rosierthan
usual
,
either
with
the
joy
of
imminent
battle
,
or
with
the
exertion
of
swaddling
,
under
protest
,
the
invalid
's
now
elevated
legs
.
"
Not
well
!
Amelia
not
well
,
"
echoes
he
,
in
a
tone
of
incredulity
.
During
all
the
years
of
their
acquaintance
not
once
has
he
heard
his
patient
sweetheart
complain
of
ache
or
pain
.
Manlike
,
he
has
therefore
concluded
that
she
can
never
have
felt
either
.
"
It
is
very
thoughtless
of
her
,
"
says
Cecilia
,
with
a
not
altogether
amiable
laugh
,
and
giving
a
final
irritated
slap
to
Sybilla
's
coverlet
—
"
considering
how
much
illness
we
already
have
in
the
house
;
ha
!
ha
!
but
it
is
true
all
the
same
:
she
is
not
well
,
not
at
all
well
;
she
is
in
bed
.
"
"
In
bed
!
"
"
She
must
have
caught
a
chill
yesterday
on
that
disgusting
excursion
;
driving
home
that
long
distance
in
wet
shoes
and
stockings
.
"
"
But
I
thought
,
I
hoped
that
—
I
asked
her
to
change
them
.
"
"
She
had
them
dried
in
a
sort
of
way
;
but
I
could
see
when
she
put
them
on
again
that
they
were
really
wringing
wet
still
.
I
told
her
so
,
but
she
only
answered
that
even
if
they
were
,
what
matter
?
she
never
caught
cold
.
You
know
that
Amelia
never
thinks
that
anything
matters
that
concerns
herself
.
"
This
would
be
an
even
handsomer
tribute
to
Amelia
than
it
is
,
if
it
did
not
suggest
a
secondary
intention
of
administering
a
back-hander
to
someone
else
.
"
In
the
case
of
my
children
,
"
says
Mr.
Wilson
,
making
his
voice
heard
for
the
first
time
from
the
window
,
where
he
is
discontentedly
peering
up
and
down
the
sheets
of
a
journal
through
his
spectacles
,
"
there
seems
to
be
no
mean
possible
between
senseless
rashness
and
preposterous
self-indulgence
.
"
Mr.
Wilson
likes
his
eldest
daughter
.
He
is
uneasy
and
upset
,
and
rather
angry
at
her
indisposition
,
and
this
is
his
way
of
showing
his
paternal
tenderness
.
"
In
bed
!
"
The
human
animal
is
the
most
adaptive
of
created
beings
;
but
even
it
requires
some
little
time
to
adjust
itself
to
entirely
new
conditions
of
existence
.
"
Amelia
,
"
continues
Mr.
Wilson
,
fanning
the
flame
of
his
ire
with
the
bellows
of
his
own
rhetoric
,
"
is
the
one
among
you
whom
I
did
credit
with
the
possession
of
a
head
upon
her
shoulders
,
and
now
here
she
is
wantonly
laying
herself
up
!
"
"
You
talk
as
if
she
did
it
on
purpose
,
father
,
"
says
Cecilia
,
with
an
indignant
laugh
—
"
as
if
she
enjoyed
it
.
I
do
not
think
that
anyone
,
even
Sybilla
"
—
with
a
resentful
side-glance
at
the
sofa
—
"
could
enjoy
having
her
teeth
chattering
with
cold
,
her
head
as
heavy
as
lead
,
and
her
knees
knocking
together
under
her
.
"
"
Good
heavens
!
"
cries
Jim
,
his
bewildered
surprise
swallowed
up
in
genuine
alarm
;
"
you
do
not
mean
to
say
that
she
is
as
bad
as
that
?
"
Sybilla
laughs
,
and
even
in
the
midst
of
his
real
anxiety
,
Burgoyne
has
time
for
the
reflection
that
the
Wilson
family
seem
this
morning
to
have
se
donné
le
mot
to
show
in
how
many
different
styles
it
is
possible
to
be
merry
without
the
least
tinge
of
genuine
mirth
in
any
.
"
My
dear
Jim
,
have
not
you
known
Cis
long
enough
not
to
take
her
au
pied
de
la
lettre
?
Do
not
you
know
of
old
what
a
magnificent
colourist
she
is
?
—
a
perfect
Tintoret
!
Of
course
Amelia
is
not
quite
the
thing
,
poor
dear
—
she
has
no
one
but
herself
to
blame
for
that
!
—
but
equally
of
course
,
to
a
colossally
healthy
person
such
as
she
,
any
little
ailment
appears
a
mountain
.
"
This
speech
is
uttered
with
the
accent
of
such
entire
conviction
that
it
ought
to
carry
reassurance
into
the
heart
of
the
person
to
whom
it
is
addressed
.
Sybilla
really
and
honestly
disbelieves
in
the
reality
of
any
claims
but
her
own
to
sincere
sickness
.
But
Jim
unreasonably
neither
is
nor
feigns
to
be
reassured
.
"
You
have
had
advice
for
her
?
You
have
sent
for
Dr.
Coldstream
?
"
he
asks
rapidly
of
the
two
sound
members
of
the
family
,
turning
his
back
unceremoniously
upon
the
invalid
.
"
I
was
going
to
send
for
him
at
once
,
"
answers
Cecilia
,
her
own
latent
anxiety
quickened
by
the
evident
alarm
of
her
interlocutor
,
"
but
Sybilla
said
it
was
needless
,
as
in
any
case
he
was
coming
to
see
her
this
afternoon
.
"
"
I
think
he
wishes
to
change
my
medicine
,
"
puts
in
Sybilla
in
a
piano
voice
,
that
shows
an
evident
desire
to
assert
her
threatened
position
of
prime
and
only
genuine
invalid
,
a
sort
of
"
beware
of
imitations
"
tone
;
"
he
is
not
quite
satisfied
with
the
effect
of
the
last
,
I
think
;
it
has
not
brought
up
the
pulse
and
quickened
the
appetite
in
the
way
he
hoped
.
I
thought
that
he
might
run
up
and
look
at
Amelia
at
the
end
of
his
visit
to
me
.
"
"
And
is
it
possible
,
"
inquires
Jim
,
with
some
heat
,
"
that
you
are
going
to
let
half
a
day
go
by
without
doing
anything
for
her
?
I
suppose
you
have
not
exaggerated
,
have
you
?
"
turning
with
an
earnest
appeal
in
his
eyes
to
Cecilia
;
"
but
in
any
case
I
am
very
sure
that
nothing
short
of
being
really
and
gravely
ill
would
have
kept
her
in
bed
—
she
who
is
always
waiting
hand
and
foot
upon
us
all
,
whom
we
all
allow
to
spend
her
life
in
hewing
wood
and
drawing
water
for
us
.
"
"
Send
for
Dr.
Coldstream
at
once
,
"
says
Mr.
Wilson
irritably
;
"
at
once
,
I
tell
you
;
he
is
so
very
seldom
out
of
the
house
that
I
have
often
thought
of
suggesting
to
him
to
take
a
room
here
;
and
now
,
on
the
only
occasion
on
which
he
is
really
needed
,
he
is
not
at
hand
.
"
"
If
you
will
write
the
note
,
"
says
Jim
,
a
shade
relieved
at
having
at
last
succeeded
in
rousing
Amelia
's
relations
to
prompt
action
,
and
feeling
a
feverish
desire
to
be
doing
something
,
"
I
will
take
it
at
once
;
it
will
be
the
quickest
way
;
I
may
catch
him
before
he
goes
out
and
bring
him
back
with
me
.
"
"
Do
you
really
think
it
is
necessary
?
"
asks
Sybilla
,
as
Jim
hustles
Cecilia
to
her
writing-table
,
and
stands
,
nervously
fidgeting
beside
her
as
she
writes
;
"
do
you
think
,
if
it
is
only
a
common
cold
,
as
I
suspect
,
that
it
is
quite
fair
to
worry
a
man
who
is
so
run
off
his
legs
already
?
He
will
probably
laugh
in
your
face
;
still
,
if
you
are
so
set
upon
it
,
it
is
perhaps
more
satisfactory
.
"
"
You
need
not
go
into
details
—
just
a
line
—
make
haste
!
"
cries
Jim
,
hanging
tiresomely
over
Cecilia
,
rather
impeding
her
than
the
reverse
by
his
impatience
,
and
leaving
entirely
unnoticed
Sybilla
's
observation
,
which
indeed
has
been
uttered
more
to
preserve
her
own
self-respect
than
with
much
hope
that
in
the
present
wrong-headed
state
of
mind
of
her
family
any
member
will
pay
much
heed
to
it
.
In
five
minutes
more
,
Jim
,
with
Cecilia
's
note
in
his
pocket
,
is
being
borne
rapidly
in
a
fiacre
through
the
sweet
,
gay
streets
.
But
,
drive
as
rapidly
as
he
may
,
he
is
not
quick
enough
to
intercept
the
popular
English
doctor
,
who
,
although
,
as
his
servant
tantalizingly
informs
Jim
,
he
is
almost
always
at
home
at
that
hour
,
has
,
on
this
occasion
,
been
sent
for
to
an
urgent
case
of
sudden
illness
out
of
Florence
,
at
the
village
of
Peretola
.
Jim
has
to
content
himself
with
the
assurance
that
immediately
on
his
return
the
note
will
be
given
him
;
and
with
this
unsatisfactory
intelligence
Mr.
Burgoyne
reappears
at
the
Anglo-Américain
.
He
finds
the
three
persons
whom
he
had
left
much
as
he
had
quitted
them
—
uneasy
,
cross
,
and
unemployed
.
"
It
is
all
the
fault
of
that
odious
expedition
yesterday
,
"
says
Cecilia
,
harking
back
to
her
old
cry
.
"
Why
we
set
out
at
all
,
I
ca
n't
imagine
;
on
such
a
day
,
it
was
madness
,
and
—
—
"
"
It
is
not
much
use
thinking
of
that
now
,
"
interrupts
Burgoyne
impatiently
,
and
wincing
at
these
philippics
against
his
poor
bride
's
miserable
treat
as
if
they
had
been
directed
against
herself
.
"
Well
,
it
is
an
ill-wind
that
blows
nobody
any
good
,
"
pursues
the
young
lady
.
"
I
suppose
that
two
of
us
enjoyed
it
enough
to
make
up
for
the
wretchedness
of
the
other
four
.
"
Her
large
prominent
eyes
are
fixed
upon
Jim
as
she
speaks
with
a
sort
of
knowingness
overlying
their
former
lugubrious
expression
.
"
Do
you
mean
Mr.
Byng
and
Miss
Le
Marchant
?
"
inquires
he
,
pronouncing
both
names
with
a
laboured
distinctness
,
while
his
voice
sounds
to
himself
loud
and
wooden
.
"
You
are
perfectly
right
in
your
conjecture
;
no
doubt
they
enjoyed
themselves
.
Byng
wished
me
to
tell
you
that
they
are
engaged
to
be
married
.
"
If
the
essence
of
a
good
piece
of
news
is
to
surprise
,
Jim
can
certainly
not
flatter
himself
that
his
comes
under
that
head
.
"
It
did
not
require
a
conjurer
to
prophesy
that
,
"
is
Cecilia
's
comment
.
"
I
never
saw
two
people
who
troubled
themselves
less
to
disguise
their
feelings
.
I
saw
that
they
neither
of
them
knew
whether
they
were
on
their
heads
or
on
their
heels
,
when
they
emerged
dripping
from
that
horrid
pine
wood
.
Dear
me
!
"
—
with
a
good-sized
sigh
—
"
how
smoothly
things
run
for
some
people
!
how
easily
some
of
these
affairs
come
off
,
without
a
hitch
anywhere
from
beginning
to
end
!
"
She
pauses
,
and
it
is
plain
to
those
acquainted
with
her
heart
history
that
her
thoughts
are
coursing
mournfully
back
to
the
all-along
reluctant
and
ultimately
entirely
faithless
clergyman
who
had
last
possessed
her
young
affections
.
"
Without
a
hitch
from
beginning
to
end
?
"
cries
Jim
hotly
,
jarred
more
than
he
would
like
to
own
to
himself
by
this
phrase
.
"
How
can
you
possibly
tell
?
These
are
early
days
to
assert
that
so
dogmatically
.
"
'
There
's
many
a
slip
'
Twixt
the
cup
and
the
lip
.
'
"
"
Do
you
mean
to
say
that
you
think
it
will
not
come
off
?
"
asks
Cecilia
,
a
slightly
pleasurable
light
coming
into
her
eyes
as
she
asks
—
not
that
she
has
any
ill-will
towards
Elizabeth
,
nor
any
distinct
design
of
her
own
upon
Byng
;
but
that
there
is
something
not
absolutely
disagreeable
to
her
in
the
idea
of
his
being
still
among
the
ranks
of
the
possible
.
"
I
am
sure
he
would
make
a
delightful
husband
,
"
puts
in
Sybilla
,
her
praise
given
emphasis
by
her
desire
to
employ
it
as
a
weapon
of
offence
against
one
who
is
at
present
more
deeply
than
usual
in
her
black
books
;
"
he
has
such
gentle
,
feminine
ways
;
he
comes
into
a
room
so
quietly
,
and
when
he
asks
one
how
one
is
really
listens
for
the
answer
.
"
"
Perhaps
you
are
right
,
and
it
will
fall
through
,
"
says
Cecilia
thoughtfully
;
"
many
engagements
do
!
"
(
sighing
again
)
.
"
She
is
a
sweet
,
pretty
creature
,
and
looks
as
if
butter
would
not
melt
in
her
mouth
;
but
she
is
evidently
older
than
he
.
"
"
Jim
will
not
allow
that
to
be
an
objection
,
"
cries
Sybilla
,
with
a
faint
laugh
,
"
will
you
,
Jim
?
How
much
older
than
you
is
Amelia
?
I
always
forget
.
"
"
I
never
can
help
thinking
that
she
has
a
history
,
"
resumes
Cecilia
,
in
a
meditative
voice
,
"
and
that
Mr.
Greenock
knows
it
.
If
ever
her
name
is
mentioned
he
always
begins
to
look
wise
,
as
if
there
were
something
that
he
was
longing
to
tell
one
about
her
;
it
is
continually
on
the
tip
of
his
tongue
—
some
day
it
will
tumble
over
the
tip
.
"
"
I
do
not
think
that
there
is
any
use
in
my
staying
all
this
while
!
"
cries
Jim
,
jumping
up
.
"
Dr.
Coldstream
cannot
be
here
at
soonest
for
another
hour
;
and
I
do
not
think
that
we
are
,
any
of
us
,
very
good
company
for
each
other
to-day
,
so
I
will
look
in
again
later
.
"
He
is
out
of
the
room
and
out
of
the
hotel
before
his
companions
can
take
exception
to
his
disappearance
.
For
some
time
he
walks
along
aimlessly
,
his
mind
a
jumble
of
misery
,
and
dull
,
remorseful
anxiety
about
Amelia
;
intolerable
comparisons
between
his
own
lot
and
his
friend
's
;
sharp
knives
of
jealousy
as
often
as
—
which
is
almost
unintermittently
—
his
imagination
wings
its
cruel
way
to
the
Piazza
d'Azeglio
—
through
one
opulent
week
,
his
Piazza
.
At
this
moment
—
this
moment
,
while
his
own
leaden
feet
are
treading
goalless
the
hot
flags
that
for
him
lead
nowhere
—
Byng
is
enthroned
with
her
in
the
heaven
of
the
mean
little
salon
.
He
unconsciously
shows
his
teeth
in
a
stern
smile
to
the
surprised
passers-by
.
He
had
jeered
Byng
for
his
hyperboles
,
and
now
he
is
out-hyperboling
him
.
What
a
detestable
verb
he
has
invented
!
He
laughs
out
loud
.
Are
they
sitting
at
the
window
,
looking
out
at
the
judas
tree
and
the
Paulownia
?
Not
they
!
The
window
is
commanded
to
a
certain
extent
by
the
roadway
.
The
window
is
for
acquaintances
,
banal
acquaintances
,
like
himself
—
no
place
for
the
permitted
freedoms
of
exquisite
new
love
.
Are
they
then
on
the
sofa
,
the
vulgar
walnut
sofa
,
over
which
Elizabeth
has
thrown
her
blue
Neapolitan
tablecloth
?
It
is
a
little
sofa
,
scarcely
room
for
two
upon
it
,
but
,
oh
!
plenty
of
room
for
them
!
Or
are
they
at
the
piano
?
Is
she
singing
him
some
sugared
ditty
"
lovely
well
"
until
he
breaks
into
her
song
with
the
storm
of
his
kisses
,
and
her
little
white
hands
drop
from
the
keys
,
and
they
lie
sobbing
with
ecstasy
in
each
other
's
arms
?
It
is
quite
certain
that
Byng
will
sob
.
He
is
always
delighted
at
having
an
opportunity
for
turning
on
the
water-works
.
Is
there
a
bare
possibility
that
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
may
carry
her
disapprobation
to
the
pitch
of
impeding
by
her
presence
their
tête-à-tête
?
The
idea
gives
him
a
momentary
alleviation
.
Why
should
not
he
go
and
see
for
himself
whether
it
is
so
?
It
will
be
a
method
of
passing
the
tedious
interval
before
he
can
hear
the
doctor
's
verdict
on
Amelia
.
He
must
at
some
time
or
other
comply
with
Byng
's
pressing
prayer
to
him
to
offer
his
congratulations
to
Elizabeth
,
and
he
may
as
well
have
a
day
of
complete
and
perfect
pain
—
pain
of
various
flavours
and
essences
mixed
into
one
consummate
draught
—
a
day
of
which
not
one
hour
shall
be
without
its
ache
.
Having
come
to
this
conclusion
,
his
aimless
walk
quickens
,
and
changes
into
a
purposeful
striding
through
streets
and
Piazzas
,
till
he
finds
himself
standing
at
the
door
of
12
a
.
He
looks
up
at
the
entresol
windows
—
they
are
all
open
,
but
no
one
is
either
sitting
in
or
looking
out
at
them
.
It
is
as
he
had
thought
.
The
window
is
too
public
for
them
;
neither
can
they
be
at
the
piano
,
for
not
a
sound
of
either
voice
or
instrument
is
wafted
down
to
him
.
He
runs
up
the
stone
stairs
,
and
rings
the
electric
bell
.
The
standing
before
the
unopened
portal
,
and
the
trembling
jar
of
the
bell
,
bring
back
to
him
,
with
a
vividness
he
could
do
without
,
those
other
long-ago
days
—
they
seem
to
him
long
ago
—
when
he
stood
there
last
,
with
no
easy
heart
even
then
,
but
yet
with
how
different
anticipations
.
He
has
found
it
hard
enough
to
bear
the
brunt
of
Byng
's
furious
inhuman
joy
when
alone
with
him
.
How
will
he
stand
it
when
he
sees
them
together
?
He
is
recalled
from
these
reflections
by
the
opening
of
the
door
,
and
the
appearance
in
it
of
the
ministering
angel
who
has
usually
admitted
him
into
his
Eden
—
Annunziata
.
It
strikes
him
that
Annunziata
looks
older
and
more
dishevelled
than
ever
,
and
is
without
that
benevolent
smile
of
welcoming
radiance
which
her
hard-featured
face
generally
wears
.
Nor
does
she
,
as
has
been
her
wont
,
stand
back
to
let
him
pass
in
almost
before
he
has
put
his
question
,
as
if
she
could
not
admit
him
quickly
enough
.
But
to-day
she
stands
,
on
the
contrary
,
in
the
doorway
without
a
smile
.
In
a
second
the
idea
flashes
across
Jim
's
mind
that
Byng
has
forbidden
anyone
to
be
let
in
.
It
turns
him
half
sick
for
the
moment
,
and
it
is
with
an
unsteady
voice
that
he
stammers
:
"
The
Signora
?
The
Signorina
?
"
Annunziata
lifts
her
shoulders
in
a
dismal
shrug
,
and
stretches
out
her
hands
:
"
Gone
!
"
"
Gone
?
You
mean
gone
out
driving
?
"
Then
remembering
that
her
English
is
as
minus
a
quantity
as
his
Italian
,
he
adds
in
eager
explanation
,
"
En
fiacre
?
"
She
shakes
her
head
,
and
then
nods
vaguely
in
the
direction
of
the
whole
of
the
rest
of
the
world
—
the
whole
,
that
is
,
that
is
not
12
bis
.
"
No
,
gone
!
"
"
But
where
?
Dove
?
"
cries
he
,
frantic
with
irritation
at
his
own
powerlessness
either
to
understand
or
be
understood
.
Again
she
shakes
her
head
.
"
I
do
not
know
;
they
did
not
say
.
"
He
gathers
this
to
be
her
meaning
,
and
hurriedly
puts
another
query
.
"
When
?
Quando
?
"
But
her
answer
being
longer
and
more
voluble
,
he
ca
n't
take
in
its
drift
,
seeing
which
she
retreats
a
step
,
and
,
motioning
him
with
her
hand
to
enter
,
points
down
the
passage
.
He
does
not
require
to
have
the
dumb-show
of
invitation
twice
repeated
,
but
,
rushing
past
her
,
hurries
down
the
well-known
little
corridor
to
the
salon
door
.
It
is
open
,
and
he
stands
within
.
At
the
first
glance
it
seems
to
him
to
wear
much
its
usual
air
.
There
is
even
a
score
of
music
standing
on
the
piano
,
the
copper
pots
are
full
of
rose-branches
,
and
the
scaldini
brimming
with
Firenze
's
own
lilies
,
the
bit
of
red
Venetian
brocade
,
with
the
little
old
tinsel
fringe
,
still
hangs
over
the
arm-chair
by
the
fireplace
,
and
the
blue
Neapolitan
table-cover
still
disguises
the
vulgarity
of
the
sofa
.
He
has
misunderstood
Annunziata
—
it
is
really
monstrous
to
be
so
helplessly
ignorant
of
the
language
of
the
country
you
are
living
in
—
or
she
has
lost
her
wits
,
or
—
—
He
had
thought
the
room
empty
,
but
as
he
advances
a
step
further
into
it
,
he
discovers
that
he
is
not
the
sole
occupant
:
that
lying
stretched
upon
the
floor
,
with
his
fair
head
buried
in
a
little
pillow
,
against
which
both
men
have
often
seen
Elizabeth
's
small
white
cheek
resting
,
is
Byng
!
—
the
Byng
whose
riotous
,
insolent
happiness
he
had
doubted
his
own
powers
of
witnessing
without
murdering
him
!
—
the
splendid
felicity
of
whose
lot
he
has
been
so
bitterly
laying
beside
his
own
destiny
—
the
Byng
whom
he
had
been
gnashing
his
teeth
at
the
thought
of
—
at
the
thought
of
him
lying
in
Elizabeth
's
arms
!
CHAPTER
XXVI
.
"
Cressid
,
I
love
thee
in
so
strained
a
purity
,
That
the
blest
gods
—
as
angry
at
my
fancy
,
More
bright
in
zeal
than
the
devotion
which
Cold
lips
blow
to
their
deities
—
take
thee
from
me
.
"
"
What
does
this
mean
?
"
The
question
has
to
be
twice
repeated
before
the
person
to
whom
it
is
addressed
gives
any
sign
of
having
heard
it
.
His
ears
must
be
so
deeply
embedded
in
the
pillow
that
the
passage
to
his
hearing
is
blocked
.
It
is
not
till
the
interrogation
is
put
a
second
time
,
in
a
louder
key
,
and
accompanied
by
a
not
very
gentle
shake
of
the
shoulder
,
that
he
at
length
looks
up
,
and
reveals
what
Jim
knows
to
be
,
and
yet
has
some
difficulty
in
recognising
,
as
the
features
of
Byng
—
features
so
altered
,
so
distorted
,
so
swollen
by
excessive
weeping
,
that
no
one
less
intimately
acquainted
with
them
than
the
person
who
has
been
already
contemplating
them
,
under
the
influence
of
a
variety
of
circumstances
for
a
couple
of
months
,
could
possibly
put
the
owner
's
name
to
them
.
Jim
has
expected
that
his
young
friend
would
spend
some
portion
of
this
day
in
crying
,
knowing
well
both
his
powers
of
,
and
his
taste
for
,
"
turning
on
the
water-works
,
"
as
he
but
lately
cruelly
and
uncivilly
phrased
it
to
his
own
mind
.
But
the
warm
tears
of
emotion
,
few
and
undisfiguring
,
with
which
he
had
credited
him
,
have
not
much
kinship
with
the
scalding
torrents
that
have
made
his
handsome
young
eyes
mere
red
blurs
on
his
ashen
face
,
that
have
furrowed
his
cheeks
,
and
damped
his
disordered
curls
,
and
taken
all
the
starch
out
of
his
immaculate
"
masher
"
collar
.
They
have
wetted
,
too
,
into
a
state
of
almost
pulp
,
a
crumpled
sheet
of
note-paper
,
which
his
head
seems
to
have
been
burrowing
in
,
upon
the
pillow
.
"
What
does
it
mean
?
"
repeats
Burgoyne
,
for
the
third
time
,
a
hideous
fear
assailing
him
,
at
the
sight
of
the
young
man
's
anguish
,
that
he
himself
may
have
mistaken
Annunziata
's
meaning
;
that
her
"
gone
"
may
have
stood
for
the
final
one
;
that
some
instant
stroke
may
have
snatched
lovely
Elizabeth
away
,
out
of
the
world
.
Surely
no
catastrophe
less
than
death
can
account
for
such
a
metamorphosis
as
that
wrought
in
Byng
.
"
Why
do
you
look
like
that
?
"
he
goes
on
,
his
voice
taking
that
accent
of
rage
which
extreme
fear
sometimes
gives
.
"
Why
do
not
you
speak
?
"
The
other
,
thus
adjured
,
plainly
makes
a
violent
effort
for
articulation
;
but
his
dry
throat
will
let
pass
nothing
but
a
senseless
sob
.
"
What
does
that
paper
mean
?
"
goes
on
Burgoyne
,
realizing
the
impotence
of
his
friend
to
obey
his
behest
,
and
rendered
doubly
terrified
by
it
;
"
what
is
it
?
what
does
it
say
?
Does
it
—
does
it
—
explain
anything
?
"
He
points
as
he
speaks
to
the
blurred
and
rumpled
billet
,
and
Byng
catches
it
up
convulsively
,
and
thrusts
it
into
his
hand
.
"
It
is
the
first
letter
I
ever
had
from
her
,
"
he
says
,
the
words
rushing
out
broken
and
scarcely
intelligible
upon
a
storm
of
sobs
,
and
so
flings
his
head
violently
down
upon
the
floor
again
in
a
new
access
of
furious
weeping
.
Burgoyne
holds
the
paper
in
his
fingers
,
but
for
a
moment
or
two
he
is
unable
to
read
it
.
There
is
an
ugly
swimming
before
his
eyes
for
one
thing
;
for
another
,
Byng
's
treatment
has
not
improved
it
as
a
specimen
of
caligraphy
;
but
it
never
in
its
best
days
could
have
been
a
very
legible
document
.
And
yet
it
is
not
long
.
Its
few
words
,
when
at
length
he
makes
them
out
,
ran
thus
:
"
Good-bye
,
I
was
mad
yesterday
.
I
shall
never
marry
you
;
I
have
no
right
to
marry
anyone
.
For
God
's
sake
do
not
ask
me
what
I
mean
;
and
oh
!
do
n't
,
do
n't
,
DO
N'T
come
after
me
!
"
There
is
neither
date
nor
signature
.
As
Jim
stands
staring
at
the
five
crooked
,
straggling
sentences
,
a
great
swelling
compassion
fills
his
heart
.
Did
ever
poor
little
scribble
make
it
so
easy
to
construct
the
small
shaking
hand
,
and
the
tender
breaking
heart
that
penned
it
?
An
immense
pity
fills
his
soul
;
yet
does
it
quite
fill
it
?
Is
there
room
besides
,
in
one
corner
,
for
a
small
pinch
of
devilish
joy
?
"
There
's
many
a
slip
'
Twixt
the
cup
and
the
lip
.
"
His
own
words
of
ill-natured
croaking
,
uttered
not
an
hour
ago
,
to
Cecilia
Wilson
,
recur
to
his
mind
.
How
little
he
thought
that
that
prophecy
would
so
soon
be
fulfilled
!
He
remains
so
long
motionless
and
silent
,
his
fingers
still
holding
the
paper
,
whose
contents
he
has
long
ago
mastered
,
that
Byng
—
the
violence
of
his
paroxysm
of
grief
at
length
exhausted
—
struggles
to
his
feet
and
speaks
—
speaks
as
well
as
the
catch
in
his
sobbing
breath
and
his
quivering
lips
will
let
him
.
"
It
is
not
her
doing
!
You
may
think
it
is
her
doing
,
but
I
know
it
is
not
!
I
know
her
better
than
you
do
.
"
"
I
never
made
any
pretensions
to
knowing
her
well
,
"
replies
the
other
sadly
,
and
relinquishing
as
he
speaks
the
note
to
its
owner
.
"
Is
it
likely
,
I
ask
you
?
"
cries
Byng
excitedly
.
"
I
put
it
to
you
fairly
:
is
it
likely
that
she
,
with
her
seraph
nature
,
all
love
and
burning
,
she
that
is
tender
over
drowning
flies
,
would
have
put
me
to
this
horrible
pain
?
—
O
God
,
you
do
not
know
what
pain
it
is
"
[
"
Do
not
I
?
"
aside
]
—
"
of
her
own
free
will
?
"
"
I
do
not
know
;
as
you
say
,
I
do
not
know
her
well
.
"
"
'
Then
tell
,
oh
tell
!
how
thou
didst
murder
me
?
'
"
says
Byng
,
beginning
to
walk
up
and
down
the
room
with
the
tears
still
rolling
down
his
cheeks
,
but
in
his
spouting
voice
—
a
voice
which
at
once
assures
Jim
of
an
amelioration
in
his
friend
's
condition
,
and
hardens
his
heart
against
him
.
As
a
broad
rule
,
indeed
,
it
may
be
laid
down
that
that
sorrow
which
courses
through
one
of
the
numberless
channels
cut
by
the
poets
for
it
will
not
bring
its
owner
to
Waterloo
Bridge
.
"
But
what
am
I
saying
?
"
lapsing
out
of
his
quotation
into
broken-hearted
prose
again
.
"
It
was
not
she
!
If
I
thought
it
were
she
,
could
I
live
a
moment
?
It
is
her
mother
;
no
sane
person
can
doubt
that
it
is
her
mother
's
doing
!
She
was
always
so
sweetly
docile
,
and
her
mother
has
conceived
some
prejudice
against
me
.
Did
not
I
tell
you
how
barbarously
she
shut
the
door
upon
me
last
night
?
—
shut
the
door
of
my
heaven
in
my
face
just
as
I
thought
I
had
won
the
right
to
enter
it
.
Who
would
not
have
thought
that
it
was
won
who
had
seen
us
together
in
the
wood
?
"
Jim
writhes
.
"
Oh
,
never
mind
the
wood
now
!
"
"
Someone
has
prejudiced
her
against
me
,
but
who
?
I
did
not
know
that
I
had
an
enemy
in
the
world
.
Someone
has
told
her
about
—
about
Oxford
—
about
my
being
sent
down
.
"
Jim
is
silent
.
"
If
it
is
only
that
—
—
"
a
tearful
buoyancy
beginning
to
pierce
through
his
despair
.
"
It
is
not
that
.
"
"
Someone
has
put
a
spoke
in
my
wheel
;
but
who
?
You
are
the
only
person
who
could
,
and
you
,
dear
old
chap
,
are
the
last
person
who
would
,
though
you
were
not
very
encouraging
to
me
last
night
!
You
did
not
?
"
There
is
so
direct
an
interrogation
in
the
last
words
,
accompanied
by
so
confiding
a
look
of
affection
,
that
yet
has
an
uneasy
touch
of
doubt
in
it
,
that
Jim
is
obliged
to
answer
.
"
No
,
I
did
not
put
a
spoke
in
your
wheel
;
but
"
—
his
honesty
forcing
the
admission
—
"
I
am
not
at
all
so
sure
that
I
am
the
last
person
who
would
have
done
so
,
if
I
could
.
"
Byng
has
wiped
his
eyes
to
clear
his
vision
of
the
blinding
tears
,
and
has
again
directed
them
to
the
note
,
which
he
has
all
this
while
been
alternately
pressing
against
his
heart
,
laying
upon
his
forehead
,
and
crushing
against
his
mouth
.
"
It
seems
blasphemy
to
say
so
of
anything
that
came
from
her
hand
,
"
he
says
,
poring
for
the
hundredth
time
over
each
obscure
word
,
"
but
it
reads
like
nonsense
,
does
it
not
?
'
I
shall
never
marry
you
!
I
have
no
right
to
marry
anyone
!
'
No
right
?
what
does
she
mean
?
"
Jim
shakes
his
head
sadly
.
"
How
can
I
tell
?
"
"
Do
you
think
it
is
possible
"
—
lifting
his
disfigured
eyes
in
horrified
appeal
to
his
friend
—
"
it
is
a
dreadful
hypothesis
,
but
I
can
think
of
no
other
—
that
that
bright
intelligence
was
clouded
—
that
—
that
her
dear
little
wits
were
touched
when
she
wrote
this
?
"
"
No
,
I
do
not
think
so
.
"
"
You
—
you
are
not
keeping
anything
from
me
?
"
—
coming
a
step
nearer
,
and
convulsively
clutching
his
friend
's
arm
—
"
you
—
you
do
not
know
anything
—
anything
that
could
throw
light
upon
—
upon
this
?
I
do
not
know
whether
you
are
conscious
of
it
,
but
there
is
something
in
your
manner
that
might
lead
me
to
that
conclusion
.
Do
you
know
—
have
you
heard
anything
?
"
"
I
know
nothing
,
"
replies
Jim
slowly
,
and
looking
uncomfortably
away
from
the
questioner
,
"
but
I
conjecture
,
I
fear
,
I
believe
that
—
that
—
—
"
"
That
what
?
For
God
's
sake
,
be
a
little
quicker
!
"
"
That
—
that
—
there
is
a
—
a
—
something
in
her
past
.
"
Byng
falls
back
a
pace
or
two
,
and
puts
up
his
hand
to
his
head
.
"
What
—
what
do
you
mean
?
What
are
you
talking
about
?
Her
past
?
What
"
—
soaring
into
extravagance
again
—
"
what
can
there
be
written
on
that
white
page
?
—
so
white
that
it
bedazzles
the
eyes
of
even
the
angels
who
read
it
.
"
"
I
do
not
know
what
there
is
,
"
replies
Jim
miserably
,
irritated
almost
beyond
endurance
by
this
poetic
flight
,
and
rendered
even
more
wretched
than
he
was
before
by
the
rôle
that
seems
to
be
forced
upon
him
,
of
conjecturally
blackening
Elizabeth
's
character
.
"
How
many
times
must
I
tell
you
that
I
know
no
more
than
you
,
only
from
—
from
various
indications
I
have
been
led
to
believe
that
she
has
something
—
some
great
sorrow
behind
her
?
"
There
is
a
silence
,
and
when
it
is
broken
it
is
infringed
by
what
is
not
much
more
than
a
whisper
.
"
What
—
what
do
you
mean
;
what
—
what
sort
of
a
sorrow
?
"
"
I
tell
you
,
I
do
not
know
.
"
Byng
's
tears
have
stopped
flowing
,
and
he
now
lifts
his
eyes
,
full
of
a
madness
of
exaltation
,
to
the
ceiling
.
"
I
will
go
to
her
,
"
he
cries
;
"
if
sorrow
has
the
audacity
to
approach
her
again
,
it
will
have
to
reckon
with
me
.
There
is
no
sorrow
,
none
,
in
the
whole
long
gamut
of
woe
,
for
which
love
such
as
mine
is
not
a
balm
.
Reciprocal
love
!
"
—
trailing
the
words
in
a
sort
of
slow
rapture
—
"
no
one
that
had
seen
her
in
the
wood
could
have
doubted
that
it
was
reciprocal
.
"
"
No
doubt
,
no
doubt
.
"
"
I
will
go
to
her
!
"
—
clasping
his
hands
high
in
the
air
—
"
I
will
pour
the
oil
and
spikenard
of
my
adoration
into
her
gaping
wounds
!
I
will
kiss
the
rifts
together
,
though
they
yawn
as
wide
as
hell
—
yes
,
I
will
.
"
"
For
heaven
's
sake
,
do
not
talk
such
dreadful
gibberish
,
"
breaks
in
Jim
,
at
length
at
the
end
of
his
patience
,
which
had
run
quite
to
the
extreme
of
its
tether
indeed
at
the
last
mention
of
that
ever-recurring
wood
.
"
It
is
a
knockdown
blow
for
you
,
I
own
,
and
I
would
do
what
I
could
to
help
you
;
but
if
you
will
keep
on
spouting
and
talking
such
terrible
bosh
—
—
"
"
I
suppose
I
am
making
an
ass
of
myself
,
"
replies
Byng
,
thus
brought
down
with
a
run
from
his
heroics
.
"
I
beg
your
pardon
,
I
am
sure
,
old
man
.
I
have
no
right
to
victimize
you
,
"
his
sweet
nature
asserting
itself
even
at
this
bitter
moment
;
"
but
you
see
it
is
so
horribly
sudden
.
If
you
had
seen
her
when
I
parted
from
her
last
night
at
the
door
!
She
lingered
a
moment
behind
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
—
just
a
moment
,
just
time
enough
to
give
me
one
look
,
one
wordless
look
.
She
did
not
speak
;
she
was
so
divinely
dutiful
and
submissive
that
nothing
would
have
persuaded
her
by
the
lightest
word
to
imply
any
censure
of
her
mother
;
but
she
gave
me
just
a
look
,
which
said
plainly
,
'
It
is
not
my
fault
that
you
are
turned
away
!
I
would
have
welcomed
you
in
!
'
Upon
that
look
I
banqueted
in
heaven
all
night
.
"
He
stops
,
choked
.
"
Well
?
"
"
And
then
this
morning
,
when
I
got
here
—
I
think
I
ran
all
the
way
;
I
am
sure
I
did
,
for
I
saw
people
staring
at
me
as
I
passed
—
to
be
met
by
Annunziata
with
the
news
that
they
were
gone
!
I
did
not
believe
her
;
I
laughed
in
her
face
,
and
then
she
grew
angry
,
and
bid
me
come
in
and
see
for
myself
!
And
I
rushed
past
her
,
in
here
,
with
my
arms
stretched
out
,
confident
that
in
one
short
moment
more
she
would
be
filling
them
,
and
instead
of
her
"
—
dropping
upon
his
knees
by
the
table
with
a
groan
—
"
I
find
this
!
"
—
dashing
the
note
upon
the
floor
—
"
all
that
she
leaves
me
to
fill
my
embrace
instead
of
her
is
this
poor
little
pillow
,
that
still
seems
to
keep
a
faint
trace
of
the
perfume
of
her
delicate
head
!
"
He
buries
his
own
in
it
again
as
he
speaks
,
beginning
afresh
to
sob
loudly
.
Jim
stands
beside
him
,
his
mind
half
full
of
compassion
and
half
of
a
burning
exasperation
,
and
his
body
wholly
rigid
.
"
When
did
they
go
?
at
what
hour
?
last
night
or
this
morning
?
"
"
This
morning
early
,
quite
early
.
"
"
They
have
left
all
their
things
behind
them
"
—
looking
round
at
the
room
,
strewn
with
the
traces
of
recent
and
refined
occupation
.
"
Yes
"
—
lifting
his
wet
face
out
of
his
cushion
—
"
and
at
first
,
seeing
everything
just
as
usual
,
even
to
her
very
workbasket
—
she
has
left
her
very
workbasket
behind
—
I
was
quite
reassured
.
I
felt
certain
that
they
could
have
gone
for
only
a
few
hours
—
for
the
day
perhaps
;
but
—
—
"
He
breaks
off
"
Yes
?
"
"
They
left
word
that
their
things
were
to
be
packed
and
sent
after
them
to
an
address
they
would
give
.
"
"
And
you
do
not
know
where
they
have
gone
?
"
"
I
know
nothing
,
nothing
,
only
that
they
are
gone
.
"
'
Then
tell
,
oh
tell
!
how
thou
didst
murder
me
?
'
Oh
!
oh
!
!
oh
!
!
!
"
"
You
never
heard
them
speak
of
their
plans
,
mention
any
place
they
intended
to
move
to
on
leaving
Florence
?
"
"
Never
!
"
"
It
is
too
late
for
Rome
,
"
says
Jim
musingly
;
"
England
?
I
hardly
think
England
,
"
recalling
Elizabeth
's
forlorn
admission
made
to
him
at
Monte
Senario
,
"
Why
should
we
go
home
?
We
have
nothing
pleasant
to
go
to
.
"
"
I
do
not
think
they
had
any
plans
,
"
says
Byng
,
speaking
in
a
voice
which
is
thick
with
much
weeping
;
"
they
never
seemed
to
me
to
have
any
.
She
was
so
happy
here
,
so
gay
,
there
never
was
anything
more
lovely
than
her
gaiety
,
except
—
except
—
her
tenderness
.
"
"
Yes
,
yes
,
no
doubt
.
Then
you
are
absolutely
without
a
clue
?
"
"
Absolutely
.
"
"
Do
you
mean
to
say
that
up
to
yesterday
—
all
through
yesterday
,
even
—
she
never
gave
you
a
hint
of
any
intention
of
leaving
Florence
?
"
"
Never
,
never
.
On
the
contrary
,
in
the
—
—
"
(
he
is
going
to
say
"
the
wood
,
"
but
thinks
better
of
it
)
,
"
we
were
planning
many
more
such
expeditions
as
yesterday
's
.
At
least
,
I
was
planning
them
.
"
"
And
she
assented
?
"
"
She
did
not
dis
sent
.
She
met
me
with
a
look
of
divine
acquiescence
.
"
Jim
turns
away
his
head
.
He
is
involuntarily
picturing
to
himself
what
that
look
was
like
,
and
with
what
sweet
dumb-show
it
was
accompanied
.
"
What
powers
of
hell
"
—
banging
his
head
down
upon
the
table
again
—
"
could
have
wrought
such
a
hideous
change
in
so
few
hours
?
Only
ten
!
for
it
was
eight
in
the
evening
before
I
left
them
,
and
they
were
off
at
six
this
morning
.
They
could
have
seen
no
one
;
they
had
received
no
letters
,
no
telegrams
,
for
I
inquired
of
Annunziata
,
and
she
assured
me
that
they
had
not
.
Oh
no
!
"
—
lifting
his
face
with
a
gleam
of
moist
hope
upon
it
—
"
there
is
only
one
tenable
hypothesis
about
it
—
it
is
not
her
doing
at
all
.
She
wrote
this
under
pressure
.
It
is
her
handwriting
,
is
it
not
?
—
though
I
would
not
swear
even
to
that
.
I
—
I
have
played
the
mischief
with
my
eyes
"
—
pulling
out
his
drenched
pocket-handkerchief
,
and
hastily
wiping
them
—
"
so
that
I
cannot
see
properly
;
but
it
is
hers
,
is
not
it
?
"
"
I
do
not
know
;
I
never
saw
her
handwriting
;
she
never
wrote
to
me
.
"
"
It
was
evidently
dictated
to
her
,
"
cries
Byng
,
his
sanguine
nature
taking
an
upward
spring
again
;
"
there
are
clear
traces
,
even
in
the
very
way
the
letters
are
formed
,
of
its
being
written
to
order
reluctantly
.
She
did
it
under
protest
.
See
how
her
poor
little
hand
was
shaking
,
and
she
was
crying
all
the
while
,
bless
her
!
There
,
do
not
you
see
a
blister
on
the
paper
—
here
on
this
side
?
"
Burgoyne
does
not
see
any
blister
,
but
as
he
thinks
it
extremely
probable
that
there
was
one
,
he
does
not
think
himself
called
upon
to
wound
his
friend
by
saying
so
.
"
I
declare
I
think
we
have
got
hold
of
the
right
clue
at
last
,
"
cries
Byng
,
his
dimmed
eyes
emitting
such
a
flash
as
would
have
seemed
impossible
to
them
five
minutes
ago
.
"
Read
in
this
light
,
it
is
not
nearly
so
incomprehensible
:
'
I
shall
never
marry
you
,
I
have
no
right
to
marry
anyone
.
'
Of
course
,
I
see
now
!
What
an
ass
I
was
not
to
see
it
at
once
!
What
she
means
is
that
she
has
no
right
to
leave
her
mother
!
To
anyone
who
knew
her
lofty
sense
of
duty
as
well
as
I
ought
to
have
done
it
is
quite
obvious
that
that
is
what
she
means
.
Is
not
it
quite
obvious
?
is
not
it
as
clear
as
the
sun
in
heaven
?
"
Jim
shakes
his
head
.
"
I
am
afraid
that
it
is
rather
a
forced
interpretation
.
"
"
I
do
not
agree
with
you
,
"
rejoins
the
other
hotly
;
"
I
see
nothing
forced
about
it
.
You
do
not
know
as
well
as
I
do
—
how
should
you
?
—
her
power
of
delicate
,
self-sacrificing
devotion
.
It
is
overstrained
,
I
grant
you
;
but
there
it
is
—
she
thinks
she
has
no
right
to
leave
her
mother
now
that
she
is
all
alone
.
"
"
She
is
not
alone
;
she
has
her
husband
.
"
"
I
mean
now
that
all
her
other
children
are
married
and
scattered
.
There
are
plenty
more
—
are
not
there
?
—
though
I
never
could
get
her
to
talk
about
them
.
"
"
There
are
two
sisters
and
two
brothers
.
"
"
But
they
are
no
longer
any
good
to
their
mother
,
"
persists
Byng
,
clinging
to
his
theory
with
all
the
greater
tenacity
as
he
sees
that
it
meets
with
no
very
great
acceptance
in
his
friend
's
eyes
;
"
as
far
as
she
is
concerned
they
are
non-existent
.
"
"
I
do
not
know
what
right
you
have
to
say
that
.
"
"
And
so
she
,
with
her
lofty
idea
of
self-sacrifice
,
immolates
her
own
happiness
on
the
altar
of
her
filial
affection
.
It
is
just
like
her
!
"
—
going
off
into
a
sort
of
rapture
—
"
blind
mole
that
I
was
not
to
divine
the
motive
,
which
her
ineffable
delicacy
forbade
her
to
put
into
words
.
She
thought
she
had
a
right
to
think
that
I
should
have
comprehended
her
without
words
!
"
He
has
talked
himself
into
a
condition
of
such
exalted
confidence
before
he
reaches
the
end
of
this
sentence
that
Jim
is
conscious
of
a
certain
brutality
in
applying
to
him
the
douche
contained
in
his
next
words
.
"
I
do
not
know
why
you
should
credit
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
with
such
colossal
selfishness
;
she
never
used
to
be
a
selfish
woman
.
"
But
Burgoyne
's
cold
shower-bath
does
not
appear
even
to
damp
the
shoulders
for
which
it
is
intended
.
"
'
Since
you
left
me
,
taking
no
farewell
,
'
"
murmurs
Byng
,
beginning
again
to
tramp
up
and
down
the
little
room
,
with
head
thrown
back
and
clasped
hands
high
lifted
;
and
in
his
rapt
poet
voice
:
"
'
Since
you
left
me
,
taking
no
farewell
,
'
I
must
follow
you
,
sweet
!
Despite
your
prohibition
,
I
must
follow
you
.
"
'
We
two
that
with
so
many
thousand
sighs
,
Did
buy
each
other
.
'
"
Then
,
coming
abruptly
down
to
prose
—
"
Though
they
left
no
address
,
it
will
of
course
be
possible
,
easy
,
to
trace
them
.
I
will
go
to
the
station
and
make
inquiries
.
They
will
have
been
seen
.
It
is
out
of
the
question
that
she
can
have
passed
unnoticed
!
No
eye
that
has
once
been
enriched
by
the
sight
of
her
can
have
forgotten
that
heavenly
vision
.
I
will
telegraph
to
Bologna
,
to
Milan
,
to
Venice
.
Before
night
I
shall
have
learnt
her
whereabouts
.
I
shall
be
in
the
train
,
following
her
track
.
I
shall
be
less
than
a
day
behind
her
.
I
shall
fall
at
her
feet
,
I
shall
—
—
"
"
You
are
talking
nonsense
,
"
answers
Burgoyne
impatiently
;
and
yet
with
a
distinct
shade
of
pity
in
his
voice
;
"
you
cannot
do
anything
of
the
kind
.
When
the
poor
woman
has
given
so
very
unequivocal
a
proof
of
her
wish
to
avoid
you
,
as
is
implied
in
leaving
the
place
at
a
moment
's
notice
,
without
giving
herself
even
time
to
pack
her
clothes
,
it
is
impossible
that
you
can
force
your
company
again
upon
her
—
it
would
be
persecution
.
"
"
And
do
you
mean
to
tell
me
,
"
asks
Byng
slowly
,
and
breathing
hard
,
while
the
fanatical
light
dies
out
of
his
face
,
and
leaves
it
chalk
white
;
"
do
you
mean
to
say
that
I
am
to
acquiesce
,
to
sit
down
with
my
hands
before
me
,
and
submit
without
a
struggle
to
the
loss
of
—
—
O
my
God
"
—
breaking
out
into
an
exceeding
bitter
cry
—
"
why
did
you
make
me
"
'
so
rich
in
having
such
a
jewel
,
As
twenty
seas
,
if
all
their
sands
were
pearl
,
The
water
nectar
,
and
the
rocks
pure
gold
,
'
if
it
were
only
to
rob
me
of
her
?
"
"
I
do
not
see
what
other
course
is
open
to
you
,
"
replies
Jim
,
answering
only
the
first
part
of
the
young
sufferer
's
appeal
,
and
ignoring
the
rhetoric
,
terribly
genuine
as
is
the
feeling
of
which
it
is
the
florid
expression
.
"
It
is
evident
that
she
has
some
cogent
reasons
—
or
at
least
that
appear
cogent
to
her
—
for
breaking
off
her
relations
with
you
.
"
"
What
cogent
reasons
can
she
have
that
she
had
not
yesterday
?
"
says
Byng
violently
—
"
yesterday
,
when
she
lay
in
my
arms
,
and
her
lips
spoke
their
acquiescence
in
my
worship
—
if
not
in
words
,
yet
oh
,
far
,
far
more
—
—
"
"
Why
do
you
reiterate
these
assertions
?
"
cries
Burgoyne
sternly
,
since
to
him
there
seems
a
certain
indecency
in
—
even
in
the
insanity
of
loss
—
dragging
to
the
eye
of
day
the
record
of
such
sacred
endearments
.
"
I
neither
express
nor
feel
any
doubt
as
to
the
terms
you
were
on
yesterday
;
what
I
maintain
is
that
to-day
—
I
do
not
pretend
to
explain
the
why
—
she
has
changed
her
mind
;
it
is
not
"
—
with
a
sarcasm
,
which
he
himself
at
the
very
moment
of
uttering
it
feels
to
be
cheap
and
unworthy
—
"
it
is
not
the
first
time
in
the
world
's
history
that
such
a
thing
has
happened
.
She
has
changed
her
mind
.
"
"
I
do
not
believe
it
,
"
cries
Byng
,
his
voice
rising
almost
to
a
shout
in
the
energy
of
his
negation
;
"
till
her
own
mouth
tell
me
so
I
will
never
believe
it
.
If
I
thought
for
a
moment
that
it
was
true
I
should
rush
to
death
to
deliver
me
from
the
intolerable
agony
of
such
a
thought
.
You
do
not
believe
it
yourself
"
—
lifting
his
spoilt
sunk
eyes
in
an
appeal
that
is
full
of
pathos
to
his
friend
's
harsh
face
.
"
Think
what
condemnation
it
implies
of
her
—
her
whom
you
always
affected
to
like
,
who
thought
so
greatly
of
you
—
her
whose
old
friend
you
were
—
her
whom
you
knew
in
her
lovely
childhood
!
"
"
You
are
right
,
"
replies
Jim
,
looking
down
,
moved
and
ashamed
;
"
I
do
not
believe
that
she
has
changed
her
mind
.
What
I
do
believe
is
that
yesterday
she
let
herself
go
;
she
gave
way
for
one
day
,
only
for
one
day
,
after
all
,
poor
soul
,
to
that
famine
for
happiness
which
,
I
suppose
"
—
with
a
sigh
and
a
shrug
—
"
gnaws
us
all
now
and
then
—
gave
way
to
it
even
to
the
pitch
of
forgetting
that
—
that
something
in
her
past
of
whose
nature
I
am
as
ignorant
as
you
are
,
which
seems
to
cast
a
blight
over
all
her
life
.
"
He
pauses
;
but
as
his
listener
only
hangs
silently
on
his
utterance
he
goes
on
:
"
After
you
left
her
,
recollection
came
back
to
her
;
and
because
she
could
not
trust
herself
again
with
you
,
probably
for
the
very
reason
that
she
cared
exceedingly
about
you
"
—
steeling
himself
to
make
the
admission
—
"
she
felt
that
there
was
nothing
for
it
but
to
go
.
"
Either
the
increased
kindness
of
his
friend
's
tone
,
or
the
conviction
that
there
is
,
at
least
,
something
of
truth
in
his
explanations
,
lets
loose
again
the
fountain
of
Byng
's
tears
,
and
once
more
he
throws
his
head
down
upon
his
hands
and
cries
extravagantly
.
"
It
is
an
awful
facer
for
you
,
I
know
,
"
says
Burgoyne
,
standing
over
him
,
and
,
though
perfectly
dry-eyed
,
yet
probably
not
very
much
less
miserable
than
the
young
mourner
,
whose
loud
weeping
fills
him
with
an
almost
unbearable
and
yet
compunctious
exasperation
.
"
What
is
he
made
of
?
how
can
he
do
it
?
"
are
the
questions
that
he
keeps
irefully
putting
to
himself
;
and
for
fear
lest
in
an
access
of
uncontrollable
irritation
he
shall
ask
them
out
loud
,
he
moves
to
the
door
.
At
the
slight
noise
he
makes
in
opening
it
Byng
lifts
his
head
.
"
Are
you
going
?
"
"
Yes
;
if
it
is
any
consolation
to
you
,
you
have
not
a
monopoly
of
wretchedness
to-day
.
Things
are
not
looking
very
bright
for
me
either
.
Amelia
is
ill.
"
"
Amelia
,
"
repeats
the
other
,
with
a
hazy
look
,
as
if
not
at
first
able
to
call
to
mind
who
Amelia
is
;
then
,
with
a
return
of
consciousness
,
"
Is
Amelia
ill
?
Oh
poor
Amelia
!
Amelia
was
very
good
to
her
.
Amelia
tried
to
draw
her
out
.
She
liked
Amelia
!
"
"
Well
"
—
with
an
impatient
sigh
—
"
unfortunately
that
did
not
hinder
Amelia
from
falling
ill.
"
"
She
is
not
ill
really
?
"
—
his
inborn
kind-heartedness
struggling
for
a
moment
to
make
head
against
the
selfishness
of
his
absorption
.
"
I
do
not
know
"
—
uneasily
—
"
I
am
going
back
to
the
hotel
to
hear
the
doctor
's
verdict
.
Will
you
walk
as
far
as
to
the
Anglo-Américain
with
me
?
There
is
no
use
in
your
staying
here
.
"
But
at
this
proposition
the
lover
's
sobs
break
out
louder
and
more
infuriating
than
ever
.
"
I
will
stay
here
till
I
die
—
till
I
am
carried
over
the
threshold
that
her
cruel
feet
have
crossed
.
"
'
Then
tell
,
oh
tell
!
how
thou
didst
murder
me
?
'
"
Against
a
resolution
at
once
so
fixed
and
so
rational
,
Jim
sees
that
it
is
useless
to
contend
.
CHAPTER
XXVII
.
The
sun
rides
high
,
as
Burgoyne
issues
into
the
open
air
,
and
beats
,
blinding
hot
,
upon
the
great
stone
flags
that
pave
the
Florentine
streets
,
and
seem
to
have
a
peculiar
power
of
absorbing
and
retaining
light
and
heat
.
He
must
have
been
longer
in
the
Piazza
d'Azeglio
than
he
had
thought
,
and
the
reflection
quickens
his
steps
as
he
hurries
,
regardless
of
the
midsummer
blaze
—
for
,
indeed
,
it
is
more
than
equivalent
to
that
of
our
midsummer
—
back
to
the
Anglo-Américain
.
As
he
reaches
it
,
he
hears
,
with
annoyance
,
the
hotel
clocks
striking
one
.
He
is
annoyed
,
both
because
the
length
of
his
absence
seems
to
argue
an
indifference
to
the
tidings
he
is
expecting
,
and
also
because
he
knows
that
it
is
the
Wilsons
'
luncheon
hour
,
and
that
he
will
probably
find
that
they
have
migrated
to
the
salle-à-manger
.
In
this
case
he
will
have
to
choose
between
the
two
equally
disagreeable
alternatives
of
following
and
watching
them
at
their
food
,
or
that
of
undergoing
a
tête-à-tête
with
Sybilla
,
who
,
it
is
needless
to
say
,
does
not
accompany
her
family
to
the
public
dining-room
;
a
tête-à-tête
with
Sybilla
,
which
is
,
of
all
forms
of
social
intercourse
,
that
for
which
he
has
the
least
relish
.
But
as
he
apprehensively
opens
the
salon
door
,
he
sees
that
his
fears
are
unfounded
.
They
have
not
yet
gone
to
luncheon
;
they
are
all
sitting
in
much
the
same
attitudes
as
he
had
left
them
,
except
that
Sybilla
is
eating
or
drinking
something
of
a
soupy
nature
out
of
a
cup
.
There
are
very
few
hours
of
the
day
or
night
in
which
Sybilla
is
not
eating
something
out
of
a
cup
.
There
is
that
about
the
entire
idleness
of
the
other
couple
which
gives
him
a
fright
.
Are
they
too
unhappy
?
Have
they
heard
too
bad
news
to
be
able
to
settle
to
any
occupation
?
Urged
by
this
alarm
,
his
question
shoots
out
,
almost
before
he
is
inside
the
door
:
"
Has
not
he
come
yet
?
Has
not
the
doctor
come
yet
?
"
"
He
has
been
and
gone
;
you
see
,
you
have
been
such
a
very
long
time
away
,
"
replies
Cecilia
.
She
has
no
intention
of
conveying
reproach
,
either
by
her
words
or
tone
;
but
to
his
sore
conscience
it
seems
as
if
both
carried
it
.
"
And
what
did
he
say
?
"
"
He
did
not
say
much
.
"
"
Does
he
—
does
he
think
that
it
is
anything
—
anything
serious
?
"
"
He
did
not
say
.
"
"
Do
you
mean
to
tell
me
"
—
indignantly
—
"
that
you
did
not
ask
him
?
"
"
If
you
had
been
here
,
"
replies
Cecilia
,
with
a
not
inexcusable
resentment
,
"
you
might
have
asked
him
yourself
.
"
"
But
did
not
you
ask
him
?
"
in
too
real
anxiety
to
be
offended
at
,
or
even
aware
of
,
her
fleer
.
"
Did
not
he
say
?
"
"
I
do
not
think
he
knew
himself
.
"
"
But
he
must
have
thought
—
he
must
have
had
an
opinion
!
"
growing
the
more
uneasy
as
there
seems
no
tangible
object
for
his
fears
to
lay
hold
of
.
"
He
says
it
is
impossible
to
judge
at
so
early
a
stage
;
it
may
be
a
chill
—
I
told
him
about
that
detestable
excursion
yesterday
,
and
he
considered
it
quite
enough
to
account
for
anything
—
it
may
be
measles
—
they
seem
to
be
a
good
deal
about
;
it
may
be
malaria
—
there
is
a
good
deal
of
that
too
.
"
"
And
how
soon
will
he
know
?
How
soon
will
it
declare
itself
?
"
"
I
do
not
know
.
"
"
But
has
he
prescribed
?
Is
there
nothing
to
be
done
—
to
be
done
at
once
