharine；　kneeling　upon　the　
floor　of　the　drawingroom；　was　sorting　them　while　
Cassandra　watched　her　from　an　armchair；　and　absentmindedly　
made　spasmodic　offers　of　help　which　were　not　
accepted。　The　maid’s　message　had　a　curious　effect　upon　
Katharine。　

She　rose；　walked　to　the　window；　and；　the　maid　being　
gone；　said　emphatically　and　even　tragically：　

“You　know　what　that　means。”　

Cassandra　had　understood　nothing。　

“Aunt　Celia　is　in　the　kitchen；”　Katharine　repeated。　

“Why　in　the　kitchen？”　Cassandra　asked；　not　unnaturally。　


“Probably　because　she’s　discovered　something；”　
Katharine　replied。　Cassandra’s　thoughts　flew　to　the　subject　
of　her　preoccupation。　

“About　us？”　she　inquired。　

“Heaven　knows；”　Katharine　replied。　“I　shan’t　let　her　
stay　in　the　kitchen；　though。　I　shall　bring　her　up　here。”　

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The　sternness　with　which　this　was　said　suggested　that　
to　bring　Aunt　Celia　upstairs　was；　for　some　reason；　a　disciplinary　
measure。　

“For　goodness’　sake；　Katharine；”　Cassandra　exclaimed；　
jumping　from　her　chair　and　showing　signs　of　agitation；　
“don’t　be　rash。　Don’t　let　her　suspect。　Remember；　nothing’s　
certain—”　

Katharine　assured　her　by　nodding　her　head　several　times；　
but　the　manner　in　which　she　left　the　room　was　not　calculated　
to　inspire　plete　confidence　in　her　diplomacy。　

Mrs。　Milvain　was　sitting；　or　rather　perching；　upon　the　
edge　of　a　chair　in　the　servants’　room。　Whether　there　was　
any　sound　reason　for　her　choice　of　a　subterranean　chamber；　
or　whether　it　corresponded　with　the　spirit　of　her　
quest；　Mrs。　Milvain　invariably　came　in　by　the　back　door　
and　sat　in　the　servants’　room　when　she　was　engaged　in　
confidential　family　transactions。　The　ostensible　reason　
she　gave　was　that　neither　Mr。　nor　Mrs。　Hilbery　should　be　
disturbed。　But；　in　truth；　Mrs。　Milvain　depended　even　more　
than　most　elderly　women　of　her　generation　upon　the　delicious　
emotions　of　intimacy；　agony；　and　secrecy；　and　the　

additional　thrill　provided　by　the　basement　was　one　not　
lightly　to　be　forfeited。　She　protested　almost　plaintively　
when　Katharine　proposed　to　go　upstairs。　

“I’ve　something　that　I　want　to　say　to　you　in　private；”　
she　said；　hesitating　reluctantly　upon　the　threshold　of　her　
ambush。　

“The　drawingroom　is　empty—”　

“But　we　might　meet　your　mother　upon　the　stairs。　We　
might　disturb　your　father；”　Mrs。　Milvain　objected；　taking　
the　precaution　to　speak　in　a　whisper　already。　

But　as　Katharine’s　presence　was　absolutely　necessary　
to　the　success　of　the　interview；　and　as　Katharine　obstinately　
receded　up　the　kitchen　stairs；　Mrs。　Milvain　had　no　
course　but　to　follow　her。　She　glanced　furtively　about　her　
as　she　proceeded　upstairs；　drew　her　skirts　together；　and　
stepped　with　circumspection　past　all　doors；　whether　they　
were　open　or　shut。　

“Nobody　will　overhear　us？”　she　murmured；　when　the　parative　
sanctuary　of　the　drawingroom　had　been　reached。　
“I　see　that　I　have　interrupted　you；”　she　added；　glancing　at　
the　flowers　strewn　upon　the　floor。　A　moment　later　she　

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inquired；　“Was　some　one　sitting　with　you？”　noticing　a　
handkerchief　that　Cassandra　had　dropped　in　her　flight。　

“Cassandra　was　helping　me　to　put　the　flowers　in　water；”　
said　Katharine；　and　she　spoke　so　firmly　and　clearly　
that　Mrs。　Milvain　glanced　nervously　at　the　main　door　and　
then　at　the　curtain　which　divided　the　little　room　with　the　
relics　from　the　drawingroom。　

“Ah；　Cassandra　is　still　with　you；”　she　remarked。　“And　
did　William　send　you　those　lovely　flowers？”　

Katharine　sat　down　opposite　her　aunt　and　said　neither　
yes　nor　no。　She　looked　past　her；　and　it　might　have　been　
thought　that　she　was　considering　very　critically　the　pattern　
of　the　curtains。　Another　advantage　of　the　basement；　
from　Mrs。　Milvain’s　point　of　view；　was　that　it　made　it　
necessary　to　sit　very　close　together；　and　the　light　was　
dim　pared　with　that　which　now　poured　through　three　
windows