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The Arrow of Gold-Part11_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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looking at me. Dona Rita added, "Mr. Mills and I are friends from



old times, you know."

Bathed in the softened reflection of the sunshine, which did not



fall directly into the room, standing very straight with her arms

down, before Mills, and with a faint smile directed to me, she



looked extremely" target="_blank" title="ad.极端地；非常地">extremely young, and yet mature. There was even, for a

moment, a slight dimple in her cheek.



"How old, I wonder?" I said, with an answering smile.

"Oh, for ages, for ages," she exclaimed hastily, frowning a little,



then she went on addressing herself to Mills, apparently in

continuation of what she was saying before.



. . . "This man's is an extreme case, and yet perhaps it isn't the

worst. But that's the sort of thing. I have no account to render



to anybody, but I don't want to be dragged along all the gutters

where that man picks up his living."



She had thrown her head back a little but there was no scorn, no

angry flash under the dark-lashed eyelids. The words did not ring.



I was struck for the first time by the even, mysterious quality of

her voice.



"Will you let me suggest," said Mills, with a grave, kindly face,

"that being what you are, you have nothing to fear?"



"And perhaps nothing to lose," she went on without bitterness.

"No. It isn't fear. It's a sort of dread. You must remember that



no nun could have had a more protected life. Henry Allegre had his

greatness. When he faced the world he also masked it. He was big



enough for that. He filled the whole field of vision for me."

"You found that enough?" asked Mills.



"Why ask now?" she remonstrated. "The truth - the truth is that I

never asked myself. Enough or not there was no room for anything



else. He was the shadow and the light and the form and the voice.

He would have it so. The morning he died they came to call me at



four o'clock. I ran into his room bare-footed. He recognized me

and whispered, 'You are flawless.' I was very frightened. He



seemed to think, and then said very plainly, 'Such is my character.

I am like that.' These were the last words he spoke. I hardly



noticed them then. I was thinking that he was lying in a very

uncomfortable position and I asked him if I should lift him up a



little higher on the pillows. You know I am very strong. I could

have done it. I had done it before. He raised his hand off the



blanket just enough to make a sign that he didn't want to be

touched. It was the last gesture he made. I hung over him and



then - and then I nearly ran out of the house just as I was, in my

night-gown. I think if I had been dressed I would have run out of



the garden, into the street - run away altogether. I had never

seen death. I may say I had never heard of it. I wanted to run



from it."

She paused for a long, quiet breath. The harmonized sweetness and



daring of her face was made pathetic by her downcast eyes.

"Fuir la mort," she repeated, meditatively, in her mysterious



voice.

Mills' big head had a little movement, nothing more. Her glance



glided for a moment towards me like a friendly recognition of my

right to be there, before she began again.



"My life might have been described as looking at mankind from a

fourth-floor window for years. When the end came it was like



falling out of a balcony into the street. It was as sudden as

that. Once I remember somebody was telling us in the Pavilion a



tale about a girl who jumped down from a fourth-floor window. . .

For love, I believe," she interjected very quickly, "and came to no



harm. Her guardian angel must have slipped his wings under her

just in time. He must have. But as to me, all I know is that I



didn't break anything - not even my heart. Don't be shocked, Mr.

Mills. It's very likely that you don't understand."



"Very likely," Mills assented, unmoved. "But don't be too sure of

that."



"Henry Allegre had the highest opinion of your intelligence," she

said unexpectedly and with evidentseriousness. "But all this is



only to tell you that when he was gone I found myself down there

unhurt, but dazed, bewildered, not sufficiently stunned. It so



happened that that creature was somewhere in the neighbourhood.

How he found out. . . But it's his business to find out things.



And he knows, too, how to worm his way in anywhere. Indeed, in the

first days he was useful and somehow he made it look as if Heaven






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