On his return he was amused to find that the young people were just off for twenty-four hours' election-eering. He now cared less for Clive than Clive for him. That kiss had disillusioned. It was such a trivial prudish kiss, and alas! so typical. The less you had the more it was supposed to be— that was Clive's teaching. Not only was the half greater than the whole—at Cambridge Maurice would just accept this—but now he was offered the quarter and told it was greater than the half. Did the fellow suppose he was made of paper?
Clive explained how he wouldn't be going had Maurice held out hopes of returning, and how he would be back for the match any way. Anne whispered, 'Was the luck good?" Maurice re-plied, "So-so," whereupon she covered him with her wing and offered to invite his young lady down to Penge. "Mr Hall, is she very charming? I am convinced she has bright brown eyes." But Clive called her off, and Maurice was left to an evening with Mrs Durham and Mr Borenius.
Unusual restlessness was on him. It recalled the initial night at Cambridge, when he had been to Risley's rooms. The rain had stopped during his dash to town. He wanted to walk about in the evening and watch the sun set and listen to the dripping trees. Ghostly but perfect, the evening primroses were expand-ing in the shrubbery, and stirred him by their odours. Clive had shown him evening primroses in the past, but had never told
him they smelt. He liked being out of doors, among the robins and bats, stealing hither and thither bare-headed, till the gong should summon him to dress for yet another meal, and the cur-tains of the Russet Room close. No, he wasn't the same; a rear-rangement of his being had begun as surely as at Birmingham, when Death had looked away, and to Mr Lasker Jones be all credit! Deeper than conscious effort there was a change, which might land him with luck in the arms of Miss Tonks.
As he wandered about, the man whom he had reprimanded in the morning came up, touched his cap, and inquired whether he would shoot tomorrow. Obviously he wouldn't, since it was the cricket match, but the question had been asked in order to pave the way for an apology. "I'm sure I'm very sorry I failed to give you and Mr London full satisfaction, sir," was its form. Maurice, vindictive no longer, said, "That's all right, Scudder." Scudder was an importation—part of the larger life that had come into Penge with politics and Anne; he was smarter than old Mr Ayres, the head keeper, and knew it. He implied that he hadn't taken the five shillings because it was too much; he didn't say why he had taken the ten! He added, "Glad to see you down again so soon, sir," which struck Maurice as subtly unsuitable, so he repeated, "That's all right, Scudder," and went in.
It was a dinner-jacket evening—not tails, because they would only be three—and though he had respected such niceties for years he found them suddenly ridiculous. What did clothes mat-ter as long as you got your food, and the other people were good sorts—which they wouldn't be? And as he touched the carapace of his dress shirt a sense of ignominy came over him, and he felt he had no right to criticize anyone who lived in the open air. How dry Mrs Durham seemed—she was Clive with the sap perished. And Mr Borenius—how dry! Though to do Mr Bore-nius justice he contained surprises. Contemptuous of all parsons,
Maurice had paid little attention to this one, and was startled when he came out strong after dessert. He had assumed that as rector of the parish he would be helping Clive in the election. But "I vote for no one who is not a communicant, as Mr Durham understands."
"The Rads are attacking your church, you know," was all he could think of.
"That is why I do not vote for the Radical candidate. He is a Christian, so naturally I should have done."
"Bit particular, sir, if I may say so. Clive will do all the things you want done. You may be lucky he isn't an atheist. There are a certain amount of those about, you know!"
He smiled in response, saying, "The atheist is nearer the Kingdom of Heaven than the hellenist. 'Unless ye become as little children'—and what is the atheist but a child?"
Maurice looked at his hands, but before he could frame a reply the valet came in to ask whether he had any orders for the keeper.
"I saw him before dinner, Simcox. Nothing, thanks. Tomor-row's the match. I did tell him."
"Yes, but he wonders whether you'd care to go down to the pond between the innings for a bathe, sir, now that the weather had altered. He has just bailed out the boat."
"Very good of him."
"If that's Mr Scudder may I speak to him?" asked Mr Borenius.
"Will you tell him, Simcox? Also tell him I shan't be bathing." When the valet had gone he said, "Would you rather speak to him here? Have him in as far as I'm concerned."
"Thank you, Mr Hall, but I'll go out. He'll prefer the kitchen."
"He'll prefer it no doubt. There are fair young females in the kitchen."
"Ah! Ah!" He had the air of one to whom sex occurs for the
first time. "You don't happen to know whether he has anyone in view matrimonially, do you?"
" 'Fraid I don't. . . saw him kissing two girls at once on my arrival if that's any help."
"It sometimes happens that those men get confidential out shooting. The open air, the sense of companionship—"
"They don't get confidential with me. Archie London and I got rather fed up with him yesterday as a matter of fact. Too anxious to boss the show. We found him a bit of a swine."
"Excuse the inquiry."
"What's there to excuse?" said Maurice, annoyed with the rector for alluding so smugly to the open air. i
"Speaking frankly, I should be glad to see that particular young man settled with a helpmate before he sails." Smiling gently, he added, "And all young men."
"What's he sailing for?"
"He is to emigrate." And intoning "to emigrate" in a particular irritating way, he repaired to the kitchen.
Maurice strolled for five minutes in the shrubbery. Food and wine had heated him, and he thought with some inconsequence that even old Chapman had sown some wild oats. He alone— Clive admonishing—combined advanced thought with the con-duct of a Sunday scholar. He wasn't Methuselah—he'd a right to a fling. Oh those jolly scents, those bushes where you could hide, that sky as black as the bushes! They were turning away from him. Indoors was his place and there he'd moulder, a re-spectable pillar of society who has never had the chance to mis-behave. The alley that he was pacing opened through a swing gate into the park, but the damp grass there might dull his pumps, so he felt bound to return. As he did so he struck against corduroys, and was held for a moment by both elbows; it had been Scudder escaping from Mr Borenius. Released, he con-
tinued his dreamings. Yesterday's shoot, which at the time had made little impression on him, began faintly to glow, and he realized that even during its boredom he had been alive. He felt back from it to the incidents of his arrival, such as the piano-moving: then forwards to the incidents of today, beginning with the five shillings' tip and ending with now. And when he reached "now", it was as if an electric current passed through the chain of insignificant events so that he dropped it and let it smash back into darkness. "Damnation, what a night," he resumed while puffs of air touched him and one another. Then the swing gate in the distance, which hid been tinkling for a little, seemed to slam against freedom, and he went indoors.
"Oh Mr Hall!" cried the old lady. "How exquisite is your coiffure."
"My coiffure?" He found that his head was all yellow with evening primrose pollen.
"Oh, don't brush it off. I like it on your black hair. Mr Bore-nius, is he not quite bacchanalian?"
The clergyman raised sightless eyes. He had been interrupted in the middle of a serious talk. "But Mrs Durham," he persisted. "I understood so distinctly from you that all your servants had been confirmed."
"I thought so, Mr Borenius, I did think so."
"Yet I go into the kitchen, and straight away I discover Simcox, Scudder, and Mrs Wetherall. For Simcox and Mrs Wetherall I can make arrangements. Scudder is the serious case, because I have not time to prepare him properly before he sails, even if the bishop could be prevailed upon."
Mrs Durham tried to be grave, but Maurice, whom she rather liked, was laughing. She suggested that Mr Borenius should give Scudder a note to some clergyman abroad—there was bound to be one.
"Yes, but will he present it? He shows no hostility to the Church, but will he be bothered? Had I only been told which of your servants had been confirmed and which had not, this crisis would not have arisen."
"Servants are so inconsiderate," said the old lady. "They tell me nothing. Why, Scudder sprung his notice on Clive in just the same way. His brother invites him. So off he goes. Now Mr Hall, let's have your advice over this crisis: what would you do?"
"Our young friend condemns the entire Church, militant and triumphant."
Maurice roused himself. If the parson hadn't looked so damned ugly he wouldn't have bothered, but he couldn't stand that squinny face sneering at youth. Scudder cleaned a gun, carried a suitcase, baled out a boat, emigrated—did something7anyway, while gentlefolk squatted on chairs finding fault with his soul. If he did cadge for tips it was natural, and if he didn't, if his apology was genuine—why then he was a fine fellow. He'd speak anyhow. "How do you know he'll communicate if he's confirmed?" he said. "I don't communicate." Mrs Durham hummed a tune; this was going too far.
"But you were given the opportunity. The priest did what he could for you. He has not done what he could for Scudder and consequently the Church is to blame. That is why I make so much of a point which must appear very trivial to you."
"I'm awfully stupid, but I think I see: you want to make sure that he and not the Church shall be to blame in the future. Well, sir, that may be your idea of religion but it isn't mine and it wasn't Christ's."
It was as smart a speech as he had ever made; since the hyp-notism his brain had known moments of unusual power. But Mr Borenius was unassailable. He replied pleasantly, "The unbe-liever has always such a very clear idea as to what Belief ought
ii
to be, I wish I had half his certainty." Then he arose and went, and Maurice walked him through the short cut through the kitchen garden. Against the wall leant the subject of their delib-erations, no doubt awaiting one of the maids; he appeared to be haunting the premises this evening. Maurice would have seen nothing, so thick now was the darkness; it was Mr Borenius who exacted a low "Good night, sir" for them both. A delicate scent of fruit perfumed the air; it had further to be feared that the young man had stolen an apricot. Scents were everywhere that night, despite the cold, and Maurice returned via the shrubbery, that he might inhale the evening primroses.
Again he heard the cautious "Good night, sir," and feeling friendly to the reprobate replied, "Good night, Scudder, they tell me you're emigrating."
"That's my idea, sir," came the voice.
"Well, good luck to you."
"Thank you, sir, it seems rather strange."
"Canada or Australia, I suppose."
"No, sir, the Argentine."
"Ah, ah, a fine country."
"Have you visited it yourself, sir?"
"Rather not, England for me," said Maurice, strolling on and again colliding with corduroys. Dull talk, unimportant meeting, yet they harmonized with the darkness, the quietness of the hour, they suited him, and as he walked away he was followed by a sense of well-being which lasted until he reached the house. Through its window he could see Mrs Durham all relaxed and ugly. Her face clicked into position as he entered, so did his own, and they exchanged a few affected remarks about his day in town, before parting for bed.
He had taken to sleeping badly during the past year, and knew as soon as he lay down that this would be a night of physi-
cal labour. The events of the last twelve hours had excited him, and clashed against one another in his mind. Now it was the early start, now the journey with London, the interview, the re-turn; and at the back of all lurked a fear that he had not said something at that interview that he ought to have said, that he had missed out something vital from his confession to the doc-tor. Yet what was it? He had drawn up the statement yesterday in this very room, and been satisfied at the time. He began to worry—which Mr Lasker Jones had forbidden him to do, be-cause the introspective are more difficult to heal: he was sup-posed to lie fallow to the suggestions sown during the trance, and never wonder whether they would germinate or not. But he could not help worrying, and Penge, instead of numbing, seemed more stimulating than most places. How vivid, if com-plex, were its impressions, how the tangle of flowers and fruit wreathed his brain! Objects he had never seen, such as rain water baled from a boat, he could see tonight, though curtained in tightly. Ah to get out to them! Ah for darkness—not the darkness of a house which coops up a man among furniture, but the darkness where he can be free! Vain wish! He had paid a doctor two guineas to draw the curtains tighter, and presently, in the brown cube of such a room, Miss Tonks would lie pris-oned beside him. And, as the yeast of the trance continued to work, Maurice had the illusion of a portrait that changed, now at his will, now against it, from male to female, and came leap-ing down the football-field where he bathed. ... He moaned, half asleep. There was something better in life than this rub-bish, if only he could get to it—love—nobility—big spaces where passion clasped peace, spaces no science could reach, but they existed for ever, full of woods some of them, and arched with majestic sky and a friend. . . .
He really was asleep when he sprang up and flung wide the
curtains with a cry of "Come!" The action awoke him; what had he done that for? A mist covered the grass of the park, and the tree trunks rose out of it like the channel marks in the estu-ary near his old private school. It was jollycold. He shivered and clenched his fists. The moon had risen. Below him was the drawing-room, and the men who were repaying the tiles on the roof of the bay had left their ladder resting against his window sill. What had they done that for? He shook the ladder and glanced into the woods, but the wish to go into them vanished as soon as he could go. What use was it? He was too old for fun in the damp.
But as he returned to his bed a little noise sounded, a noise so intimate that it might have arisen inside his own body. He seemed to crackle and burn and saw the ladder's top quivering against the moonlit air. The head and the shoulders of a man rose up, paused, a gun was leant against the window sill very carefully, and someone he scarcely knew moved towards him and knelt beside him and whispered, "Sir, was you calling out for me? . . . Sir, I know. ... I know," and touched him.
返抵彭杰后，莫瑞斯觉得很有趣儿。因为他发现，这对年轻夫妇正要离家去从事二十四小时的选举运动。而今他对克莱夫的关怀竟然比克莱夫对他的关怀还少了。那一吻使他不再抱幻想了。那是何等浅薄无聊、过分拘谨的吻啊。唉！况且又那么有代表性。克莱夫曾教导他说：你拥有的越少，越会被认为拥有的多。非但一半比全部要大——剑桥时代的莫瑞斯会囫囵吞枣地接受——然而现在表示愿意给他的是四分之一，却告诉他这比一半还要大。难道这小子认为我莫瑞斯是纸做的吗？
克莱夫解释说，倘若莫瑞斯早让他知道自己会回来，他是不会走的，并表示，反正举行板球赛的时候他将返回。安妮悄悄地问：“运气好吗？”莫瑞斯答道：“马马虎虎。”于是，她决定把他放在自己的庇护下，主动邀请那位年轻小姐到彭杰来。“霍尔先生，她非常妩媚吗？我确信她长着一双炯炯有神的褐色眼睛。”然而，克莱夫把她喊走了。莫瑞斯留下来，跟德拉姆太太以及博雷尼乌斯先生共度傍晚。
莫瑞斯感到异常焦躁不安。这使他想起初进剑桥，自己到里斯利的房间去的那个夜晚。他奔赴伦敦的时候，雨已经停了。他想在傍晚到处走走，观看日落，倾听树木的滴水声。月见草像幽灵似的，然而尽善尽美，在灌木丛中绚烂盛开，漫天铺去，香气袭人，使他怦然心动。以前，克莱夫让他看过月见草，却从未告诉他花儿这么香。他喜欢待在户外，与知更鸟和蝙蝠为伍，光着头到处走。及至敲了锣，又得穿上礼服去吃另一顿饭，随后赤褐屋的帘子就拉严了。不，他跟原来不一样了。他的整个身心开始重新调整，犹如在伯明翰死神把视线移开的那次一样真实。一切都应归功于拉斯克·琼斯先生！他所起的变化源于有意识地做的努力，走运的话，可能会把自己送到汤克斯小姐的双臂中。
他正闲逛的时候，当天早晨他申斥过的那个人走到跟前来，伸手摸了一下便帽，问他明天打不打猎。他不会去打猎，这是明摆着的事，因为第二天要举行板球赛。但对方是为了给道歉铺平道路才问的，形式如下：“我肯定我感到非常对不起，没能让你和伦敦先生十分满意，老爷。”莫瑞斯已不再记仇，便说：“没关系，斯卡德。”斯卡德是新雇来的——政治与安妮来到彭杰后，随之扩大了的生活的一部分。他比总管家艾尔斯老先生聪明，自己也知道这一点。他暗示五先令太多了，所以他没接受。他却没说为什么接受了那十先令！他补充说：“很高兴看到你这么快就回来了，老爷。”莫瑞斯觉得这话有点儿不对劲儿，于是重复了一遍：“没关系，斯卡德。”就进了屋。
由于只有三个人，晚饭不必穿燕尾服，只消穿无尾晚礼服。尽管多年来他一直尊重这样一些规矩，他却突然发现这一切都足荒谬的。只要你有东西吃，同席者个个有教养，服装又有什么要紧呢？何况同席者还可能不是什么正经人呢！当他戴上礼服用衬衫的活领时，一种耻辱感袭上心头。他觉得自己没有权利批评在野外谋生的任何人。德拉姆太太看上去多么枯燥——她就是没有了生气的克莱夫。还有博雷尼乌斯先生-何等枯燥！不过，说句公道话，博雷尼乌斯先生有着令人惊奇的方面。凡是牧师，莫瑞斯一概瞧不起，对这一位也没怎么理会。吃完了正餐后的甜食，这位先生做了给人以深刻印象的发言，使他大吃一惊。莫瑞斯认为，作为教区长，博雷尼乌斯先生会在这次的选举中支持克莱夫。然而他说：“我不投拒绝领受圣餐者的票，德拉姆先生也清楚这一点。”
“激进派正在攻击你的教会呢，你知道的。”莫瑞斯只想得出这么一句话。
“因此我不投激进派候选人的票。他是个基督教徒，所以本来我是当然应该投他一票的。”
“请原谅，先生，你有点儿过于苛求了。凡是你想要做的事，克莱夫都会为你做。他不是个无神论者，算你走运。这一带有一定数量的无神论者，你知道的！”
听罢，他边微笑边说：“无神论者离天国比古希腊文化崇拜者要近一些。‘除非你们改变，像小孩子一样，’（译注：这是耶稣对门徒说的话。下一句是：“你们绝不能成为天国的子民。”见《新约全书.马太福音》第18章第3节。）——无神论者不就是小孩子吗？”
莫瑞斯看了看自己的手，然而他还没想好该怎样回答，男管家进来了，问他对猎场看守者有何吩咐。
“吃饭前我已经见到他了，西姆科克斯。什么事都没有，谢谢。明天要举行板球赛了，我已经跟他这么说过了。”
“明白了。但是他想知道在两场比赛之间，您想不想到水池里去沐浴，因为天气转晴了。他刚刚把小船里的水舀出来。”
“他太受累啦。”
“如果那是斯卡德先生的话，我能跟他说句话吗？”博雷尼乌斯先生问道。
“你能告诉他吗，西姆科克斯？还告诉他，我不去沐浴。”男管家走后，他说：“你不如在这儿跟他谈吧？让他进来好了，我没关系。”
“谢谢你，霍尔先生，然而还是我去吧。他宁愿在厨房里。”
“敢情，他宁愿在那儿。厨房里有俏丽的年轻女子。”
“啊！啊！”从博雷尼乌斯先生的神情来看，他是初次想到性的问题。“你知道他有没有结婚的对象，知道吗？”
“我恐怕不知道……我刚到的那天，曾看见他同时吻两个姑娘，这也许有助于你了解情况。”
“外出打猎的时候，这种人间或会吐露心里话。旷野里的空气，伙伴关系的感觉——”
“他们可不会对我吐露心里话。说实在的，昨天阿尔赤-伦敦和我都对他相当不满。他太急于发号施令了，我们发现他有点儿贪鄙下流。”
“我不该问你这个，向你道歉。”
“有什么可道歉的？”莫瑞斯说。由于教区长自以为是地提到旷野里的空气什么的，从而触怒了他。
“坦率地说，要是能看到这个特定的年轻人在远航之前找到一位终身伴侣，我会感到高兴的。”教区长温和地微笑着,补充一句，“以及所有的年轻人。”
“他为什么要远航？”
“他要做移民。”教区长是以特别惹人生气的语调拖长声音说出“做移民”一词的，随即到厨房去了。
莫瑞斯在灌木丛里漫步了五分钟。食物和酒使他浑身热乎乎的，浮想联翩。就连老查普曼年轻时都放荡过。惟独他——在克莱夫的谆谆告诫下——将高深的思想与主日学者（译注：主日学是为了对儿童和青少年进行宗教教育而开办的学校。现代主日学运动的创始人雷克斯（1736-1811）认为，利用星期日使青少年受到宗教教育可以防止他们走向犯罪。主日学者是作者杜撰的词，指循规蹈矩。）的操行结合在一起。他并非玛土撒拉（译注：据《旧约全书.创世记》第5章第27节记载，玛土撒拉在世969年，是传说中最长寿的人。）一他有权尽情地放纵一下。哦，那宜人的芳香，那些可供你藏身的树丛，跟树丛一样黑沉沉的天空！它们都避开他。室内才是他的住处，他——可敬的社会栋梁。从未有机会行为不端——将在那儿朽烂。他正沿着一条小径踱去。穿过一道旋转门，就能进入园林。然而，那里的湿漉漉的草可能会把他穿的这双黑色漆皮鞋损坏了，所以他觉得非折回去不可。刚掉过身去，就跟一个穿灯芯绒衣裤的人撞了满怀，被一双胳膊抱住片刻，那是从博雷尼乌斯先生跟前脱逃出来的斯卡德。斯卡德松开手后，他继续沉湎于幻想。昨天的狩猎，当时并没给他留下什么印象，而今开始依稀发出光辉。他领悟到，尽管猎兔时觉得无聊，自己却是充满活力的。他追忆到初抵之际的往事，例如搬钢琴。又推进到今天发生的事，始于五先令小费，以现在这件事告终。当他想到“现在”的时候，一股电流仿佛穿过了那一连串无足轻重的事件，于是他让思考戛然而止，听任它撞回到黑暗中。“该死，这是什么夜晚啊。”他重新往回走，一股股空气触着了他，并相互碰来碰去。旋转门在远处丁零零地响了一会儿，“砰”的一声好像把自由关在外面了。他走进了屋子。
“哦，霍尔先生！”老夫人大声说。“你的头饰（译注：原文为法语）多么精美呀。”
“我的头饰（译注：原文为法语）？”他发觉自己的头发被月见草的花粉统统染黄了。
“啊，别把它掸掉。我喜欢它配在你的黑头发上那副样子。博雷尼乌斯先生，你看他长得活脱不是个巴克斯（译注：酒神巴克斯是罗马神话中的神祗，相当于希腊神话中的酒神狄俄尼索斯）吗？”
教区长抬起了眼睛，视而不见。他是谈着严肃的话题时被打断的。“然而，德拉姆太太，”他继续说下去，“我从你嘴里清清楚楚地听说过，府上的仆人全都受过坚振礼。”
“我以为是这样的，博雷尼乌斯先生，我确实以为是这样的。”
“可我到厨房里去一问，马上就发现了西姆科克斯、斯卡德和韦瑟莱尔大嫂还没受过。我可以为西姆科克斯和韦瑟莱尔大嫂做些安排，斯卡德的情况就严重了。即便我能说服主教，也没有工夫在他远航之前帮他正规地做好准备。”
德拉姆太太试图显得庄重一些，但她相当喜欢的莫瑞斯却乐不可支。她向博雷尼乌斯先生建议道，他应该交给斯卡德一封致海外的牧师的信——那里肯定会有牧师的。
“不错，但他肯交给对方吗？他对教会没有表现出敌意，然而他肯费这点劲儿吗？倘若你告诉过我，你的仆人当中，谁受了坚振礼，谁没有受，就不至于引起这么严重的后果了。”
“仆人是极不会体谅人的，”老夫人说，“他们什么也不告诉我。唔，斯卡德也是一样，突然向克莱夫提出要辞工，他哥哥邀他去-于是他就撂挑子了。霍尔先生，我们听听你对这件事的看法吧。你会怎么做呢？”
“我们的年轻朋友跟整个教会较量，斗志昂扬，充满胜利的喜悦。”
莫瑞斯振奋起精神来了。教区长若不是奇丑无比，他绝不会和他一般见识。但是他不能容忍那张怀着偏见嘲笑青春的脸。斯卡德收拾猎枪，搬手提箱，从小船里舀出雨水，移居海外——反正他在干着点儿什么。这时，社会地位高的人悠然自得地坐在椅子上，挑他灵魂的刺儿。要是他索取小费的话，这是很自然的事。要是他没有索取，要是他所做的辩解属实的话——那么他就是个好样儿的。无论如何他要说一说。“你怎么能知道只要他受了坚振礼，他就会去领圣餐呢？”他说。“我并不领圣餐。”德拉姆太太哼起歌曲来了，这话说得太过火了。
“然而，你是被给过机会的，牧师为你尽过力。他却没有为斯卡德尽力，因此教会该受责备。所以我才如此予以重视，而在你看来必定是琐事一桩。”
“我笨得厉害，但我认为我明白了。你想确保不让教会将来受责备，却不是惟恐他会受责备。唔，先生，这也许是你对宗教信仰的概念，我可没有这样的概念，基督也没有。”
这是迄今所说过的最辛辣的一段话。自从被施过催眠术以来，他的头脑一阵阵地异常敏锐。然而，博雷尼乌斯先生是无懈可击的。他和颜悦色地说：“不信教的人对于信仰该怎样，永远有着非常清楚的概念，我但愿自己有他一半的信仰。”说罢，他起身告辞，莫瑞斯送他穿过菜园子，抄近路而行。他们所讨论的对象正倚墙而立，无疑是在等候女仆中的一位。这个傍晚，他们二人似乎频频地狭路相逢。而今已黑暗得伸手不见五指，莫瑞斯是什么也不会瞧见的。倒是博雷尼乌斯先生低声招呼道：“晚安，先生。”于是从对方嘴里也说出了同样的话。空气中弥漫着沁人的果香。可以推测，小伙子恐怕偷吃了一个杏。尽管这么冷，当晚到处散布着香气。莫瑞斯是穿过灌木丛折回去的，以便深深吸入月见草的芳香。
他再度听见了谨小慎微的声音：“晚安，老爷。”由于对这个被上帝摈弃者怀着友好的感情，便回答说：“晚安，斯卡德，他们告诉我，你将移居海外。”
“有这个想法，老爷。”传来了这么个声音。
“喂，祝你成功。”
“谢谢你，老爷，我觉得心里怪怪的。”
“我料想是加拿大或澳大利亚吧？”
“不是，老爷，是阿根廷。”
“啊，啊，是个好国家。”
“你去过吗，老爷？”
“我宁可不去，我还是喜欢英国。”莫瑞斯边说边往前走，又和那个穿灯芯绒衣裤的人撞个满怀。乏味的谈话，无足轻重的邂逅，这一切却与晚间的黑暗和静寂协调，很中他的意。当他离开斯卡德一路走去的时候，产生了一种健康、幸福的感觉，一直持续到抵达房屋。隔着窗子，他瞧见了德拉姆太太，十分自在，松弛丑陋。他一进去，她的脸一下子绷紧了，他的脸也是这样。关于他当天的伦敦之行，他们交换了几句社交辞令，这才回到各自的寝室。
一年来他为失眠所困扰。刚躺下来他就知道自己会彻夜从事肉体劳动。这十二个小时发生的事使他感到兴奋，在他的脑子里相互冲突着。一会儿是清早启程，一会儿是与伦敦一道旅行，接受诊治．然后是归途。这一切的背后潜伏着一种畏惧：接受诊治的时候．是否有什么该说的话他没有说呢？他写给大夫的书面材料中，是否遗漏了什么重要问题呢？但那又是什么呢？他是昨天在这间屋里写出那份材料的，当时感到满意。他开始着急起来——而拉斯克·琼斯先生是禁止他自寻烦恼的。因为对思想感情等进行过分内省就更难以治愈了。按说他应该让脑子变成一片空白，接受施催眠术时的暗示疗法，决不琢磨播下的种子是否会发芽。然而他不禁忧心忡忡。彭杰非但未能使他变得麻木不仁，好像比任何其他地方都更刺激着他的神经。彭杰给他的印象虽然错综复杂，却又何等鲜明啊。鲜花和果实怎样纷乱地缭绕在他的脑际！他从未见过的事物，诸如从小船里舀出雨水，今天晚上他却能看见，虽然严严实实地拉上了窗帘。啊，但愿能外出，到它们当中去！啊，到黑暗中去——不是把人拘禁在家具之间的房屋里的黑暗，而是他能够自由自在的黑暗！虚妄的愿望！为了把帘子拉得更严实一些，他付给了一位大夫两畿尼，不久，在这样一间屋子的褐色立方体中，被囚禁的汤克斯小姐会躺在他身旁。催眠术的酵母继续发酵，莫瑞斯的眼前浮现出变来变去的肖像幻影，忽而遂愿，忽而违背他的意愿，从男性变为女性，蹦跳着朝他正在那儿沐浴的足球场冲下来。……他半睡半醒地发出呻吟声。按说入生拥有比这无聊的事情强一些的东西，倘若他能够弄到就好了——爱情——崇高——辽阔的空间，在那儿，激情热烈地紧紧拥抱着安宁。任何科学也够不着那些空间，然而它们永远存在，有的空间充满了森林，有的顶着苍穹，那里还有个朋友……
他确实睡着了。突然一跃而起，拉开窗帘，叫喊：“来吧！”这个行动使他醒过来了。他为什么要这么做？雾气笼罩着园林的草，树干从雾中耸起，活像是他往时那座私立学校附近的港湾里那些水道标志。真够冷的，他打着哆嗦，攥紧拳头。皓月当空。他的房间下面就是客厅，那些仆人将开间顶棚上的瓦修补一番后，梯子仍搭靠在他这屋子的窗台外面。他们干吗要这么做？他摇晃了一下梯子，眺望森林。然而，一旦能够到森林去了，想去的愿望就消失了。有什么用呢？他的岁数已经太大，在湿漉漉的地方找不到乐趣了。
然而当他回到床上的时候，传来了一个声音，那声音亲密得仿佛是从他本人的身体内部发出的。他似乎噼噼啪啪地响着燃烧起来了。只见梯子的顶端在明月的空气中颤动。一个男人的头部和双肩浮现出来，歇了口气，小心翼翼地将一杆枪戳在窗台脚下的地板上。他几乎不认识的那个人朝他凑过来，跪在他身旁，低声耳语：“老爷，你喊我来着吧？……老爷，我懂……我懂。”并且开始抚摩他。