一个陌生女人的来信（1）

Letter from an Unknown Woman

R., the famous novelist, had been away on a brief holiday in the mountains. Reaching Vienna early in the morning, he bought a newspaper at the station, and when he glanced at the date was reminded that it was his birthday. "Forty—one! " the thought came like a flash. He was neither glad nor sorry at the realisation. He hailed a taxi, and skimmed the newspaper as he drove home. His man reported that there had been a few callers during the master's absence, besides one or two telephone messages. A bundle of letters was awaiting him. Looking indifferently at these, he opened one or two because he was interested in the senders, but laid aside for the time a bulky packet addressed in a strange handwriting. At ease in an armchair, he drank his morning tea, finished the newspaper, and read a few circulars. Then, having lighted a cigar, he turned to the remaining letter.

著名小说家R. 刚刚到山里过了一个短暂的假期。他在清晨早些时候回到了维也纳，在火车站买了份报纸，看了一眼日期，他想起了今天是他的生日。 “四十一岁了！” 他脑子里闪过这个念头。意识到这一点后，他既不感到高兴也不觉得难过。他叫了一辆出租车回家，在路上，他浏览了一下报纸。仆人告诉他，在他外出期间除了一两通电话留言之外，还有几位客人来访。还有一大叠信等他拆阅。他漠不关心地看了一眼这些信，拆开了其中的一两封，因为他对这几个寄信人感兴趣。但同时却将一封厚厚的、字迹陌生的信搁在了一边。他舒舒服服地躺在椅子上，喝着早茶，看完了报纸，又翻阅了几份印刷信件。然后点上一支雪茄之后，他拿起那封放在一边的信。

It was a manuscript rather than an ordinary letter, comprising a couple of dozen hastily penned sheets in a feminine handwriting. Involuntarily he examined the envelope once more, in case he might have overlooked a covering letter. But there was nothing of the kind, no signature, and no sender's address on either envelope or contents. "Strange, " he thought, as he began to read the manuscript. The first words were a superscription: "To you, who have never known me. " He was perplexed. Was this addressed to him, or to some imaginary being? His curiosity suddenly awakened, he read as follows:

与其说它是封普通的信，倒不如说它更像一份手稿，信封里大约有几十页纸，字迹潦草，是个女人的笔迹。他不由自主地又检查了一下信封，看看里面是否还有什么附信没取出来。可是里面没有附信之类的东西，无论是信封上还是信纸上都没有寄信人的签名和地址。 “奇怪。” 他想着，开始看起这手稿来。信开头的称呼是： “你，从未知晓我的你。” 他感到很困惑。这称呼是指他呢，还是某个假想的人？他突然变得好奇起来，开始往下读：

My boy died yesterday. For three days and three nights I have been wrestling with Death for this frail little life. During forty consecutive hours, while the fever of influenza was shaking his poor burning body, I sat beside his bed. I put cold compresses on his forehead; day and night, night and day, I held his restless little hands. The third evening, my strength gave out. My eyes closed without my being aware of it, and for three or four hours I must have slept on the hard stool. Meanwhile, Death took him. There he lies, my darling boy, in his narrow cot, just as he died. Only his eyes have been closed, his wise, dark eyes; and his hands have been crossed over his breast. Four candles are burning, one at each corner of the bed. I cannot bear to look, I cannot bear to move; for when the candles flicker, shadows chase one another over his face and his closed lips. It looks as if his features stirred, and I could almost fancy that he is not dead after all, that he will wake up, and with his clear voice will say something childishly loving. But I know that he is dead; and I will not look again, to hope once more, and once more to be disappointed. I know, I know, my boy died yesterday. Now I have only you left in the world; only you, who do not know me; you, who are enjoying yourself all unheeding, sporting with men and things. Only you, who have never known me, and whom I have never ceased to love.

我的儿子昨天死了。为了这条幼小娇弱的生命，我和死神搏斗了三天三夜。连续四十个小时，他因流感发高烧，那可怜的烧得滚烫的身体颤抖着，我一直守在他的床边。我把冷水浸过的毛巾敷在他前额上，整天整夜地握着他那双抽搐不停的小手。到第三天晚上，我精疲力竭了。我不知不觉地闭上了眼睛，在那把硬凳子上坐着睡了可能三四个小时。就在这时候，死神把他带走了。我那亲爱的孩子此刻就躺在那儿，躺在他那窄窄的小床上，就和他死去时一样。只是他的眼睛，他那双聪明、乌黑的眼睛已经合上了，他的双手交叉着放在胸前。床的四个角上分别插着一支点燃的蜡烛。我不敢看，不敢动，因为当烛光闪动时，光影会在他的脸和紧闭的双唇上不停地跳动。看上去就仿佛他的脸颊在动，我几乎以为他根本没有死，以为他还会醒过来，还会用他那清脆的声音对我说些充满稚气而亲昵的话。可我知道他死了，我不愿意再看，以免再一次心存希望后又再一次失望。我知道，我知道，我的儿子昨天已经死了。现在在这个世上我只有你，只有你了，对我一无所知的你；现在正毫不理会、逍遥快活、和人寻欢作乐的你。我只有你了，对我一无所知的你，我始终爱着的你。

I have lighted a fifth candle, and am sitting at the table writing to you. I cannot stay alone with my dead child without pouring my heart out to some one and to whom should I do that in this dreadful hour if not to You, who have been and still are all in all to me? Perhaps I shall not be able to make myself plain to you. Perhaps you will not be able to understand me. My head feels so heavy; my temples are throbbing; my limbs are aching. I think I must be feverish. Influenza is raging in this quarter, and probably I have caught the infection. I should not be sorry if I could join my child in that way, instead of making short work of myself. Sometimes it seems dark before my eyes, and perhaps I shall not be able to finish this letter; but I shall try with all my strength, this one and only time, to speak to you, my beloved, to you who have never known me.

我已经点上了第五支蜡烛，现在坐在桌旁给你写信。我无法孤零零地守着我那死去的孩子，而不向人倾诉一下，但在这可怕的时刻，不向你诉说我又该向谁诉说呢？你曾经是，现在仍然是我的一切。也许我无法跟你说清楚。也许你无法理解我。我脑袋现在昏昏沉沉的，太阳穴在强烈地跳动，四肢酸疼。我想我一定是发烧了。这个季节流感盛行，我很可能已经染上流感了。我倒是不会感到难过的，如果我可以就此和我的孩子一块儿作伴，我就不用自己动手了结自己了。有时似乎我眼前漆黑一片，也许我写不完这封信了。但这一次，也是仅有的一次，我一定要尽我的全力和你，我的爱人，和从来不知晓我的你来谈一谈。

To you only do I want to speak, that I may tell you everything for the first time. I should like you to know the whole of my life, of that life which has always been yours, and of which you have known nothing. But you shall only know my secret after I am dead, when there will be no one whom you will have to answer; you shall only know it if that which is now shaking my limbs with cold and with heat should really prove, for me, the end. If I have to go on living, I shall tear up this letter and shall keep the silence I have always kept. If you ever hold it in your hands, you may know that a dead woman is telling you her life story; the story of a life which was yours from its first to its last fully conscious hour. You need have no fear of my words. A dead woman wants nothing; neither love, nor compassion, nor consolation. I have only one thing to ask of you, that you believe to the full what the pain in me forces me to disclose to you. Believe my words, for I ask nothing more of you; a mother will not speak falsely beside the death—bed of her only child.

我只想和你交谈，第一次把一切都告诉你。我想要你知道我的整个人生，知道我那一直属于你、而你却毫无所知的人生。可是只有在我死后你才会知道我的秘密，那时也没有人要你回信了；只有现在这使我四肢发抖、忽冷忽热的病真的让我的生命终结，你才会知道我的一切。倘若我还得继续活下去，我就会把这封信撕掉，继续像以前一样保持沉默。如果某一天你手里拿到这封信，你就会知道这是个已死的女人在向你诉说她的一生，她那从懂事起直到生命最后一刻都属于你的一生。你不用对我这些话感到害怕。一个已死的女人是无所求的，既不求别人的爱，也不求同情和慰藉。我只求你一件事，那就是请你完全相信我心中的痛苦迫使我要告诉你的这一切。请你相信我的话，因为除此之外我对你别无所求；一个母亲在她死去的独子旁边是不会说谎的。

I am going to tell you my whole life, the life which did not really begin until the day I first saw you. What I can recall before that day is gloomy and confused, a memory as of a cellar filled with dusty, dull, and cobwebbed things and people—a place with which my heart has no concern. When you came into my life, I was thirteen, and I lived in the house where you live today, in the very house in which you are reading this letter, the last breath of my life. I lived on the same floor, for the door of our flat was just opposite the door of yours. You will certainly have forgotten us. You will long ago have forgotten the accountant's widow in her threadbare mourning, and the thin, half—grown girl. We were always so quiet; characteristic examples of shabby gentility. It is unlikely that you ever heard our name, for we had no plate on our front door, and no one ever came to see us. Besides, it is so long ago, fifteen or sixteen years. Impossible that you should remember. But I, how passionately I remember every detail. As if it had just happened, I recall the day, the hour, when I first heard of you, first saw you. How could it be otherwise, seeing that it was then the world began for me? Have patience awhile, and let me tell you everything from first to last. Do not grow weary of listening to me for a brief space, since I have not been weary of loving you my whole life long.

我要告诉你我的整个一生，我那从第一次见你的那一天才真正开始的人生。在那以前，我所能回想起来的生活都是阴郁沉闷、杂乱无章的，就犹如一个地窖，充斥着布满灰尘和蛛网的东西和沉闷无味的人——这些我已经不在意了。当你走进我的生活中时，我十三岁，就住在你现在住的这幢房子里，此刻你正在这幢房子里读着这封信，这封信是我生命的最后一丝气息。我和你住在同一层楼，我住的公寓正好在你的对门。你肯定已经忘了我们。你可能早已忘了那个总穿着破旧孝服的会计员的遗孀和她那瘦小的尚未长大成人的女儿。我们总是非常安静，过着一种典型的贫穷但又保持着尊严的生活。你不太可能听说过我们的姓名，因为我们前门上没有挂牌子，也没有人来拜访过我们。况且这已是很久以前的事了，都有十五六年了。你不可能还记得。可是我呢，仍是那么激情满怀地记得每一个细节。仿佛一切都是刚刚发生的，我记得我第一次听人家说起你，第一次看到你的那一天、那一刻。我怎么能不记得呢？因为对我来说，世界是从那一刻开始的。请您暂且耐心等待一下，让我把一切从头至尾都告诉你。不要听我说了一会儿就感到厌烦，因为我爱了你一辈子都不曾感到厌烦。

Before you came, the people who lived in your flat were horrid folk, always quarrelling. Though they were wretchedly poor themselves, they bated us for our poverty because we held aloof from them. The man was given to drink, and used to beat his wife. We were often wakened in the night by the clatter of falling chairs and breaking plates. Once, when he had beaten her till the blood came, she ran out on the landing with her hair streaming, followed by her drunken husband abusing her, until all the people came out onto the staircase and threatened to send for the police. My mother would have nothing to do with them. She forbade me to play with the children, who took every opportunity of venting their spleen on me for this refusal. When they met me in the street, they would call me names; and once they threw a snowball at me which was so hard that it cut my forehead. Every one in the house detested them, and we all breathed more freely when something happened and they had to leave—I think the man had been arrested for theft. For a few days there was a "To Let" notice at the main door. Then it was taken down, and the caretaker told us that the flat had been rented by an author, who was a bachelor, and was sure to be quiet. That was the first time I heard your name.

你搬来以前，你那屋子里住的那家人十分令人厌恶，总是吵闹不休。他们自己穷困潦倒，却又嫌恶我们贫困，因为我们不和他们交往。那家的男人爱酗酒，经常打老婆。我们常常在夜晚被椅子倒地、盘子破碎的哐啷声惊醒。有一次他把他老婆打得受伤流血，他老婆披头散发地跑到楼梯口，那个醉醺醺的丈夫跟在她身后咒骂她，最后大家都出来聚集到楼梯口，威胁他说要叫警察来，他才消停下来。我母亲和这家人没有任何往来。她不准我和这家的孩子一块儿玩，而因为我们和他们总是保持距离，那些孩子总是一有机会就在我身上报复撒气。要是在大街上碰到我，他们便会大声谩骂。有一次他们朝我扔来一个坚硬的雪球，砸破了我的额头。这栋楼里的所有人都很厌恶这家人，有一天他们家出了事而不得不离开这里了——我想是那个男人偷东西被抓了起来，大家这才都松了口气。之后，招租的告示在大门上贴了几天。然后告示给揭了下来，门房告诉我们房子被一个作家租了去，这位作家是单身，而且肯定会非常安静。这是我第一次听到你的名字。

A few days later, the flat was thoroughly cleaned, and the painters and decorators came. Of course they made a lot of noise, but my mother was glad, for she said that would be the end of the disorder next door. I did not see you during the move. The decorations and furnishings were supervised by your servant, the little grey—haired man with such a serious demeanour, who had obviously been used to service in good families. He managed everything in a most businesslike way, and impressed us all very much. A high—class domestic of this kind was something quite new in our suburban flats. Besides, he was extremely civil, but was never hail—fellow—well—met with the ordinary servants. From the outset he treated my mother respectfully, as a lady; and he was always courteous even to little me. When he had occasion to mention your name, he did so in a way which showed that his feeling towards you was that of a family retainer. I used to love good, old John for this, though I envied him at the same time because it was his privilege to see you constantly and to serve you.

几天后，房子彻底打扫干净了，油漆匠、装修工也来了。当然，他们弄出了很大的声响，但我母亲很高兴，她说，我们终于不再与乱七八糟的人家为邻了。你搬进来的那段时间我没看到你。装饰和家具摆设的工作都是你的仆人负责安排的。你那位小个子的仆人，头发灰白，神情严肃，明显就是已经习惯了在有教养的人家任职。他非常有条理地安排一切事务，给我们所有人都留下了十分深刻的印象。这种上等男仆在我们这种坐落在郊区的寓所里是很少见的。另外，他对人非常有礼貌，但也不会和普通仆役打成一片。从一开始他就把我的母亲当作一位夫人一样尊重，甚至对我这个小丫头，他也总是谦和有礼的。每每提到你的名字，他说话的语气总是显示出他对你的感情正是一个忠实的家仆对其主人的感情。为此我过去很是喜欢这个善良的老约翰，可是我同时也忌妒他，因为他有特权可以经常看到你、侍候你。

Do you know why I am telling you these trifles? I want you to understand how it was that from the very beginning your personality came to exercise so much power over me when I was still a shy and timid child. Before I had actually seen you, there was a halo round your head. You were enveloped in an atmosphere of wealth, marvel, and mystery. People whose lives are narrow, are avid of novelty; and in this little suburban house we were all impatiently awaiting your arrival. In my own case, curiosity rose to fever point when I came home from school one afternoon and found the furniture van in front of the house. Most of the heavy things had gone up, and the furniture removers were dealing with the smaller articles. I stood at the door to watch and admire, for everything belonging to you was so different from what I had been used to. There were Indian idols, Italian sculptures, and great, brightly coloured pictures. Last of all came books, such lovely books, many more than I should have thought possible. They were piled by the door. The manservant stood there carefully dusting them one by one. I greedily watched the pile as it grew. Your servant did not send me away, but he did not encourage me either, so I was afraid to touch any of them, though I should have so liked to stroke the smooth leather bindings. I did glance timidly at some of the titles; many of them were in French and in English, and in languages of which I did not know a single word. I should have liked to stand there watching for hours, but my mother called me and I had to go in.

你知道我为什么告诉你这些鸡毛蒜皮的事吗？我是想让你明白，从一开始，在我还是个害羞胆小的孩子的时候，你的个性就对我产生了如此大的影响。在我真正见到你之前，你的头上就笼罩着一个光环。一种富贵、奇异而又神秘的气氛围绕着你。生活在狭小天地里的人总是很渴望新鲜事儿的。我们这幢郊区小楼房里的所有居民都急不可耐地等你搬进来。就我自己而言，当我有一天下午放学回到家，看见搬家具的车停在楼前时，我对你的好奇心简直到了狂热的地步。当时大部分笨重的家具都已搬到楼上了，搬运工正在搬一些小物件。我站在门口，艳羡地看着，因为你所有的东西与我熟知的东西是那么地不一样。你有印度的佛像，意大利的雕塑，色彩艳丽的大幅绘画。最后是书，这些书非常精致，其数量之多，远超出我的想象。这些书都堆在门口。你的仆人站在那儿，仔细地一本本拭去书上的灰尘。我贪婪地看着那越来越高的书堆。你的仆人没有把我撵走，但也没叫我走近，因此我一本书也不敢碰，尽管我心里很想摸一摸那些书光滑的软皮封面。我只是怯生生地看了看一些书名，有好些是法文和英文写的，还有些文字我一个字都不认得。我本想一直站在那儿看上几个小时的，可我的母亲叫我，我只得回去了。

I thought about you the whole evening, although I had not seen you yet. I had only about a dozen cheap books, bound in worn cardboard. I loved them more than anything else in the world, and was continually reading and rereading them. Now I was wondering what the man could be like who had such a lot of books, who had read so much, who knew so many languages, who was rich and at the same time so learned. The idea of so many books aroused a kind of unearthly veneration. I tried to picture you in my mind. You must be an old man with spectacles and a long, white beard, like our geography master, but much kinder, nicer—looking, and gentler. I don't know why I was sure that you must be handsome, for I fancied you to be an elderly man. That very night, I dreamed of you for the first time.

我整个晚上都在想你，尽管我那时还没见过你。我自己只有十几本很便宜的书，都是用旧纸板做的封面。我爱护这些书，胜过世上其他任何东西，而且一直把这些书读了又读。那时我就想一个有这么多的书，读过这么多的书，懂这么多种语言，有钱又有学问的人会是什么样子呢？想到这么多的书，我心里就生起一种异常的崇敬之情。我努力在心中描绘你的模样。你一定是个戴眼镜的老先生，蓄着长长的白胡子，就像我们的地理老师一样，但是比他更和气、更好看、更温雅。我不知道为什么我就认定你长得好看，因为我那时把你想象成一位老者。就在那天夜里，我第一次梦见了你。

Next day you moved in; but though I was on the watch I could not get a glimpse of your face, and my failure inflamed my curiosity. At length I saw you, on the third day. How astounded I was to find that you were quite different from the ancient godfather conjured up by my childish imagination. A bespectacled, good—natured old fellow was what I had expected to see; and you came, looking just as you still look, for you are one on whom the years leave little mark. You were wearing a beautiful suit of light—brown tweeds, and you ran upstairs two steps at a time with the boyish ease that always characterises your movements. You were hat in hand, so that, with indescribable amazement, I could see your bright and lively face and your youthful hair. Your handsome, slim, and spruce figure was a positive shock to me. How strange it was that in this first moment I should have plainly realised that which I and all others are continually surprised at in you. I realised that you are two people rolled into one: that you are an ardent, light—hearted youth, devoted to sport and adventure; and at the same time, in your art, a deeply read and highly cultured man, grave, and with a keen sense of responsibility. Unconsciously I perceived what everyone who knew you came to perceive, that you led two lives. One of these was known to all, it was the life open to the whole world; the other was turned away from the world, and was fully known only to yourself. I, a girl of thirteen, coming under the spell of your attraction, grasped this secret of your existence, this profound cleavage of your two lives, at the first glance.

第二天你搬进来了，可是尽管我一直在留意着，我还是没能见到你，这也进一步激发了我的好奇。最后，在你搬进来的第三天，我终于见到你了。当我发现你与我幼稚想象中那个古代教父的形象完全不同时，我真是大吃了一惊。我原以为会见到一个戴眼镜的和蔼可亲的老人，可是你出现了，样子就跟你现在看起来一样，因为你是那种岁月几乎不会在身上留下什么痕迹的人。你穿着一身漂亮的浅褐色斜纹软呢服，一步跨两级台阶地跑上楼，步伐中带着你那种一贯的孩童般的轻捷。你把帽子拿在手里，所以我看到了你那容光焕发、朝气蓬勃的面孔，还有那一头年轻亮泽的头发，当时我真是惊讶得难以形容。你面容俊朗、身材颀长、英俊潇洒，这着实让我吃了一惊。真是奇怪，就在我初次见到你的那一刻，我就非常清楚地感觉到了你一直令我和其他所有人都惊讶的特质。我意识到你是一个具有双重人格的人：一方面你是一个热情洋溢、乐观快活的年轻人，喜欢运动和探险；同时你又是在你所从事的领域里学识渊博、很有休养、严肃认真、极具责任心的学者。无意中我感觉到了每个认识你的人对你的印象：你过着一种双重生活。一种是众所周知的，向世人敞开的生活；另外一种则是远离俗世，只有你自己真正了解的生活。我，这个着了魔似的被你吸引住的十三岁女孩，在看到你的第一眼时，就感觉到了你的秘密，即这种深藏着的分裂的双重生活。

Can you understand, now, what a miracle, what an alluring enigma, you must have seemed to me, the child? Here was a man whom everyone spoke of with respect because he wrote books, and because he was famous in the great world. Of a sudden he had revealed himself to me as a boyish, cheerful young man of five—and—twenty! I need hardly tell you that henceforward, in my restricted world, you were the only thing that interested me; that my life revolved round yours with the fidelity proper to a girl of thirteen. I watched you, watched your habits, watched the people who came to see you—and all this increased instead of diminishing my interest in your personality, for the two—sidedness of your nature was reflected in the diversity of your visitors. Some of them were young men, comrades of yours, carelessly dressed students with whom you laughed and larked. Some of them were ladies who came in motors. Once the conductor of the opera—the great man whom before this I had seen only from a distance, baton in hand—called on you. Some of them were girls, young girls still attending the commercial school, who shyly glided in at the door. A great many of your visitors were women. I thought nothing of this, not even when, one morning, as I was on my way to school, I saw a closely veiled lady coming away from your flat. I was only just thirteen, and in my immaturity I did not in the least realise that the eager curiosity with which I scanned all your doings was already love.

你现在能明白，你对我这个孩子来说是一个多么大的奇迹，一个多么诱人的谜吗？这是一位人们谈起时都会心怀敬意的人，因为他写了很多书，因为他在上流社会赫赫有名。可是突然之间，呈现在我面前的是个还带着一丝孩子气，开朗活泼的二十五岁青年！不必说，自此以后，在我狭小的生活天地里，你是我唯一的兴趣；带着十三岁女孩的执着，我整个生活都围着你打转。我观察你，观察你的生活习惯，观察那些来找你的人——所有这一切不仅没有减弱，反而增强了我对你这个人的兴趣，因为来访的有各种各样的人，这就表现出了你性格中的两重性。他们当中有些是年轻人，你的朋友伙伴，一批不修边幅的学生，你跟他们一起谈笑嬉闹。有些是坐小汽车过来的女士。有一次歌剧院的指挥家——这位我以前只能远远看着的、手拿指挥棒的大人物——也来拜访你。还有些是还在上商校的年轻女孩子，她们常常是羞涩地从大门溜进去。你的访客中有很多都是女人。但我对此并没有什么别的想法，即使是当有一天早上，我在上学路上看见有位用面纱遮得严严实实的女士从你屋里出来时，我也没有多想。我那时才十三岁，还没有长大，压根儿没有意识到那种窥探你一切举动的强烈好奇心已经是爱了。

But I know the very day and hour when I consciously gave my whole heart to you. I had been for a walk with a schoolfellow, and we were standing at the door chattering. A motor drove up. You jumped out, in the impatient, springy fashion which has never ceased to charm me, and were about to go in. An impulse made me open the door for you, and this brought me in your path, so that we almost collided. You looked at me with a cordial, gracious, all—embracing glance, which was almost a caress. You smiled at me tenderly—yes, tenderly, is the word—and said gently, nay, confidentially: "Thanks so much. "

但我知道我确定将自己整颗心交给你的那一天那一刻。那天，我和一个同学去散了会儿步，然后我俩站在大门口聊天。一辆小汽车驶了过来。你急匆匆地、快速地从车上跳了出来，这个样子至今仍使我动心，然后你马上就要进门去了。有一种冲动让我去给你开门，这样我就挡了你的路，以至于我俩几乎撞在了一起。你看了我一眼，眼光热忱、亲切、饱含了许多内容，就像是一种爱怜一般。你温柔地对我微微一笑——是的，是温柔地笑——然后温和地，不，是亲密地对我说： “非常感谢。”

That was all you said. But from this moment, from the time when you looked at me so gently, so tenderly, I was yours. Later, before long indeed, I was to learn that this was a way you had of looking at all women with whom you came in contact. It was a caressing and alluring glance, at once enfolding and disclothing, the glance of the born seducer. Involuntarily, you looked in this way at every showgirl who served you, at every maidservant who opened the door to you. It was not that you consciously longed to possess all these women, but your impulse towards the sex unconsciously made your eyes melting and warm whenever they rested on a woman. At thirteen, I had no thought of this; and I felt as if I had been bathed in fire. I believed that the tenderness was for me, for me only; and in this one instant the woman was awakened in the half—grown girl, the woman who was to be yours for all future time.