Возвращение на родину

VII. The Night of the Sixth of November

           Whenshegotintotheouterairshefoundthatithadbeguntorain,andasshestoodpausingatthedooritincreased,threateningtocomeonheavily.Buthavingcommittedherselftothislineofactiontherewasnoretreatingforbadweather.EventhereceiptofClym’sletterwouldnothavestoppedhernow.Thegloomofthenightwasfunereal;allnatureseemedclothedincrape.Thespikypointsofthefirtreesbehindthehouseroseintotheskyliketheturretsandpinnaclesofanabbey.NothingbelowthehorizonwasvisiblesavealightwhichwasstillburninginthecottageofSusanNunsuch.

           Eustaciaopenedherumbrellaandwentoutfromtheenclosurebythestepsoverthebank,afterwhichshewasbeyondalldangerofbeingperceived.Skirtingthepool,shefollowedthepathtowardsRainbarrow,occasionallystumblingovertwistedfurzeroots,tuftsofrushes,oroozinglumpsoffleshyfungi,whichatthisseasonlayscatteredabouttheheathliketherottenliverandlungsofsomecolossalanimal.Themoonandstarswereclosedupbycloudandraintothedegreeofextinction.Itwasanightwhichledthetraveller’sthoughtsinstinctivelytodwellonnocturnalscenesofdisasterinthechroniclesoftheworld,onallthatisterribleanddarkinhistoryandlegend—thelastplagueofEgypt,thedestructionofSennacherib’shost,theagonyinGethsemane.

           EustaciaatlengthreachedRainbarrow,andstoodstilltheretothink.Neverwasharmonymoreperfectthanthatbetweenthechaosofhermindandthechaosoftheworldwithout.

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