the hand of ethelberta-第5部分

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love…lament；　somewhat　in　the　tone　of　many　of　Sir　Thomas　Wyatt's
poems。　　This　was　the　piece　which　had　arrested　Christopher's
attention；　and　had　been　pointed　out　by　him　to　his　sister　Faith。

'It　is　very　touching；'　she　said；　looking　up。

'What　do　you　think　I　suspect　about　itthat　the　poem　is　addressed　to
me！　　Do　you　remember；　when　father　was　alive　and　we　were　at　Solentsea
that　season；　about　a　governess　who　came　there　with　a　Sir　Ralph
Petherwin　and　his　wife；　people　with　a　sickly　little　daughter　and　a
grown…up　son？'

'I　never　saw　any　of　them。　　I　think　I　remember　your　knowing　something
about　a　young　man　of　that　name。'

'Yes；　that　was　the　family。　　Well；　the　governess　there　was　a　very
attractive　woman；　and　somehow　or　other　I　got　more　interested　in　her
than　I　ought　to　have　done　（this　is　necessary　to　the　history）；　and　we
used　to　meet　in　romantic　placesandand　that　kind　of　thing；　you
know。　　The　end　of　it　was；　she　jilted　me　and　married　the　son。'

'You　were　anxious　to　get　away　from　Solentsea。'

'Was　I？　　Then　that　was　chiefly　the　reason。　　Well；　I　decided　to　think
no　more　of　her；　and　I　was　helped　to　do　it　by　the　troubles　that　came
upon　us　shortly　afterwards；　it　is　a　blessed　arrangement　that　one
does　not　feel　a　sentimental　grief　at　all　when　additional　grief　comes
in　the　shape　of　practical　misfortune。　　However；　on　the　first
afternoon　of　the　little　holiday　I　took　for　my　walking　tour　last
summer；　I　came　to　Anglebury；　and　stayed　about　the　neighbourhood　for
a　day　or　two　to　see　what　it　was　like；　thinking　we　might　settle　there
if　this　place　failed　us。　　The　next　evening　I　left；　and　walked　across
the　heath　to　Flychettthat's　a　village　about　five　miles　further　on…
…so　as　to　be　that　distance　on　my　way　for　next　morning；　and　while　I
was　crossing　the　heath　there　I　met　this　very　woman。　　We　talked　a
little；　because　we　couldn't　help　ityou　may　imagine　the　kind　of
talk　it　wasand　parted　as　coolly　as　we　had　met。　　Now　this　strange
book　comes　to　me；　and　I　have　a　strong　conviction　that　she　is　the
writer　of　it；　for　that　poem　sketches　a　similar　sceneor　rather
suggests　it；　and　the　tone　generally　seems　the　kind　of　thing　she
would　writenot　that　she　was　a　sad　woman；　either。'

'She　seems　to　be　a　warm…hearted；　impulsive　woman；　to　judge　from
these　tender　verses。'

'People　who　print　very　warm　words　have　sometimes　very　cold　manners。
I　wonder　if　it　is　really　her　writing；　and　if　she　has　sent　it　to　me！'

'Would　it　not　be　a　singular　thing　for　a　married　woman　to　do？　　Though
of　course'（she　removed　her　spectacles　as　if　they　hindered　her　from
thinking；　and　hid　them　under　the　timepiece　till　she　should　go　on
reading）'of　course　poets　have　morals　and　manners　of　their　own；　and
custom　is　no　argument　with　them。　　I　am　sure　I　would　not　have　sent　it
to　a　man　for　the　world！'

'I　do　not　see　any　absolute　harm　in　her　sending　it。　　Perhaps　she
thinks　that；　since　it　is　all　over；　we　may　as　well　die　friends。'

'If　I　were　her　husband　I　should　have　doubts　about　the　dying。　　And
〃all　over〃　may　not　be　so　plain　to　other　people　as　it　is　to　you。'

'Perhaps　not。　　And　when　a　man　checks　all　a　woman's　finer　sentiments
towards　him　by　marrying　her；　it　is　only　natural　that　it　should　find
a　vent　somewhere。　　However；　she　probably　does　not　know　of　my
downfall　since　father's　death。　　I　hardly　think　she　would　have　cared
to　do　it　had　she　known　that。　　（I　am　assuming　that　it　is　Ethelberta
Mrs。　Petherwinwho　sends　it：　　of　course　I　am　not　sure。）　　We　must
remember　that　when　I　knew　her　I　was　a　gentleman　at　ease；　who　had　not
the　least　notion　that　I　should　have　to　work　for　a　living；　and　not
only　so；　but　should　have　first　to　invent　a　profession　to　work　at　out
of　my　old　tastes。'

'Kit；　you　have　made　two　mistakes　in　your　thoughts　of　that　lady。
Even　though　I　don't　know　her；　I　can　show　you　that。　　Now　I'll　tell
you！　the　first　is　in　thinking　that　a　married　lady　would　send　the
book　with　that　poem　in　it　without　at　any　rate　a　slight　doubt　as　to
its　propriety：　　the　second　is　in　supposing　that；　had　she　wished　to
do　it；　she　would　have　given　the　thing　up　because　of　our　misfortunes。
With　a　true　woman　the　second　reason　would　have　had　no　effect　had　she
once　got　over　the　first。　　I'm　a　woman；　and　that's　why　I　know。'

Christopher　said　nothing；　and　turned　over　the　poems。



He　lived　by　teaching　music；　and；　in　comparison　with　starving；
thrived；　though　the　wealthy　might　possibly　have　said　that　in
comparison　with　thriving　he　starved。　　During　this　night　he　hummed
airs　in　bed；　thought　he　would　do　for　the　ballad　of　the　fair　poetess
what　other　musicians　had　done　for　the　ballads　of　other　fair
poetesses；　and　dreamed　that　she　smiled　on　him　as　her　prototype
Sappho　smiled　on　Phaon。

The　next　morning　before　starting　on　his　rounds　a　new　circumstance
induced　him　to　direct　his　steps　to　the　bookseller's；　and　ask　a
question。　　He　had　found　on　examining　the　wrapper　of　the　volume　that
it　was　posted　in　his　own　town。

'No　copy　of　the　book　has　been　sold　by　me；'　the　bookseller's　voice
replied　from　far　up　the　Alpine　height　of　the　shop…ladder；　where　he
stood　dusting　stale　volumes；　as　was　his　habit　of　a　morning　before
customers　came。　　'I　have　never　heard　of　itprobably　never　shall；'
and　he　shook　out　the　duster；　so　as　to　hit　the　delicate　mean　between
stifling　Christopher　and　not　stifling　him。

'Surely　you　don't　live　by　your　shop？'　said　Christopher；　drawing
back。

The　bookseller's　eyes　rested　on　the　speaker's；　his　face　changed；　he
came　down　and　placed　his　hand　on　the　lapel　of　Christopher's　coat。
'Sir；'　he　said；　'country　bookselling　is　a　miserable；　impoverishing；
exasperating　thing　in　these　days。　　Can　you　understand　the　rest？'

'I　can；　I　forgive　a　starving　man　anything；'　said　Christopher。

'You　go　a　long　way　very　suddenly；'　said　the　book　seller。　　'Half　as
much　pity　would　have　seemed　better。　　However；　wait　a　moment。'　　He
looked　into　a　list　of　new　books；　and　added：　　'The　work　you　allude　to
was　only　published　last　week；　though；　mind　you；　if　it　had　been
published　last　century　I　might　not　have　sold　a　copy。'

Although　his　time　was　precious；　Christopher　had　now　become　so
interested　in　the　circumstance　that　the　unseen　sender　was　somebody
breathing　his　own　atmosphere；　possibly　the　very　writer　herselfthe
book　being　too　new　to　be　knownthat　he　again　passed　through　the
blue　shadow　of　the　spire　which　stretched　across　the　street　to…day；
and　went　towards　the　post…office；　animated　by　a　bright　intentionto
ask　the　postmaster　if　he　knew　the　handwriting　in　which　the　packet
was　addressed。

Now　the　postmaster　was　an　acquaintance　of　Christopher's；　but；　as
regarded　putting　that　question　to　him；　there　was　a　difficulty。
Everything　turned　upon　whether　the　postmaster　at　the　moment　of
asking　would　be　in　his　under…government　manner；　or　in　the　manner
with　which　mere　nature　had　endowed　him。　　In　the　latter　case　his
reply　would　be　all　that　could　be　wished；　in　the　former；　a　man　who
had　sunk　in　society　might　as　well　put　his　tongue　into　a　mousetrap　as
make　an　inquiry　so　obviously　outside　the　pale　of　legality　as　was
this。

So　he　postponed　his　business　for　the　present；　and　refrained　from
entering　till　he　passed　by　after　dinner；　when　pleasant　malt　liquor；
of　that　capacity　for　cheering　which　is　expressed　by　four　large
letter　X's　marching　in　a　row；　had　refilled　the　globular　trunk　of　the
postmaster　and　neutralized　some　of　the　effects　of　officiality。　　The
time　was　well　chosen；　but　the　inquiry　threatened　to　prove　fruitless：
the　postmaster　had　never；　to　his　knowledge；　seen　the　writing　before。
Christopher　was　turning　away　when　a　clerk　in　the　background　looked
up　and　stated　that　some　young　lady　had　brought　a　packet　with　such　an
address　upon　it　into　the　office　two　days　earlier　to　get　it　stamped。

'Do　you　know　her？'　said　Christopher。

'I　have　seen　her　about　the　neighbourhood。　　She　goes　by　every
morning；　I　think　she　comes　into　the　town　from　beyond　the　common；　and
returns　again　between　four　and　five　in　the　afternoon。'

'What　does　she　wear？'

'A　white　wool　jacket　with　zigzags　of　black　braid。'

Christopher　left　the　post…office　and　went　his　way。　　Among　his　other
pupils　there　were　two　who　lived　at　some　distance　from　Sandbourne
one　of　them　in　the　direction　indicated　as　that　habitually　taken　by
the　young　person；　and　in　the　afternoon；　as　he　returned　homeward；
Christopher　loitered　and　looked　around。　　At　first　he　could　see
nobody；　but　when　about　a　mile　from　the　outskirts　of　the　town　he
discerned　a　light　spot　ahead　of　him；　which　actually　turned　out　to　be
the　jacket　alluded　to。　　In　due　time　he　met　the　wearer　face　to　face；
she　was　not　Ethelberta　Petherwinquite　a　different　sort　of
individual。　　He　had　long　made　up　his　mind　that　this　would　be　the
case；　yet　he　was　in　some　indescribable　way　disappointed。

Of　the　two　classes　into　which　gentle　young　women　naturally　divide；
those　who　grow　red　at　their　weddings；　and　those　who　grow　pale；　the
present　one　belonged　to　the　former　class。　　She　was　an　April…natured；
pink…cheeked　girl；　with　eyes　that　would　have　made　any　jeweller　in
England　think　of　his　tradeone　who　evidently　took　her　day　in　the
daytime；　frequently　caught　the　early　worm；　and　had　little　to　do　with
yawns　or　candlelight。　　She　came　and　passed　him；　he　fancied　that　her
countenance　changed。　　But