It was the day after this that Waddington, coming to the bungalow in the afternoon, when he had sat a little asked Kitty if she would not go for a stroll with him. She had not been out of the compound since their arrival. She was glad enough.

“There are not many walks, I'm afraid,” he said. “But we'll go to the top of the hill.”

“Oh, yes, where the archway is. I've seen it often from the terrace.”

One of the boys opened the heavy doorway for them and they stepped out into the dusty lane. They walked a few yards and then Kitty, seizing Waddington's arm in fright, gave a startled cry.

“Look!”

“What's the matter?”

At the foot of the wall that surrounded the compound a man lay on his back with his legs stretched out and his arms thrown over his head. He wore the patched blue rags and the wild mop of hair of the Chinese beggar.

“He looks as if he were dead,” Kitty gasped.

“He is dead. Come along; you'd better look the other way. I'll have him moved when we come back.”

But Kitty was trembling so violently that she could not stir.

“I've never seen any one dead before.”

“You'd better hurry up and get used to it then, because you'll see a good many before you've done with this cheerful spot.”

He took her hand and drew it in his arm. They walked for a little in silence.

“Did he die of cholera?” she said at last.

“I suppose so.”

They walked up the hill till they came to the archway. It was richly carved. Fantastic and ironical it stood like a landmark in the surrounding country. They sat down on the pedestal and faced the wide plain. The hill was sown close with the little green mounds of the dead, not in lines but disorderly, so that you felt that beneath the surface they must strangely jostle one another. The narrow causeway meandered sinuously among the green rice-fields. A small boy seated on the neck of a water-buffalo drove it slowly home, and three peasants in wide straw hats lolloped with sidelong gait under their heavy loads. After the heat of the day it was pleasant in that spot to catch the faint breeze of the evening and the wide expanse of country brought a sense of restful melancholy to the tortured heart. But Kitty could not rid her mind of the dead beggar.

“How can you talk and laugh and drink whisky when people are dying all around you?” she asked suddenly.

Waddington did not answer. He turned round and looked at her, then he put his hand on her arm.

“You know, this is no place for a woman,” he said gravely. “Why don't you go?”

She gave him a sidelong glance from beneath her long lashes and there was the shadow of a smile on her lips.

“I should have thought under the circumstances a wife's place was by her husband's side.”

“When they telegraphed to me that you were coming with Fane I was astonished. But then it occurred to me that perhaps you'd been a nurse and all this sort of thing was in the day's work. I expected you to be one of those grim-visaged females who lead you a dog's life when you're ill in hospital. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I came into the bungalow and saw you sitting down and resting. You looked very frail and white and tired.”

“You couldn't expect me to look my best after nine days on the road.”

“You look frail and white and tired now, and if you'll allow me to say so, desperately unhappy.”

Kitty flushed because she could not help it, but she was able to give a laugh that sounded merry enough.

“I'm sorry you don't like my expression. The only reason I have for looking unhappy is that since I was twelve I've known that my nose was a little too long. But to cherish a secret sorrow is a most effective pose: you can't think how many sweet young men have wanted to console me.”

Waddington's blue and shining eyes rested on her and she knew that he did not believe a word she said. She did not care so long as he pretended to.

“I knew that you hadn't been married very long and I came to the conclusion that you and your husband were madly in love with each other. I couldn't believe that he had wished you to come, but perhaps you had absolutely refused to stay behind.”

“That's a very reasonable explanation,” she said lightly.

“Yes, but it isn't the right one.”

She waited for him to go on, fearful of what he was about to say, for she had a pretty good idea of his shrewdness and was aware that he never hesitated to speak his mind, but unable to resist the desire to hear him talk about herself.

“I don't think for a moment that you're in love with your husband. I think you dislike him, I shouldn't be surprised if you hated him. But I'm quite sure you're afraid of him.”

For a moment she looked away. She did not mean to let Waddington see that anything he said affected her.

“I have a suspicion that you don't very much like my husband,” she said with cool irony.

“I respect him. He has brains and character; and that, I may tell you, is a very unusual combination. I don't suppose you know what he is doing here, because I don't think he's very expansive with you. If any man single handed can put a stop to this frightful epidemic he's going to do it. He's doctoring the sick, cleaning the city up, trying to get the drinking water pure. He doesn't mind where he goes nor what he does. He's risking his life twenty times a day. He's got Colonel Yü in his pocket and he's induced him to put the troops at his disposal. He's even put a little pluck into the magistrate and the old man is really trying to do something. And the nuns at the convent swear by him. They think he's a hero.”

“Don't you?”

“After all this isn't his job, is it? He's a bacteriologist. There was no call for him to come here. He doesn't give me the impression that he's moved by compassion for all these dying Chinamen. Watson was different. He loved the human race. Though he was a missionary it didn't make any difference to him if they were Christian, Buddhist, or Confucian; they were just human beings. Your husband isn't here because he cares a damn if a hundred thousand Chinese die of cholera; he isn't here either in the interests of science. Why is he here?”

“You'd better ask him.”

“It interests me to see you together. I sometimes wonder how you behave when you're alone. When I'm there you're acting, both of you, and acting damned badly, by George. You'd neither of you get thirty bob a week in a touring company if that's the best you can do.”

“I don't know what you mean,” smiled Kitty, keeping up a pretence of frivolity which she knew did not deceive.

“You're a very pretty woman. It's funny that your husband should never look at you. When he speaks to you it sounds as though it were not his voice but somebody else's.”

“Do you think he doesn't love me?” asked Kitty in a low voice, hoarsely, putting aside suddenly her lightness.

“I don't know. I don't know if you fill him with such a repulsion that it gives him goose-flesh to be near you or if he's burning with a love that for some reason he will not allow himself to show. I've asked myself if you're both here to commit suicide.”

Kitty had seen the startled glance and then the scrutinising look Waddington gave them when the incident of the salad took place.

“I think you're attaching too much importance to a few lettuce leaves,” she said flippantly. She rose. “Shall we go home? I'm sure you want a whisky and soda.”

“You're not a heroine at all events. You're frightened to death. Are you sure you don't want to go away?”

“What has it got to do with you?”

“I'll help you.”

“Are you going to fall to my look of secret sorrow? Look at my profile and tell me if my nose isn't a trifle too long.”

He gazed at her reflectively, that malicious, ironical look in his bright eyes, but mingled with it, a shadow, like a tree standing at a river's edge and its reflection in the water, was an expression of singular kindliness. It brought sudden tears to Kitty's eyes.

“Must you stay?”

“Yes.”

They passed under the flamboyant archway and walked down the hill. When they came to the compound they saw the body of the dead beggar. He took her arm, but she released herself. She stood still.

“It's dreadful, isn't it?”

“What? Death.”

“Yes. It makes everything else seem so horribly trivial. He doesn't look human. When you look at him you can hardly persuade yourself that he's ever been alive. It's hard to think that not so very many years ago he was just a little boy tearing down the hill and flying a kite.”

She could not hold back the sob that choked her.

第二天，威廷顿又在下午来到了小平房，坐了一会儿后，他问凯蒂是否愿意跟他出去散散步。自从来到这里以后，凯蒂还没出过这个院落，她很高兴地接受了邀请。

“恐怕我们不能走得太远。”他说道，“但我们可以走到山顶上。”

“哦，是的，那儿有个拱门，我经常从门廊那儿望它。”

一个仆人为他们打开了沉重的铁门，他们走上了一条布满灰尘的小路，刚走出几码远，凯蒂突然惊恐地抓住了威廷顿的胳膊，发出一声惊叫。

“快看！”

“怎么了？”

在围着院落的墙角下，躺着一个男人，双腿伸展着，胳膊也伸直过头，穿着打满补丁的蓝色布褂，乱蓬蓬的头发很长，像是一个乞丐。

“看上去，他好像已经死了。”凯蒂上气不接下气地说。

“是死了，从旁边走，最好眼睛看着别处，我们回来的时候，我会让人把他抬走。”

但是凯蒂浑身颤抖得很厉害，她都挪不动步了。

“我以前从来没见过死人。”

“你最好还是尽快适应，因为你在这个地方真正安顿下来之前，会看到很多的死人。”

他拉起她的手，把它放到臂弯里，他们沉默地走了一会儿。

“他是死于霍乱吗？”她最后忍不住开口问道。

“我想是的。”

他们爬到了山顶，来到了牌坊前，牌坊上雕刻了很多图案，高大巍峨，但具有讽刺意味的是在周围的乡间显得很不协调，它矗立在那儿看上去好像一个地标。他们在石阶上坐下来，面朝着山下宽阔的平地。小山紧挨着一小块绿色的坟地，没有成排排列，而是散乱地东一座、西一座地分布，让你感觉到在坟丘的下面，尸骨也是奇怪地堆在一起。狭窄的田埂道在绿油油的稻田中间蜿蜒曲折地延展，一个小男孩正坐在水牛背上，赶着它慢慢地走回家，而三个戴着宽大草帽的农民，背着沉重的东西，迈着摇摇晃晃的步伐缓缓地跟在后面。正午的热气已经散去，傍晚在山顶上有一阵微风吹来，下面广阔的农田似乎给人一种安详的感觉，但对于受到折磨的心灵来说，也不乏忧郁的气息。然而，凯蒂的脑海中，那个死去的乞丐的形象总是挥之不去。

“在你身边人们纷纷死去的时候，你怎么还能聊天、说笑和大口喝威士忌呢？”她突然问道。

威廷顿没有回答，他转过身看着她，然后把手放到她的手臂上。

“你知道，这儿不是女人待的地方。”他严肃地说道，“你为什么不走呢？”

她从长长的睫毛下睨视了他一眼，嘴角露出了一丝微笑。

“我想在当前的情景下，一个妻子应该待的地方是她丈夫的身边。”

“当他们给我发电报说你和沃尔特一起过来，我当时真的很吃惊。可是后来我想你可能是一名护士，或者对这儿的工作能帮上忙，我希望你是个板着面孔的女医生，当有人生病住院时，你会让他们的日子不好受。可当我走进平房第一眼看见你坐在那儿休息时，让我大吃一惊，你看上去那么的纤弱、苍白和疲惫。”

“经过九天的长途跋涉，你不能指望我还是精神焕发呀。”

“你现在看上去也依然纤弱、苍白和疲惫。如果你能允许我说实话，再加上，看上去十分的不幸。”

凯蒂禁不住脸红了，但是她勉强笑了一声，听上去好像还算快乐。

“很抱歉你会不喜欢我的解释的，我看上去不快乐的唯一原因就是在我十二岁时，我知道我的鼻子有点儿太长了，但是怀揣这么一个秘密的悲伤，也是最有效的一招，你无法想象有多少年轻的满嘴甜言蜜语的男人想要安慰我。”

威廷顿用蓝色的闪亮的眼睛盯着她，她知道他其实并不相信她的话，只要他不当场拆穿，她倒是并不在意。

“我知道你结婚的时间并不长，我得出的结论是你和你的丈夫彼此疯狂地爱着对方，我无法相信他会希望你一起来。但是，也许你斩钉截铁地拒绝和他分开，独自留下来。”

“这倒是一个非常讲得通的理由。”她轻快地说道。

“是的，但这不是真正的原因。”

她等着他继续说下去，但又害怕他要说出的话，因为她非常清楚他很精明，也知道他直言不讳。然而，她还是无法抵抗住那种想听听他到底如何谈论她的诱惑。

“我一点儿也不相信你爱你丈夫，我觉得你不喜欢他，如果说你讨厌他，我也不会惊奇，但是我敢肯定你怕他。”

有那么一会儿，她看着别处，她并不打算让威廷顿看出他说的话影响到了她。

“你怀疑我不是很喜欢我丈夫。”她略带挖苦地说道。

“我尊重他，他有思想也有个性，而且，我可以告诉你，这两种特征结合到一个人身上很不寻常。我认为你不知道他在这儿每天都在干什么，因为我觉得他很少跟你交流。如果需要有人单枪匹马制止这场可怕的瘟疫，他一定会义无反顾地冲上阵。他为病人治疗，为整个城镇消毒，竭力使饮用水清洁。他不介意去任何地方，也不介意做任何事情，一天有二十次要冒着生命危险，他已经把余上校收入麾下，余上校对他言听计从，他力劝余上校要严肃军纪。他甚至给地方主官也增添了勇气，让这位上了岁数的老人也真的想方设法做点儿事了。修道院的修女们在他身边都发誓哪怕做出牺牲，也要治病救人。他们把他看作英雄。”

“你难道不把他看作英雄吗？”

“毕竟这些不是他的工作，不是吗？他是一名细菌学家，没人让他来这儿，他没让我觉得他是出于对所有垂死的人的同情心才来这儿的。魏特森不一样，他热爱芸芸众生，虽然他是个传教士，但在他的眼中，无论是天主教徒、佛教徒或者信奉儒家思想的人都没有什么不同，他们都是人类。你的丈夫不是因为他关心是否有成百上千的人死于霍乱才来这个地方的，也不是因为他出于对科学的兴趣，那么为什么他会来这儿呢？”

“你最好去问他。”

“让我感兴趣的是看到你们两个在一起，我有时很好奇，你们俩单独在一起时，会是什么样子。我在这儿的时候，你在表演，你们俩都在表演，但演技差极了，的确是这样。如果一个巡演剧团雇用了你俩，你们使出九牛二虎之力一周也挣不了三十个先令。”

“我不知道你这话是什么意思。”凯蒂笑着说，好像威廷顿在说一件轻松的乐事，但她心里明白，他所言非虚。

“你是个非常漂亮的女人，但你丈夫都不正眼瞧你一眼，这挺好笑。当他跟你说话时，听上去好像都不是他自己的声音，而是别人的声音。”

“你认为他不爱我吗？”凯蒂用低沉、沙哑的声音问道，刚才那种轻松的口吻突然不见了。

“我不知道，我不清楚是否你让他心里充满了厌恶，以致当他靠近你时，都会起鸡皮疙瘩。或者出于某种原因，他内心虽然炙热地爱着你，但并不显露出来。我对自己说，你们两个来这儿是不是要相约自杀。”

凯蒂曾经看到过威廷顿惊奇的目光，就是当吃沙拉的小插曲发生的时候，他向他俩投来的审视目光。

“我认为你把太多的重要性赋予那些生菜叶子了。”她唐突地说道，而且站起身来，“我们能回去了吗？我敢肯定你想喝威士忌加苏打水了。”

“无论如何你都不是个女中豪杰，你吓得要死，你确定你不想离开这儿吗？”

“这跟你有什么关系吗？”

“我会帮你。”

“你会没有注意到让我暗自神伤的外貌吗？看一下我的脸型，告诉我是否我的鼻子并不是太长呀。”

他若有所思地凝视着她，在他明亮的眼中能够看出恶作剧般的嘲弄的神色，但是背后是一种善意，就像河岸边矗立的一棵树，在水中可以看见倒影一样，在他的眼里还可以看见由衷的热心，这使得泪水突然在凯蒂的眼眶中打转转。

“你必须留下来吗？”

“是的。”

他们从华丽壮观的牌坊下穿过，向着山下走去。当他们走到院落的跟前时，又看到了那具乞丐的尸体。他拽着她的胳膊，但她挣脱了，静静地站立在那儿。

“太可怕了，不是吗？”

“你说什么？死亡吗？”

“是的，它使得一切都似乎显得那么微不足道，他看上去都不像个人，当你看着他时，你几乎都无法说服你自己他曾是个活生生的人，更难以想象就在没几年前，他还是个小男孩时，沿着下山的路猛跑，在放着风筝。”

她哽咽着，不能自已。