Chapter 9 Eight

A sound of fist knocking on the door woke him up from a sleep so deep that he didn't even have a dream.A shrill voice called out: "Hi! Breakfast is ready." He jumped up.where--?what! Seeing that they were already eating marmalade, he took the empty seat between Stella and Sabine.Sabina looked at him and said: "I said, hurry up, we're leaving at half past nine." "We're going to Burlehead, old friend; you must go!" Ashurst thought: "Go! Impossible. I must get my stuff home." He looked at Stella.She said quickly: "Definitely go!"

Sabina chimed in: "It's no fun if you don't go." Freda stood up and went behind his chair. "You have to go, or I'm going to pull your hair out!" Ashurst thought: "Well— Wait another day - think about it!Another day! ’ So he said: "Just go! You don't have to pull your hair!" "OK!" At the station he tried to send another telegram to the farm, but it was written—and torn up; he couldn't explain why he wouldn't go back.At Brixham they changed into a very narrow coach.Ashurst squeezed between Sabina and Freda, his knees touching Stella's, and a game of "catch the sycophant" was played; his melancholy was replaced by joy.In this extra day of staying in order to think carefully, he really didn't want to think about it!They raced, they wrestled, they walked barefoot in shallow water—

No one wanted to swim today—they sang carousels, played games, and ate all the food they had brought.On the way back, in the narrow coach, the two little girls fell asleep leaning against him, his knee still brushing Stella's.It seemed incredible that thirty hours before he had never seen any of these three yellowish heads.In the train he talked to Stella about poetry, found out which poets and poems she liked, and told her what he liked, feeling a delightful sense of superiority; at last she suddenly said in a very low voice : "Phil said you don't believe in a soul after death, Frank. I think it's horrible."

Embarrassed, Ashurst murmured: "I neither believe nor disbelieve-- I really don't know. " She said quickly: "I can't stand it. Then what's the use of being alive?" Looking at the beautiful eyebrows that were tightly locked and slanted to both sides, Ashurst replied: "I'm not in favor of believing for the sake of believing." "But if there is no life of the soul after death, why hope for a resurrection?" As she spoke, she was looking straight at him. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, but his irresistible desire to dominate made him say again:

"When one lives, one naturally always wants to live forever; it's part of life. But maybe that's all there is to it." "So, do you believe in the Bible or not?" Ashurst thought: "Now, I'm really going to hurt her feelings!" "I believe in the 'Sermon on the Mount' because it's so beautiful and it's always applicable." "But do you believe that Christ is holy?" He shook his head. She turned her face to the window at once; and suddenly he remembered Megan's prayer, which Nick had told him: "God bless us all, bless Mr. Ashurs!" Who would pray for him but her?She must be waiting for him now, waiting for him to walk through that alley.He suddenly thought: "What a villain I am!"

The thought kept coming to him that night, but, as was not uncommon, each time he thought about it with less poignancy, until at last it seemed almost a matter of course to be a villain.And, strange to say, he didn't know whether it was the determination to go back to see Meghan, or the determination not to go back to see her, that was the villain. They played cards together, and when the children were sent to bed, Stella played the piano.Ashurst sat in what was almost a dark window seat, and looked from a distance at Stella sitting among the candles--look at the beautiful head on the slender, white neck. Pitch with the movement of your hands.She played very skillfully, without much expression; but what a picture she made!The faint golden light, an angelic aura, lingered around her.Who could have lust or lust in the presence of this swaying girl in white with an angelic head?She played a piece by Schumann called "Warum?"Then Khalid produced a flute, and the charm was spoiled.Later, when Ashurst was asked to sing from a book of Schumann's songs, Stella accompanied him, and "Ichgrollenicht" was being sung, two little fellows in blue pajamas slipped in, trying to hide from the under the piano.

The party ended in chaos, what Sabina called "a happy din." That night Ashurst hardly slept.He tossed and turned on the bed, thinking hard.The intense family intimacy of the last two days, the force of this particular atmosphere in the Hallidays' house, seemed to surround him, making the farm and Meghan--even Meghan--seem unreal.Did he really ask her for love, did he really promise to take her to live together?He must have been bewitched by spring, night, and apple blossoms!This May frenzy can only ruin them both!to marry her— The idea of ​​marrying this innocent child, who was not yet eighteen, filled him with dread now, though it still stimulated him and stirred his blood.He said to himself: "It's terrible, what have I done--

Terrible! Schumann's music throbbed with his feverish thoughts, Stella's calm, fair skin, fair-haired form, and the bowed neck and the kind that surrounded her. The radiance of the strange angel appeared before his eyes again. "I must be—must be crazy!" he thought. "What's got me? Poor little Megan! 'God bless us all, bless Mr. Ashurs!' 'I want to be with you--only with you!'" He buried his face in the In the pillow, suppressed a burst of sobs.It is terrible not to go back!Going back—even more terrifying! Emotion is something, when you are young, once you really vent it, you will lose the power to torture you.He thought: "What's the big deal--just a few kisses--it's all forgotten in a month!"--and he fell asleep.

The next morning he cashed the check, avoided the store where he kept his light gray dress like the plague, and bought himself a few necessities.He was in a strange mood all day long, with an angry feeling about himself.The long-awaited nagging of the past two days is gone, and there is a emptiness in my heart—— All the intense longing vanished, as if it had been satisfied in that burst of tears.After tea, Stella put a book beside him, and said shyly: "Have you read the book, Frank?" It turned out to be Farrar's "Life of Christ".Ashurst smiled.He found it funny that she cared so much about his beliefs, but it was touching.And maybe contagious at the same time, because he couldn't help but want to defend himself, if not convert her.In the evening, when the two children and Khalid were mending the shrimp nets, he said:

"The way I see it, behind orthodox religion, there's always been this idea of ​​a reward—do something good and you get something; it's kind of like begging for favors. I think it's all rooted in fear." She was sitting on the sofa, tying a knot with a rope, when she heard this and immediately looked up. "I think religion is much deeper than that." Ashurst felt that desire to dominate again. "You think so," said he; "but it's the root of all of us to reciprocate! It's not easy to get to the bottom of that root!" She frowned puzzled.

"I don't think I understand your words." He continued stubbornly: "Well, do you think that the most devout religious people are those who feel that this life in this world has not fully satisfied their desires? I believe in being a good person, because being a good person is a good thing in itself." "Then you really believe in being good?" How pretty she looked now--it was easy to be with her!So he nodded and said: "I said, teach me how to tie this knot!" As he fiddled with the string, her fingers touched his, and he felt great pleasure.Then he went to bed thinking about her deliberately, wrapping himself in her pretty, quiet, sisterly glow as if in a body armor. Next day he found that arrangements had been made to take the train to Tautnes and have a picnic at Bury Pomerow Castle.He joined them in the carriage, and sat beside Khalid with his back to the horse, still determined to forget the past.Then, on the waterfront, near the bend near the train station, his heart almost jumped into his mouth.Megan—it's Megan! —was walking on the far path, in her old skirt and jacket and bonnet, looking up into the faces of passers-by.Instinctively he raised his hand to cover it, and then pretended to wipe the dust from his eyes; but through his fingers he could still see her moving, not with her free country gait, but swaying. Akira, perplexed, pitiful—— It's like a puppy has lost its master, and doesn't know whether to go forward or backward—it doesn't know where to go.How did she come here like this? What excuse did she use to come out?What did she hope for?The wheels were rolling, driving him farther and farther away from her, his heart protested and cried out, asking him to stop the car, get out of the car, and go to her!When the carriage turned the corner towards the railway station, he could not restrain himself any longer, and he pushed open the door and muttered, "I forgot something! Let's go— Don't wait for me!I'll take the next bus to meet you at the castle! He jumped out, staggered, turned a few times, then stood on his heels, and then walked forward; the carriage continued to move, and the Halliday brothers and sisters were very surprised. From around the corner, he could just see Megan far ahead.After running for a few steps, he stopped himself and walked slowly.With every step, the closer you are to Meghan and the farther you are from the Khalid family, the slower your steps will be.Seeing her this time—what would that change the situation?Go see her yourself.How can we not look so ugly and the consequences that inevitably arise from it?Needless to say, since he met the Khalid family, he has gradually felt that he will not marry Meghan.If they were united, it would be nothing more than an absurd love life, an uneasy, regretful, awkward life—and then— Yes, and then he would get bored, because she had given him everything, she was so simple, so trusting, so dew-like.And morning dew—it doesn't last long!The little faded polka dot, her Scotch hat, dangled far ahead: she looked up at every passerby's face, at every house's window.Has any man experienced such a cruel test?One way or another, he felt he was always a beast.He let out a groan of pain that made a passing nurse turn and stare at him.He saw Megan stop, leaning against the jetty, looking out to sea; so he stopped too.It is probable that she has never seen the sea, and therefore, in this distress, she cannot help but take a look at the sights. "That's right—she's been through nothing," he thought; "she's got it all ahead of her. But I'd ruin her life just for a few weeks of love. I'd rather hang myself than Do this!" Suddenly he seemed to see Stella's quiet eyes watching him, and the soft lock of hair on her forehead blowing in the wind.what!To do that would be madness, would mean giving up everything he respected, giving up his own pride.He turned back and walked quickly towards the station.However, the poor, bewildered little figure in the memory, those anxious eyes searching among passers-by, tormented him so strongly that he couldn't stand it, so he turned back and walked towards the sea again.The hat was out of sight; the little colored dot had disappeared into the midday crowd.Life sometimes seems to push something away so quickly that you can't get it, and then you have a hunger, and it is this hunger and eagerness that drives him forward in a hurry.He could not find her anywhere; after half an hour of searching, he prostrated himself on the sands of the coast.He knew that to find her, all he had to do was wait for her at the station. If she found nothing, she would go back to the station and take the train home; or, if he went back to the farm by himself, she would see him as soon as she got home.However, he lay motionless on the beach, looking at groups of indifferent children playing with spatulas and buckets.The pity of her wandering, searching little figure was almost drowned in the spring of his blood; and now all that was left was the feeling of the debauchery--the part of chivalry, It used to be there, but now it's gone.He longed for her again.Longing for her kisses, her soft little body, her indulgence, all her keen, passionate, unconstrained feelings, longing for the strange scene that night under the moonlit apple tree; he Horribly longing for it all, like a faun for a nymph.The murmur of the bright trout stream, the blaze of the buttercups, the rocks visited by the old Wildlings, the cry of the cuckoo and the green woodpecker, the hooting of the owl; and the red moon Peeping through the velvety black clouds a living white expanse of apple blossom; and her face at the window— So close to touching—that ecstasy of love; and under the apple tree, her heart to his, her lips answering his lips— It all surrounded him.However, he lay still.What was it that resisted pity and this strong longing that paralyzed him in the warm sand?Three flaxen heads, a handsome face with kind pale blue eyes, a small hand that clasped his, a lively voice calling his name—"Then you Do you really believe in being good?" Yes, there is an atmosphere, as in an old English garden within a wall, with carnations and cornflowers, roses, lavender and lilacs— Clean and pure, spotless, almost holy—all these are pure and beautiful, and all the upbringing he has received since childhood has enabled him to understand. At this moment he suddenly thought: "She may come to this beach again, then she will see me!" He stood up and walked towards the rock at the far end of the beach.There, with the cold water splashing on his face, he could think more calmly.To go back to that farm, to love Megan in the wild woods, among the rocks, all around wild and befitting of such a thing— This, he knew, was impossible, utterly impossible, to transplant her into the big city, to shut her up in an apartment as a being so wholly of nature—his poetic temperament is offensive.His ardor would be but a sensual indulgence, and soon pass away; in London, her innocence, her want of all culture, would only make her his secret plaything— It couldn't have been anything else.He sat on a rock with his feet dangling over a pool of light green water from which it was receding: the longer he sat like this the more clearly he saw it.Now it seemed as if her arms and her whole body were sliding slowly, slowly down from him, into the pool, to be carried out to sea by the water; The pleading stares and the wet black hair—it haunted him, infested him, tortured him again!At last he stood up, climbed the low rocky wall, and descended into a secluded promontory.Maybe in the sea he could regain his self-control— Kill this frenzy!He took off his clothes and swam out.He would tire himself out so that he could drop everything and swim anyway, fast and far; and then he was frightened again for no reason.What if he couldn't swim back to shore, what if the tide swept him away, or he cramped like Halliday!He turned and swam in.The red mountain wall seemed far away.If he had drowned, they would have found his clothes.The Hallidays would know; but Meghan probably never would—they didn't subscribe at the farm.And then he remembered Phil Halliday's words: "A girl in Cambridge, I could have—fortunately I didn't do her any wrong!" In this moment of unfounded terror, he swore he would never do her any wrong.So his fear was gone; he swam back easily, dried himself in the sun, and put on his clothes.He was a little sad, but not sad; as for his body, it was refreshed. Pity was not a strong emotion at Ashurst's youth.He went back to the Halliday's sitting-room and wolfed down his tea, feeling very much like a fever.Everything seemed fresh and hearty; the tea, and buttered toast with jam, were unnaturally good; the tobacco had never been so good.He walked back and forth in the empty room, touching and looking around.Picking up Stella's sewing basket, he played with the balls and a strand of brightly colored silk, sniffing at the little sachet of woodruff that Stella had kept among the balls.He sat in front of the piano, strumming the piece with one finger, and thought to himself, "She can play tonight; I want to watch her play; it makes me feel good to see her." The book was still with her beside him. He picked it up and wanted to see it.But Megan's sad little figure appeared again immediately, so he stood up, leaned against the window, listened to the song of the thrush in the garden of the Crescent Hotel, and gazed at the dreamlike blue sea under the tree.A servant came in to take away the tea, and he remained standing, breathing in the evening air, trying not to think of anything.Then he saw the Hallidays coming in through the doors of the Crescent Hotel, Stella walking a little ahead of Phil and the two kids, all with baskets in their hands.He flinched instinctively.His heart had just suffered such a severe torture, and when he suddenly saw Stella, he was a little afraid of contact, but he needed the kind comfort of this contact--complaining about this effect on him, and at the same time longing for its love. The quiet innocence, the pleasure of looking at Stella's face.Leaning against the wall behind the piano, he watched her come in and stand there, looking a little dazed, as if disappointed; then she saw him and smiled, so fast and so bright that Asher Sturt felt both warm and irritated. "You never came to see us, Frank." "No; I can't come on business." "Look! We've got such lovely late violets!" She held out her hand to hold a bouquet of violets.Ashurst put his nose closer, all sorts of bewildered longings aroused in his heart, but he saw Megan looking up at the passers-by anxiously again, and immediately became half-cold. He said "How nice!" and walked away.Upstairs in his own room, he heard two children going up the stairs. To avoid them, he threw himself on the bed, with his arms folded over his face, and lay like that.He felt now that the matter had really been decided, that Meghan had given up; he hated himself, almost hated the Hallidays, and the wholesome, happy atmosphere of an English family.Why did they just happen to be here, banishing his first love - and showing him that he was about to be nothing more than an ordinary womanizer?What right did Stella have to use her white and shy beauty to convince him that she would never marry Meghan, and, after ruining the matter, bring him such deep regret and such mercy?Meghan must be home by now, exhausted from the pathetic search--poor little thing! —— Maybe I still look forward to seeing him when I get home.Ashurst bit his sleeve, suppressing a moan of regret.He went to supper sullenly and silently, a mood which cast a shadow even on the two children.It was a gloomy evening, with no one in a good temper, for they were tired; several times he saw Stella looking at him with aggrieved and bewildered looks, which pleased him in his bad mood.He slept badly, got up early in the morning, and went out.He came to the beach.It was a little easier to be alone on the edge of the calm, blue, sunlit sea.What a pompous fool-- Thought Megan would be so uncomfortable!In a week or two, she'd almost forgotten all about it!And he—yes, he will be rewarded!A kind young man!If Stella knew she would bless him for resisting the demon she believed in; he gave a grim laugh.But slowly, the peace and beauty of the sea and the sky, and the lonely seagulls flying, made him feel ashamed, and he swam for a while, and then went back. In the garden of the Crescent Hotel, it was Stella sitting on a folding stool and drawing. He sneaked up behind her.You see, how beautiful she is: bent over intently, holding a paintbrush, measuring the size of the distance, frowning. He said gently: "Stella, I was so bad last night, please forgive me." She was startled, turned her head, her face was flushed, and she said quickly out of habit: "Nothing. I know there's something. It's all right among friends, isn't it?" Ashurst replied: "Friends—we're friends now, aren't we?" She looked up at him, nodded vigorously, and her upper teeth flashed in a quick and bright smile again. Three days later he returned to London with the Khaled brothers and sisters.He did not write to the farm.What else could he say? On the last day of April of the following year, he and Stella married.... Such were Ashurst's recollections of sitting against the wall among the gorse on his silver wedding day.It was in this spot where he now laid out the food that he had first seen Megan standing against the sky.Why is it such a coincidence!A longing stirred in him to go down and see the farm and orchard and the gypsy-haunted meadow again.It wouldn't take long to go; Stella might be an hour away. How clearly he remembered the scene in front of him—the steep grass hill behind the house, and the few trees on the top of the hill!He stopped at the gate of the farm.The low stone house, the porch of the yews, the red currants in bloom--nothing had changed; The one who took the key came out.Then he turned and walked into the alley, standing and leaning against the orchard gate—this dilapidated gray gate, the same as before.There's even a black pig walking up and down among the trees over there.Had it really been twenty-six years, or had he had a dream and woke up now, and Megan was waiting for him under the big apple tree?He unconsciously raised his hand to stroke his gray beard, and finally brought himself back to reality.Pushing open the gate, he went forward, through the sorrel weeds and nettles, to the river, and found the big apple tree.No change!Except for a little more blue-gray fresh moss and one or two dead branches, everything else was the same as that night. At that time, after Megan left, he hugged the trunk of the tree with fresh moss and sucked it. Its woody scent, and the moonlit apple blossoms overhead seemed to come to life and breathe—as if it were only last night.There were a few buds in this early spring; the thrush was singing, a cuckoo was calling, and the sun was bright and warm.Everything was just as it had been, unbelievably—the babbling brook with the trout.The little pool in which he dipped every morning, splashing water over his flanks and chest; and yonder in the moor meadows, still the beech grove and the boulder on which the gypsy ghost was said to sit .However, youth is gone forever, love and sweetness are gone, Ashurst feels as if something is stuck in the neck, of course Hum ? It should be full of joy, just like the sky and the earth contain infinite joy!But in fact, it can't be done! He walked to the river, looked down at the pool, and thought to himself: "What about youth and spring! Who knows, what happened to them? At this time, he was suddenly afraid that someone would interrupt his memory, so he went back to the alley, and came back to the crossroad from the original road in depression. Beside the car was an old farmhand with a gray beard, on crutches, talking to the driver.Seeing him approaching, the old farmhand stopped talking as if guilty of disrespect, touched the brim of his hat with his hand, and was about to limp into the alley. Ashurst pointed to the green and narrow mound. "What is this, can you tell me?" The old man stopped, and his expression seemed to say: "Sir, you have found the right man!" "It's a tomb," he said. "But why was it buried in this wild place?" The old man smiled. "Here's a story, you can tell. It's not the first time I've told it—a lot of people have asked about the origin of this turf mound. Around here, we all call it 'Girl's Tomb.' " Ashurst handed over his cigarette pouch. "Smoking a can?" The old man touched the brim of his hat again, and slowly filled an ancient clay pipe. His eyes were wrinkled and looked up from the middle of his hair, but they were still quite bright. "If you're not surprised, I'd like to sit down—my legs are a little rough today," and he sat down on the turf mound. "There's always a flower on this grave. It's not too deserted; a lot of people go by now, in their new cars, in their new clothes—it's not like it used to be. She's in There's a lot of company here. She's a poor suicide." "Got it!" said Ashurst. "Buried at the crossroads. I didn't know the custom was still in use." "Ah! But it happened a long time ago. Our parson here was a very godly man then. Let me think I'll be a pensioner for six years by next Michaelmas, but something happened. I was only fifty that year. No man alive knows it better than I do. She lived not far from here, at Mrs. Narracomb's, where I used to go to work. on the farm—Nick Narracombe is in charge now. I've got a little work for him, too." Ashurst leaned against the gate, and was lighting his pipe, his bent hands resting for a moment before his face, though the match was long gone. "What else?" he said, his voice hoarse and strange. "She's one in a hundred, poor girl! I put a flower every time I pass here. She's a beautiful, good girl, though they won't let her be buried in the church, or where she chooses." place." The old farmhand paused, and put a hairy hand, deformed by hard work, on the side of the bluebells on the grave. "And what else?" said Ashurst. "So to speak," went on the old man, "I think it's for love-- Although no one knows what's going on.I don't know what the girls are thinking, it's just my idea. "His hand touched the sod on the grave. "I like this girl very much-I don't know anyone who doesn't like her."But she's too kind--and that's the trouble, I think. He looked up. Ashurst's lips quivered under his beard, and he muttered again: "And what else?" " "It was spring then, and perhaps it is as it is now, or later--flowering season--and there was a young gentleman at the university, who lived on this farm-- The people are also very nice, but a bit topsy-turvy.I liked him very much, and I couldn't see any connection between the two of them, but I think he touched the girl's heart. The old man took out his pipe, spat, and went on: "You see, one day he went away suddenly, and never came back. His knapsack and some things are still here. What has always puzzled me is that he never came to ask for these things again. His name is Ashes, or something like that." "What else?" said Ashurst. The old man licked his lips. "She didn't say anything, but from that day on she seemed to be dazed and out of order. I've never seen anyone in all my life--never. There was a young The man—named Joe Bidaford, was very kind to her too, and I guess his kindness and delicacy often tormented her. She got wild. Sometimes, in the evening, I drove the cattle When I came back, I kept seeing her; she was standing under the big apple tree in the orchard, staring straight ahead. 'Ah,' I always thought, 'I don't know what's the matter with you, but you've been seen too much. Poor thing, sure enough.'" The old man relighted his pipe, and smoked thoughtfully. "And what else?" said Ashurst. "I remember asking her one day: 'What's the matter, Megan?'—her name was Megan Davy, and she was Welsh, like her aunt, old Mrs. Narracombe. 'You've got something on your mind,' I Say. 'No, Jim,' she said, 'I don't care.' 'Yes, you do!' I said. 'No,' she said, rolling down two tears. 'You cry— So why? 'I say.She put her hands over her heart, 'I'm sick,' she said; 'but it'll be all right soon,' she said. 'But if something happens to me, Jim, I want to be buried here under this apple tree. 'I laughed. 'What's wrong with you? ' I said; 'don't be silly. ''No,' she said, 'I'm not stupid. 'Well, I know girls' tempers, so I didn't take this matter to heart.Until two days later, around six o'clock in the evening, I drove the calf past, and saw a black-bearded thing lying in the river, near the big apple tree.I said to myself: "Could it be a pig--it's so funny that a pig came to this place!" 'I walked over to have a look, and then I saw it clearly. " The old man stopped; his eyes looked up, bright and pained. "That's the girl, in the narrow pond, where a big rock blocked the water and became— I saw the young gentleman take a bath here once or twice.She was lying on her stomach in the water.There was a golden bell growing out of the crevices of the rocks, right on top of her head.I looked at her face, and it was so lovely, so beautiful, as calm as a doll's face--it was beautiful.The doctor looked at it and said, "It's just a little water, if it's not for being fascinated, you can't die, ah!"Look at her face, she is just fascinated.So beautiful - made me cry a lot!It was June then, but she found somewhere a little apple blossom left, and put it in her hair.That's why I thought she was obsessed and dressed up like this to go this way.No!Not a foot and a half of water.But I'll tell you one thing—there's a ghost in that meadow.Well, I know it, and she knows it; no one can convince me that there are no ghosts there.I tell everyone what she told me, that she was to be buried under that apple tree.But I think this changed their minds— It looked too much like she'd killed herself; they buried her here.Our vicar was very serious in those days, he was very serious. " The old man touched the turf on the grave with his hands again. "It's a marvelous thing to see," he added slowly, "that's what girls do for love. She's a good-natured one; I guess her heart is broken. But we don't know anything about it." ah!" He looked up, as if expecting a compliment on the story he had told, but Ashurst had passed by as if he were not there at all. On the top of the hill, just beyond where he had set up his picnic, he picked a spot out of sight and lay down on his stomach.Such was the retribution of his virtue, that Cyprine, the goddess of love, had avenged her!Before his clouded, tearful eyes, there was Megan's face, with the sprig of apple blossom in her wet brunette hair. "What did I do wrong?" he thought. "What did I do?" But he couldn't answer.春天，春天的激情，春天的花和歌—— 他和梅根心里的春天呀！莫非就只因为爱神要找一个牺牲者！那么，那个希腊人是对的——《希波勒特斯》里的话直到今天还是真实的！ 因为爱神的心如痴如狂，他的翅膀发着闪闪金光；当他创造出了他的春天，众生拜倒春的魔力跟前；一切野生的年青的生命，无论在小河、大海和峻岭，无论出生自大地的泥土或呼吸在红色的阳光中；而且还有人类。宝座高据，塞浦琳，你独自群临万众！ 那个希腊人是对的！梅根！梅根！打山上走来的可怜的小梅根！在那棵老苹果树底下等待着、张望着的梅根！死了的，打上美的烙印的梅根！ ... 有个声音说： “呀，你在这里！瞧！” 艾舍斯特站起来，接过妻子的速写，默默地呆视着。 “前景画得对吗，弗兰克？” "right." “可是似乎缺少了点儿什么，是不是？” 艾舍斯特点点头。缺少？缺少的是那苹果树、那歌声和那金子！ １９１６年 黄子祥译