malvina of brittany-第38章

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known。〃

He　tried　to　comfort　her；　but　his　phrases　came　meaningless　and
halting。

It　was　the　work；　she　explained　as　they　walked　on。　　It　made　your
hands　like　that　after　a　time。　　If　only　she　could　have　got　out　of　it
earlier！　　But　now！　　It　was　no　good　worrying　about　it　now。

They　parted　near　to　the　Hanover　Gate；　but　to…night　he　did　not　stand
watching　her　as　he　had　always　done　till　she　waved　a　last　good…bye　to
him　just　before　disappearing；　so　whether　she　turned　or　not　he　never
knew。

He　did　not　go　to　meet　her　the　next　evening。　　A　dozen　times　his
footsteps　led　him　unconsciously　almost　to　the　gate。　　Then　he　would
hurry　away　again；　pace　the　mean　streets；　jostling　stupidly　against
the　passers…by。　　The　pale；　sweet　face；　the　little　nymph…like　figure；
the　little　brown　shoes　kept　calling　to　him。　　If　only　there　would
pass　away　the　horror　of　those　hands！　　All　the　artist　in　him
shuddered　at　the　memory　of　them。　　Always　he　had　imagined　them　under
the　neat；　smooth　gloves　as　fitting　in　with　all　the　rest　of　her；
dreaming　of　the　time　when　he　would　hold　them　in　his　own；　caressing
them；　kissing　them。　　Would　it　be　possible　to　forget　them；　to
reconcile　oneself　to　them？　　He　must　thinkmust　get　away　from　these
crowded　streets　where　faces　seemed　to　grin　at　him。　　He　remembered
that　Parliament　had　just　risen；　that　work　was　slack　in　the　office。
He　would　ask　that　he　might　take　his　holiday　nowthe　next　day。　　And
they　had　agreed。

He　packed　a　few　things　into　a　knapsack。　　From　the　voices　of　the
hills　and　streams　he　would　find　counsel。

He　took　no　count　of　his　wanderings。　　One　evening　at　a　lonely　inn　he
met　a　young　doctor。　　The　innkeeper's　wife　was　expecting　to　be　taken
with　child　that　night；　and　the　doctor　was　waiting　downstairs　till
summoned。　　While　they　were　talking；　the　idea　came　to　him。　　Why　had
he　not　thought　of　it？　　Overcoming　his　shyness；　he　put　his　questions。
What　work　would　it　be　that　would　cause　such　injuries？　　He　described
them；　seeing　them　before　him　in　the　shadows　of　the　dimly　lighted
room；　those　poor；　pitiful　little　hands。

Oh！　a　dozen　things　might　account　for　itthe　doctor's　voice　sounded
callousthe　handling　of　flax；　even　of　linen　under　certain
conditions。　　Chemicals　entered　so　much　nowadays　into　all　sorts　of
processes　and　preparations。　　All　this　new　photography；　cheap　colour
printing；　dyeing　and　cleaning；　metal　work。　　Might　all　be　avoided　by
providing　rubber　gloves。　　It　ought　to　be　made　compulsory。　　The
doctor　seemed　inclined　to　hold　forth。　　He　interrupted　him。

But　could　it　be　cured？　　Was　there　any　hope？

Cured？　　Hope？　　Of　course　it　could　be　cured。　　It　was　only　localthe
effect　being　confined　to　the　hands　proved　that。　　A　poisoned
condition　of　the　skin　aggravated　by　general　poverty　of　blood。　　Take
her　away　from　it；　let　her　have　plenty　of　fresh　air　and　careful　diet；
using　some　such　simple　ointment　or　another　as　any　local　man；　seeing
them；　would　prescribe；　and　in　three　or　four　months　they　would
recover。

He　could　hardly　stay　to　thank　the　young　doctor。　　He　wanted　to　get
away　by　himself；　to　shout；　to　wave　his　arms；　to　leap。　　Had　it　been
possible　he　would　have　returned　that　very　night。　　He　cursed　himself
for　the　fancifulness　that　had　prevented　his　inquiring　her　address。
He　could　have　sent　a　telegram。　　Rising　at　dawn；　for　he　had　not
attempted　to　sleep；　he　walked　the　ten　miles　to　the　nearest　railway
station；　and　waited　for　the　train。　　All　day　long　it　seemed　to　creep
with　him　through　the　endless　country。　　But　London　came　at　last。

It　was　still　the　afternoon；　but　he　did　not　care　to　go　to　his　room。
Leaving　his　knapsack　at　the　station；　he　made　his　way　to　Westminster。
He　wanted　all　things　to　be　unchanged；　so　that　between　this　evening
and　their　parting　it　might　seem　as　if　there　had　merely　passed　an
ugly　dream；　and　timing　himself；　he　reached　the　park　just　at　their
usual　hour。

He　waited　till　the　gates　were　closed；　but　she　did　not　come。　　All　day
long　at　the　back　of　his　mind　had　been　that　fear；　but　he　had　driven
it　away。　　She　was　ill；　just　a　headache；　or　merely　tired。

And　the　next　evening　he　told　himself　the　same。　　He　dared　not　whisper
to　himself　anything　else。　　And　each　succeeding　evening　again。　　He
never　remembered　how　many。　　For　a　time　he　would　sit　watching　the
path　by　which　she　had　always　come；　and　when　the　hour　was　long　past
he　would　rise　and　walk　towards　the　gate；　look　east　and　west；　and
then　return。　　One　evening　he　stopped　one　of　the　park…keepers　and
questioned　him。　　Yes；　the　man　remembered　her　quite　well：　　the　young
lady　with　the　fawn　gloves。　　She　had　come　once　or　twicemaybe
oftener；　the　park…keeper　could　not　be　sureand　had　waited。　　No；
there　had　been　nothing　to　show　that　she　was　in　any　way　upset。　　She
had　just　sat　there　for　a　time；　now　and　then　walking　a　little　way　and
then　coming　back　again；　until　the　closing　hour；　and　then　she　had
gone。　　He　left　his　address　with　the　park…keeper。　　The　man　promised
to　let　him　know　if　he　ever　saw　her　there　again。

Sometimes；　instead　of　the　park；　he　would　haunt　the　mean　streets
about　Lisson　Grove　and　far　beyond　the　other　side　of　the　Edgware
Road；　pacing　them　till　night　fell。　　But　he　never　found　her。

He　wondered；　beating　against　the　bars　of　his　poverty；　if　money　would
have　helped　him。　　But　the　grim；　endless　city；　hiding　its　million
secrets；　seemed　to　mock　the　thought。　　A　few　pounds　he　had　scraped
together　he　spent　in　advertisements；　but　he　expected　no　response；
and　none　came。　　It　was　not　likely　she　would　see　them。

And　so　after　a　time　the　park；　and　even　the　streets　round　about　it；
became　hateful　to　him；　and　he　moved　away　to　another　part　of　London；
hoping　to　forget。　　But　he　never　quite　succeeded。　　Always　it　would
come　back　to　him　when　he　was　not　thinking：　　the　broad；　quiet　walk
with　its　prim　trees　and　gay　beds　of　flowers。　　And　always　he　would
see　her　seated　there；　framed　by　the　fading　light。　　At　least；　that
much　of　her：　　the　little　spiritual　face；　and　the　brown　shoes
pointing　downwards；　and　between　them　the　little　fawn　gloves　folded
upon　her　lap。







End