Suddenly, walking along a blank long wall they came to a gateway flanked by sentry boxes, and the bearers set down the chairs. Waddington hurried up to Kitty. She had already jumped out. The officer knocked loudly on the door and shouted. A postern was opened and they passed into a courtyard. It was large and square. Huddled against the walls, under the eaves of the overhanging roofs, soldiers wrapped in their blankets were lying in huddled groups. They stopped for a moment while the officer spoke to a man who might have been a sergeant on guard. He turned and said something to Waddington.

“He's still alive,” said Waddington in a low voice. “Take care how you walk.”

Still preceded by the men with lanterns they made their way across the yard, up some steps, through a great doorway and then down into another wide court. On one side of this was a long chamber with lights in it; the lights within shining through the rice paper, silhouetted the elaborate pattern of the lattice. The lantern-bearers led them across the yard towards this room and at the door the officer, knocked. It was opened immediately and the officer with a glance at Kitty, stepped back.

“Will you walk in,” said Waddington.

It was a long, low room and the smoky lamps that lit it made the gloom ominous. Three or four orderlies stood about. On a pallet against the wall opposite the door a man was lying huddled under a blanket. An officer was standing motionless at the foot.

Kitty hurried up and leaned over the pallet. Walter lay with his eyes closed and in that sombrer light his face had the grayness of death. He was horribly still.

“Walter, Walter,” she gasped, in a low, terrified tone.

There was a slight movement in the body, or the shadow of a movement,; it was so slight it was like a breath of air which you cannot feel and yet for an instant ruffles the surface of still water.

“Walter, Walter, speak to me.”

The eyes were opened slowly, as though it were an infinite effort to raise those heavy lids, but he did not look, he stared at the wall a few inches from his face. He spoke; his voice, low and weak, had the hint of a smile in it.

“This is a pretty kettle of fish,” he said.

Kitty dared not breathe. He made no further sound, no beginning of a gesture, but his eyes, those dark, cold eyes of his (seeing now what mysteries?) stared at the whitewashed wall. Kitty raised herself to her feet. With haggard gaze she faced the man who stood there.

“Surely something can be done. You're not going to stand there and do nothing?”

She clasped her hands. Waddington spoke to the officer who stood at the end of the bed.

“I'm afraid they've done everything that was possible. The regimental surgeon has been treating him. Your husband has trained him and he's done all that your husband could do himself.”

“Is that the surgeon?”

“No, that is Colonel Yü. He's never left your husband's side.”

Distracted, Kitty gave him a glance. He was a tallish man, but stockily built, and he seemed ill at ease in his khaki uniform. He was looking at Walter and she saw that his eyes were wet with tears. It gave her a pang. Why should that man with his yellow, flat face have tears in his eyes? It exasperated her.

“It's awful to be able to do nothing.”

“At least he's not in pain any more,” said Waddington.

She leaned once more over her husband. Those ghastly eyes of his still stared vacantly in front of him. She could not tell if he saw with them. She did not know whether he had heard what was said. She put her lips close to his ears.

“Walter, isn't there something we can do?”

She thought that there must be some drug they could give him which would stay the dreadful ebbing of his life. Now that her eyes were more accustomed to the dimness, she saw with horror that his face had fallen. She would hardly have recognised him. It was unthinkable that in a few short hours he should look like another man; he hardly looked like a man at all; he looked like death.

She thought that he was making an effort to speak. She put her ear close.

“Don't fuss. I've had a rough passage, but I'm all right now.”

Kitty waited for a moment, but he was silent. His immobility rent her heart with anguish; it was terrifying that he should lie so still. He seemed prepared already for the stillness of the grave. Someone, the surgeon or a dresser, came forward and with a gesture motioned her aside; he leaned over the dying man and with a dirty rag wet his lips. Kitty stood up once more and turned to Waddington despairingly.

“Is there no hope at all?” she whispered.

He shook his head.

“How much longer can he live?”

“No one can tell. An hour perhaps.”

Kitty looked round the bare chamber and her eyes rested for an instant on the substantial form of Colonel Yü.

“Can I be left alone with him for a little while?” she asked. “Only for a minute.”

“Certainly, if you wish it.”

Waddington stepped over to the Colonel and spoke to him. The Colonel gave a little bow and then in a low tone an order.

“We shall wait on the steps,” said Waddington as they trooped out. “You have only to call.”

Now that the incredible had overwhelmed her consciousness, like a drug coursing through her veins, and she realized that Walter was going to die she had but one thought, and that was to make his end easier for him by dragging from his soul the rancor which poisoned it. If he could die at peace with her it seemed to her that he would die at peace with himself. She thought now not of herself at all but only of him.

“Walter, I beseech you to forgive me,” she said, leaning over him. For fear that he could not bear the pressure she took care not to touch him. “I'm so desperately sorry for the wrong I did you. I so bitterly regret it.”

He said nothing. He did not seem to hear. She was obliged to insist. It seemed to her strangely that his soul was a fluttering moth and its wings were heavy with hatred.

“Darling.”

A shadow passed over his wan and sunken face. It was less than a movement, and yet it gave all the effect of a terrifying convulsion. She had never used that word to him before. Perhaps in his dying brain there passed the thought, confused and difficultly grasped, that he had only heard her use it, a commonplace of her vocabulary, to dogs and babies and motor-cars. Then something horrible occurred. She clenched her hands, trying with all her might to control herself, for she saw two tears run slowly down his wasted cheeks.

“Oh, my precious, my dear, if you ever loved me--I know you loved me and I was hateful--I beg you to forgive me. I've no chance now to show my repentance. Have mercy on me. I beseech you to forgive.”

She stopped. She looked at him, all breathless, waiting passionately for a reply. She saw that he tried to speak. Her heart gave a great bound. It seemed to her that it would be in a manner a reparation for the suffering she had caused him if at this last moment she could effect his deliverance from that load of bitterness. His lips moved. He did not look at her. His eyes stared unseeing at the white-washed wall. She leaned over him so that she might hear. But he spoke quite clearly.

“The dog it was that died.”

She stayed as still as though she were turned to stone. She could not understand and gazed at him in terrified perplexity. It was meaningless. Delirium. He had not understood a word she said.

It was impossible to be so still and yet to live. She stared. His eyes were open. She could not tell if he breathed. She began to grow frightened.

“Walter,” she whispered. “Walter.”

At last, suddenly, she raised herself. A sudden fear seized her. She turned and went to the door.

“Will you come, please. He doesn't seem to…”

They stepped in. The Chinese surgeon went up to the bed. He had an electric torch in his hand and he lit it and looked at Walter's eyes. Then he closed them. He said something in Chinese. Waddington put his arm round Kitty.

“I'm afraid he's dead.”

Kitty gave a deep sigh. A few tears fell from her eyes. She felt dazed rather than overcome. The Chinese stood about, round the bed, helplessly, as though they did not quite know what to do next. Waddington was silent. In a minute the Chinese began to speak in a low tone among themselves.

“You'd better let me take you back to the bungalow,” said Waddington. “He'll be brought there.”

Kitty passed her hand wearily across her forehead. She went up to the pallet bed and leaned over it. She kissed Walter gently on the lips. She was not crying now.

“I'm sorry to give you so much trouble.”

The officers saluted as she passed and she gravely bowed. They walked back across the courtyard and got into their chairs. She saw Waddington light a cigarette. A little smoke lost in the air, that was the life of man.

沿着一面光秃秃的、长长的墙壁走着，猛然间他们来到了一个大门的入口处，大门两边还有哨兵岗亭。轿夫们把轿椅放下，威廷顿急忙向凯蒂的轿椅跑过来，而她早已从轿椅中跳了出来。那位军官大声敲着门，嘴里还喊叫着什么。一个侧门打开了，他们进到了院子里。院子很大，四四方方，靠着墙边，在突出的屋檐之下，士兵们裹着毯子，三个一群五个一伙地挤着躺在地上。当军官和一个可能正在站岗的中士说话的时候，他们在院子里等了一会儿，然后军官扭过身和威廷顿又说了些什么。

“他还活着。”威廷顿用压得很低的声音说道，“小心脚底下。”

前面仍然有拿着灯笼的人给他们开路，他们穿过院子，上了几级台阶，通过了较大的门廊，然后又来到了另一个宽大的院子。院子的一边是一个长条形的卧室，里面亮着灯，灯光透过宣纸，映衬着窗格上造型别致的图案。拿着灯笼的人领着他们穿过院落走到这个房间前，军官敲了敲门。门马上开了，军官看了一眼凯蒂，往后退了一步。

“你进去吧。”威廷顿说道。

这是一个又长又低矮的房间，点着一盏煤油灯，屋里昏暗，有着一种不祥的征兆。三四个士兵在四下站着，在正对着门的墙边上有一张木床，一个男人在床上躺着，蜷缩在毯子里，一个军官正一动不动地站在床脚。

凯蒂急忙奔过去，趴到床边。沃尔特双眼紧闭躺在床上，在昏暗的灯光下，他的脸如死人一般灰白，他静静地躺着，样子很吓人。

“沃尔特，沃尔特。”她用低低的、害怕的声音唤道。

沃尔特的身体略微动了一下，动作之轻就像一阵微风掠过，你根本感觉不到，或者就像瞬间的涟漪拂过平静的水面。

“沃尔特，沃尔特，跟我说话。”

他的眼睛慢慢睁开了，好像使出了全身的力气才把沉重的眼皮撑开，但是他哪儿也没看，盯着离他几英寸远的墙壁。他说话了，他的声音低沉而虚弱，但有一丝笑意在里面。

“这是一个漂亮的鱼缸。”他说道。

凯蒂不敢呼吸，他没有再出声，也没有开始用手势的意思，但是他的眼睛，那双乌黑、冰冷的眼睛（现在看到什么神秘的东西了吗？）盯着刷白灰的墙壁。凯蒂站起了身，心力憔悴地看着站在那儿的那个男人。

“应该能做点儿什么吧，你不能只站在那儿什么也不做吧？”

她攥紧了双手。威廷顿跟站在床脚的军官说了几句话。

“我恐怕他们已经做了一切可能应该做的事了，军医也已经给他治疗过了，他接受过你丈夫的培训，已经做了你丈夫自己能做的一切。”

“你就是那个军医吗？”

“不，这位是余上校。他一步也没离开过你丈夫的左右。”

凯蒂心神纷乱地看了他一眼，他是位个头很高的人，身材也很结实，似乎穿着卡其布军装很别扭。他正在看着沃尔特，她看到他的眼睛里满是泪水，这好像给了她当头一棒，为什么这个黄皮肤、面孔扁平的男人眼中会有泪？她被激怒了。

“我们就眼睁睁地看着他死，这也太可怕了。”

“至少他不再有痛苦了。”威廷顿说道。

她再一次俯下身去，看着她的丈夫。那双吓人的眼睛仍然直勾勾地盯着前方，她不知道他是否看见了他们，也不知道他是否听到了他们的对话。她把嘴唇靠近他的耳边。

“沃尔特，我们还能做些什么？”

她觉得一定有某种药，他们可以给他吃，能够挽留住他即将如潮水般退去的生命。现在她的眼睛已经适应了屋里昏暗的光线，她惊恐地发现他的脸已经塌陷下去了，几乎都认不出来了。真是难以想象，就在几个小时之前，他还是另外一个人。他看上去一点儿也不像个活生生的人了，就像一个死人。

她觉得他正想挣扎着说话，她把耳朵靠近了他的嘴。

“别大惊小怪了，我已经走过了一段艰难的道路，但是我现在没事了。”

凯蒂等了一会儿，他又不吭声了。他的一动不动又让她撕心裂肺地痛苦起来，他就这样静静地躺着是个很可怕的事，好像已经为他静静地躺在坟墓中做好了准备。有个人，也许是军医或者护理员，走上前来，示意她向一旁挪挪身子，他俯身用一条脏毛巾给这个奄奄一息的人的嘴唇润湿了一下。凯蒂再次站起身来，绝望地转向威廷顿。

“一点儿希望也没有了吗？”她轻声说道。

他摇了摇头。

“他还能活多久？”

“没人知道，也许一个小时。”

凯蒂环视了一下这空荡荡的房间，视线落到了余上校魁梧的身材上有一小会儿。

“能让我单独和他待一会儿吗？”她问道，“就一会儿。”

“当然可以，如果你愿意。”

威廷顿上前和余上校说了凯蒂的意思，上校向她略微颔首，然后用低沉的声音命令大家出去。

“我们都到台阶上去等。”当大家依次退出后，威廷顿说道，“有事你叫我们。”

凯蒂还是无法相信眼前的一切都是真的，突然就像一剂药注入了她的静脉，她终于意识到沃尔特要死了，她现在唯一的念头就是让他临终前能够把心中淤积已久的怨恨全部放下，走得轻松些。好像对她而言，如果有她陪着他能心平气和地死去，就意味着他可以独自安宁地踏上黄泉路了。她现在脑子全然没有考虑自己，只想着让他安心走。

“沃尔特，我乞求你的原谅。”她凑近他的耳边说道，怕压着他，她小心地不去碰他的身子，“我对自己做过的对不起你的事感到万分抱歉，我现在真的特别后悔。”

他没说话，似乎也没有听见她的话，她不得不向他继续说着同样的话。很奇怪，她好像觉得他的灵魂就像一只扇动翅膀的飞蛾，而翅膀已经被仇恨填满变得格外沉重，飞不起来了，在地上痛苦地挣扎。

“亲爱的。”

他蜡黄和干瘪的脸上好像有了一丝反应，还谈不上有多大的变化，但足以有了平常抽搐的效果。她以前从来没有称呼过他“亲爱的”，也许在他渐渐失去意识的大脑中会闪过这样的念头，这个称呼怎么这样让人困惑和难以捉摸呢，这个再普通不过的称呼，他只听见她用在小狗、婴儿和小汽车上面。这时，发生了一件恐怖的事情，她紧攥着拳头，想尽一切力量控制住自己，因为她分明看见两颗豆大的泪珠慢慢地从他枯槁的脸颊上滑过。

“哦，我宝贵的，我亲爱的，如果你爱过我——我知道你爱我，而我是那么可恨——我乞求你原谅我。我现在没有机会表达我的悔恨之情了。可怜可怜我吧，我乞求你的原谅。”

她停了下来，大气不敢出地看着他，急切地等着他回答。她看出他想说话，她的心都快跳出了嗓子眼儿，在她看来，如果在最后一刻她能够让他从怨恨与悲苦中解脱出来，也算是用这种方式为她给他造成的种种痛苦做了些弥补。他的嘴唇动了动，没有看她。他的眼睛失神地盯着白墙。她凑近他的嘴边以便能听见他的话。然而，这次他说得十分清晰。

“死的是那条狗。”[1]

她僵住了，好像变成了石头一般。她无法理解他的话，用惊恐而疑惑的神情凝视着他。这话毫无意义，是他在神志不清的状态下说的胡话，他也不能理解她说的每一个字了。

活着的人是不可能这样直挺挺地一动不动的，她盯着他，他的眼睛睁得很大，她不能确定他是否还在喘气，她开始变得害怕起来。

“沃尔特。”她低声地呼唤，“沃尔特。”

最后，她突然站直了身子，一阵突如其来的恐惧震慑住了她，她转过身去奔向了门口。

“来人呀，请快进来，他好像……”

他们进了屋，中国军医来到床前，他按亮了手上的手电棒，照了照沃尔特的眼睛，查看了一下，然后把它们合上了。他用中文说了几句话，威廷顿用双臂搂紧了凯蒂。

“恐怕他已经死了。”

凯蒂深深地叹了口气，泪水从她的眼眶中涌了出来。她觉得有些眩晕，而不是在努力控制自己的情绪。虽然那些中国人也不清楚接下来要干什么，但他们还是围上来，站在了床边，有些束手无策。威廷顿也没有作声，过了一会儿，在他们中间的那个中国人开始用低沉的声音说着什么了。

“你最好让我把你送回家去。”威廷顿说道，“他也会被送回去的。”

凯蒂疲惫地用手摩挲了一下前额，又走到床边，俯下身子，轻轻地亲吻了沃尔特的嘴唇。她现在不哭了。

“很抱歉给你们添了这么多麻烦。”

当她经过人群时，军人们向她敬礼，她庄重地鞠躬还礼。他们穿过院子走了出去，又坐上了轿椅。她看见威廷顿点燃了一支香烟，一股青烟飘散在空气中，慢慢消失了，就像人的生命。

* * *

[1]一个非常著名的典故，出自十八世纪英国诗人戈德史密斯《挽歌》一诗。大意是好心人收留了一条狗，后来人畜反目，狗发疯将人咬伤。大家都认为那个好心人会死掉，最终死的却是狗。