And beauty,like a spirit,walked.'I've had a long life,'he thought,'the best of nearly everything.I'm an ungrateful chap;I've seen a lot of beauty in my time.Poor young Bosinney said Ihad a sense of beauty.There's a man in the moon to-night!'Amoth went by,another,another.'Ladies in grey!'He closed his eyes.A feeling that he would never open them again beset him;he let it grow,let himself sink;then,with a shiver,dragged the lids up.There was something wrong with him,no doubt,deeply wrong;he would have to have the doctor after all.It didn't much matter now!Into that coppice the moon-light would have crept;there would be shadows,and those shadows would be the only things awake.No birds,beasts,flowers,insects;Just the shadows--moving;'Ladies in grey!'Over that log they would climb;would whisper together.She and Bosinney!Funny thought!And the frogs and little things would whisper too!How the clock ticked,in here!It was all eerie-out there in the light of that red moon;in here with the little steady night-light and,the ticking clock and the nurse's dressing-gown hanging from the edge of the screen,tall,like a woman's figure.'Lady in grey!'And a very odd thought beset him:Did she exist?Had she ever come at all?Or was she but the emanation of all the beauty he had loved and must leave so soon?The violet-grey spirit with the dark eyes and the crown of amber hair,who walks the dawn and the moonlight,and at blue-bell time?What was she,who was she,did she exist?He rose and stood a moment clutching the window-sill,to give him a sense of reality again;then began tiptoeing towards the door.He stopped at the foot of the bed;and Holly,as if conscious of his eyes fixed on her,stirred,sighed,and curled up closer in defence.He tiptoed on and passed out into the dark passage;reached his room,undressed at once,and stood before a mirror in his night-shirt.What a scarecrow--with temples fallen in,and thin legs!His eyes resisted his own image,and a look of pride came on his face.All was in league to pull him down,even his reflection in the glass,but he was not down--yet!He got into bed,and lay a long time without sleeping,trying to reach resignation,only too well aware that fretting and disappointment were very bad for him.He woke in the morning so unrefreshed and strengthIess that he sent for the doctor.After sounding him,the fellow pulled a face as long as your arm,and ordered him to stay in bed and give up smoking.That was no hardship;there was nothing to get up for,and when he felt ill,tobacco always lost its savour.He spent the morning languidly with the sun-blinds down,turning and re-turning The Times,not reading much,the dog Balthasar lying beside his bed.With his lunch they brought him a telegram,running thus:
第20章（1 / 3）