the captives-第4部分

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f　strong　character；　clung　to　her　sofa；　cabinet；　and　porcelain；　bowls；　and　successfully　maintained　her　right。　The　Reverend　Charles　forbade　the　further　mention　of　her　name　by　any　member　of　his　household。　This　quarrel　was　a　grievous　disappointment　to　Maggie　who　had　often　been　promised　that　when　she　should　be　a　good　girl　she　should　go　and　stay　with　her　aunts　in　London。　She　had　invented　for　herself　a　strange　fascinating　picture　of　the　dark；　mysterious　London　house；　with　London　like　a　magic　cauldron　bubbling　beyond　it。　There　was　moreover　the　further　strangeness　of　her　aunt's　religion。　Her　father　in　his　anger　had　spoken　about　〃their　wicked　blasphemy；〃　〃their　insolence　in　the　eyes　of　God；〃　〃their　blindness　and　ignorant　conceit。〃　Maggie　had　discovered；　on　a　later　day；　from　her　uncle　that　her　aunts　belonged　to　a　sect　known　as　the　Kingscote　Brethren　and　that　the　main　feature　of　their　creed　was　that　they　expected　the　second　coming　of　the　Lord　God　upon　earth　at　no　very　distant　date。

〃Will　it　really　happen；　Uncle　Mathew？〃　she　asked　in　an　awe…struck　voice　when　she　first　heard　this。

〃It's　all　bunkum　if　you　ask　me；〃　said　her　uncle。　〃And　it's　had　a　hardening　effect　on　your　aunts　who　were　kind　women　once；　but　they're　completely　in　the　hands　of　the　blackguard　who　runs　their　chapel；　poor　innocents。　I'd　wring　his　neck　if　I　caught　him。〃

All　this　was　very　fascinating　to　Maggie　who　was　of　a　practical　mind　with　regard　to　the　facts　immediately　before　her　but　had　beyond　them　a　lively　imagination。　Her　life　had　been　so　lonely；　spent　for　the　most　part　so　far　from　children　of　her　own　age；　that　she　had　no　test　of　reality。　She　did　not　see　any　reason　why　the　Lord　God　should　not　come　again　and　she　saw　every　reason　why　her　aunts　should　condemn　her　uncle。　That　London　house　swam　now　in　a　light　struck　partly　from　the　wisdom　and　omniscience　of　her　aunts；　partly　from　God's　threatened　descent　upon　them。

Aunt　Anne's　name　was　no　longer　mentioned　in　St。Dreot's　but　Maggie　did　not　forget；　and　at　every　new　tyranny　from　her　father　she　thought　to　herself〃Well；　there　is　London。　I　shall　be　there　one　day。〃

As　they　walked　Maggie　looked　at　her　uncle。　What　was　he　really？　He　should　be　a　gentleman　and　yet　he　didn't　look　like　one。　She　remembered　things　that　he　had　at　different　times　said　to　her。

〃Why；　look　at　myself！〃　he　had　on　earlier　days；　half…maudlin　from　〃his　drop　at　the　'Bull　and　Bush；'〃　exclaimed　to　Maggie；　〃I　can't　call　myself　a　success！　I'm　a　rotten　failure　if　you　want　to　know；　and　I　had　most　things　in　my　favour　to　start　with；　went　to　Cambridge；　had　a　good　opening　as　a　barrister。　But　it　wasn't　quick　enough　for　me。　I　was　restless　and　wanted　to　jump　the　moonnow　look　at　me！　Same　with　your　father；　only　he's　put　all　his　imagination　into　moneysame　as　your　aunts　have　put　theirs　into　religion。　We're　not　like　ordinary　people；　us　Cardinals。〃

〃And　have　I　got　a　lot　of　imagination　too？〃　Maggie　had　asked　on　one　occasion。

〃I'm　sure　I　don't　know；〃　her　uncle　had　answered　her。　〃You　don't　look　to　me　like　a　Cardinal　at　allmuch　too　quiet。　But　you　may　have　it　somewhere。　Look　out　for　a　bad　time　if　you　have。〃

Today　Maggie's　abrupt　checking　of　his　projects　had　made　him　sulky　and　he　talked　but　little。　〃Damn　it　all！〃　he　had　started　out　with　the　most　charming　intentions　towards　the　girl　and　now　look　at　her！　Was　it　natural　conduct　in　the　day　after　she　had　lost　her　only　protector？　No；　it　was　not。　Had　she　been　pretty　he　might　have；　even　now；　forgiven　her；　but　today　she　looked　especially　plain　with　her　pale　face　and　shabby　black　dress　and　her　obstinate　mouth　and　chin。　He　was　uneasy；　too；　about　the　imminent　arrival　of　his　sister　Anne；　who　always　frightened　him　and　made　him　think　poorly　of　the　world　in　general。　No　hope　of　getting　any　money　out　of　her；　nor　would　Charles　have　left　him　a　penny。　It　was　a　rotten；　unsympathetic　world；　and　Uncle　Mathew　cursed　God　as　he　strutted　sulkily　along。　Maggie　also　had　fallen　into　silence。

They　came　at　last　out　of　the　wood　and　stood　at　the　edge　of　it；　with　the　pine　trees　behind　them；　looking　down　over　Polchester。　On　this　winter's　afternoon　Polchester　with　the　thin　covering　of　snow　upon　its　roofs　sparkled　like　a　city　under　glass。　The　Cathedral　was　dim　in　the　mist　of　the　early　dusk　and　the　sun；　setting　behind　the　hill；　with　its　last　rays　caught　the　windows　so　that　they　blazed　through　the　haze　like　smoking　fires。　Whilst　Maggie　and　her　uncle　stood　there　the　bells　began　to　ring　for　Evensong；　and　the　sound　like　a　faint　echo　seemed　to　come　from　behind　them　out　of　the　wood。　In　the　spring　all　the　Polchester　orchards　would　be　white　and　pink　with　blossom；　in　the　summer　the　river　that　encircled　the　city　wall　would　run　like　a　blue　scarf　between　its　green　sloping　hillsnow　there　was　frost　and　snow　and　mist　with　the　fires　smouldering　at　its　heart。　She　gazed　at　it　now　as　she　had　never　gazed　at　it　before。　She　was　going　into　it　now。　Her　life　was　beginning　at　last。　When　the　sun　had　left　the　windows　and　the　walls　were　grey　she　turned　back　into　the　wood　and　led　the　way　silently　towards　home。

The　house　that　night　was　very　strange　with　her　father　dead　in　it。　She　sat；　because　she　thought　it　her　duty；　in　his　bedroom。　He　lay　on　his　bed；　with　his　beard　carefully　combed　and　brushed　now；　spread　out　upon　the　sheet。　His　closed　eyes　and　mouth　gave　him　a　grave　and　reverend　appearance　which　he　had　never　worn　in　his　life。　He　lay　there；　under　the　flickering　candle…light；　like　some　saint　who　at　length；　after　a　life　of　severe　discipline；　had　entered　into　the　joy　of　his　Lord。　Beneath　the　bed　was　the　big　black　box。

Maggie　did　not　look　at　her　father。　She　sat　there；　near　the　dark　window；　her　hands　folded　on　her　lap。　She　thought　of　nothing　at　all　except　the　rats。　She　was　not　afraid　of　them　but　they　worried　her。　They　had　been　a　trouble　in　the　house　for　a　long　time　past；　poison　had　been　laid　for　them　and　they　had　refused　to　take　it。　They　had　had；　perhaps；　some　fear　of　the　Reverend　Charles；　at　any　rate　they　scampered　and　scurried　now　behind　the　wainscoting　as　though　conscious　of　their　release。　〃Even　the　rats　are　glad；〃　Maggie　thought　to　herself。　In　the　uncertain　candle…light　the　fancy　seized　her　that　one　rat；　a　very　large　one；　had　crept　out　from　his　hole；　crawled　on　to　the　bed；　and　now　sat　on　the　sheet　looking　at　her　father。　It　would　be　a　horrible　thing　did　the　rat　walk　across　her　father's　beard；　and　yet　for　her　life　she　could　not　move。　She　waited；　fascinated。　She　fancied　that　the　beard　stirred　a　little　as　though　the　rat　had　moved　it。　She　fancied　that　the　rat　grew　and　grew　in　size；　now　there　were　many　of　them；　all　with　their　little　sharp　beady　eyes　watching　the　corpse。　Now　there　were　none；　only　the　large　limbs　outlined　beneath　the　spread；　the　waxen　face；　the　ticking　clock；　the　strange　empty　shape　of　his　grey　dressing…gown　hanging　upon　a　nail　on　the　wall。　Where　was　her　father　gone？　She　did　not　know；　she　did　not　careonly　she　trusted　that　she　would　never　meet　him　againnever　again。　Her　head　nodded；　her　hands　and　feet　were　cold；　the　candle…light　jumped；　the　rats　scampered　。　。　。　she　slept。

When　it　was　quite　dark　beyond　the　windows　and　the　candles　were　low　Maggie　came　downstairs；　stiff；　cold；　and　very　hungry。　She　felt　that　it　was　wrong　to　have　slept　and　very　wrong　to　be　hungry；　but　there　it　was；　she　did　not　pretend　to　herself　that　things　were　other　than　they　were。　In　the　dining…room　she　found　supper　laid　out　upon　the　table；　cold　beef；　potatoes　in　their　jackets；　cold　beetroot；　jelly；　and　cheese；　and　her　uncle　playing　cards　on　the　unoccupied　end　of　the　table　in　a　melancholy　manner　by　himself。　She　felt　that　it　was　wrong　of　him　to　play　cards　on　such　an　occasion；　but　the　cards　were　such　dirty　grey　ones　and　he　obtained　obviously　so　little　pleasure　from　his　amusement　that　he　could　not　be　considered　to　be　wildly　abandoning　himself　to　riot　and　extravagance。

She　felt　pleasure　in　his　company；　for　the　first　time　since　her　father's　death　she　was　a　little　frightened　and　uneasy。　She　might　even　have　gone　to　him　and　cried　on　his　shoulder　had　he　given　her　any　encouragement；　but　he　did　not　speak　to　her　except　to　say　that　he　had　already　eaten。　He　was　still　a　little　sulky　with　her。

When　she　had　finished　her　meal　she　sat　in　her　accustomed　chair　by　the　fire；　her　head　propped　on　her　hands；　looking　into　the　flame；　and　there；　half…asleep；　half…awake；　memories；　conversations；　long…　vanished　scenes　trooped　before　her　eyes　as　though　they　were　bidding　her　a　long　farewell。　She　did　not；　as　she　sat　there；　sentimentalise　about　any　of　them；　she　saw　them　as　they　were；　some　happy；　some　unhappy；　some　terrifying；　some　amusing；　all　of　them　dead　and　passed；　grey　and　thin；　the　life　gone　out　of　them。　Her　mind　was　fixed　on　the　future。　What　was　it　going　to　be？　Would　she　have　money　as　her　uncle　had　said？　Would　she　see　London　and　the　world？　Would　she　find　friends；　people　who　would　be　glad　to　be　with　her　and　have　her　with　them？　What　would　her　aunts　be　like？　and　so　from　them；　what　about　all　the　other　members　of　the　family　of　whom　she　had　heard？　She　painted　for　herself　a　gay　scene　in　which；　at　the　door　of　some　great　house；　a　fine　gathering　of　Cardinals　waited　with　smiles　and　outstretched　hands　to　welcome　her。　Then；　laughing　at　herself　as　she　always　did　when　she　had　allowed　her　fancy　free　rein；　she　shook　her　head。　No；　it　certainly　would　not　be　like