目 录 上一节 下一节 
那么怎样呢？怎样呢？他是不是必须赤手空拳地从新开始？他走不是定要牵累这个女人？他是不是定和要她的残废的丈夫作可怖掐吵？还要和他自己的粒暴而含恨的妻作些可怖的争吵？多么不幸！多么不幸！并且他已经不年轻了，他再也不轻快活泼了，他又不是无忧无虑的那种人，所有的苦楚和所有的丑恶都能使他受伤，还有这个妇人。 But even if they got clear of Sir Clifford and of his own wife, even if they got clear, what were they going to do? What was he, himself going to do? What was he going to do with his life? For he must do something. He couldn't be a mere hanger-on, on her money and his own very small pension. 但是纵令他们把克利福男爵和他自己的妻的障碍除去了，纵令他们得到了自由，他们又将怎样呢？他自己己又将怎样呢？他将怎样摆布他的生活呢？因为他总得做点什么事他不能让自己做寄生虫，依靠她的金钱和他自己的很小的恤金度日的！ It was the insoluble. He could only think of going to America, to try a new air. He disbelieved in the dollar utterly. But perhaps, perhaps there was something else. 这是一个不能解决的问题。他只能幻想着到美国去，到美国去尝口新鲜的空气，他是毫不相信金元万元的，但是也许那儿会有旁的什么东西。 He could not rest nor even go to bed. After sitting in a stupor of bitter thoughts until midnight, he got suddenly from his chair and reached for his coat and gun. 他不能安息，甚至不愿上床去，他呆呆的在苦味地思索中坐到了半夜，他突然地站了起来，取了他的外套和枪。 'Come on, lass,' he said to the dog. 'We're best outside.' " 来罢，女孩儿。"他对狗儿说，"我们还是到外头去的好。" 
这是个无月亮的繁垦之夜，他举着轻轻的步伐，缓缓地，小心地巡逻着，他唯一所要留神的东西，便是矿工们尤其是史德门的矿工们在玛尔附近所放的舞免机，但是现在是生育的季节，甚至矿工们对这点都有点新生而不过分放肆的，虽然，这样偷偷地巡逻着，去搜索偷掳野兽的人，却使他的神经安静了下来，而使他忘记了思虑。 But when he had done his slow, cautious beating of his bounds---it was nearly a five-mile walk---he was tired. He went to the top of the knoll and looked out. There was no sound save the noise, the faint shuffling noise from Stacks Gate colliery, that never ceased working: and there were hardly any lights, save the brilliant electric rows at the works. The world lay darkly and fumily sleeping. It was half past two. But even in its sleep it was an uneasy, cruel world, stirring with the noise of a train or some great lorry on the road, and flashing with some rosy lightning flash from the furnaces. It was a world of iron and coal, the cruelty of iron and the smoke of coal, and the endless, endless greed that drove it all. Only greed, greed stirring in its sleep. 但是，当他缓缓地，谨慎地巡逻完了的时候--那差不多要走五英里路一他觉得疲乏了，他走上山顶上去，向四周眺望。除了永不这地工的，史德门矿场的隐约而断续的声音外，没有什么其他的息；除了工厂里一排一排的闪炼的电灯光外，差不多没有什么其他的光，世界在烟雾中阴森地沉睡着，那是两点半了，但是这世界虽然是在沉睡中，还是不安，残的绘火车声和大路上经过的大货车的声音搅扰着，给高炉的玫瑰色的光照耀着。这是一个铁与煤的世界。铁的残忍。煤的乌姻和无穷无尽的念婪，驱驶着这世上的一切，在它的睡眠里，只有贪婪骚扰着。 It was cold, and he was coughing. A fine cold draught blew over the knoll. He thought of the woman. Now he would have given all he had or ever might have to hold her warm in his arms, both of them wrapped in one blanket, and sleep. All hopes of eternity and all gain from the past he would have given to have her there, to be wrapped warm with him in one blanket, and sleep, only sleep. It seemed the sleep with the woman in his arms was the only necessity. 夜是冷的，他咳嗽起来，一阵冷风在小山上吹着，他想着那妇人，现在他愿放弃他所有一切或他会有的一切、去换取这个妇人，把她抱在两臂里、两个人暖暖地拥在一张毡子里酣睡，一切未来的希望和一切过去的获得，他都愿放弃了去换取她，和她温暖地拥有一蹬毡子丑酣睡，只管酣睡。他觉得把这个妇人抱在他臂里睡觉"是他唯一的需要的事情。 He went to the hut, and wrapped himself in the blanket and lay on the floor to sleep. But he could not, he was cold. And besides, he felt cruelly his own unfinished nature. He felt his own unfinished condition of aloneness cruelly. He wanted her, to touch her, to hold her fast against him in one moment of completeness and sleep. 他到小屋里去．盖着毡子、躺在地上预备睡觉，但是他不能人睡，他觉得冷，此外。他残酷地觉得他自己的天性的缺憾。他残酷地觉得他的孤独条件的不全，他需要她，他想摸触她，想把她紧紧地抱在怀里，共享那圆满而酣睡的片荆。 He got up again and went out, towards the park gates this time: then slowly along the path towards the house. It was nearly four o'clock, still clear and cold, but no sign of dawn. He was used to the dark, he could see well. 他重新站了起来，走出门去，这一次他是向着花园的门走去，然后慢慢地沿着小径向着大厦走去，那时差不多是四点钟了，夜是透明的，寒冷的，但是曙光还没有出现，他是习惯于黑夜的人，他能清楚地辨别一切。 
慢慢地，慢慢地，那大厦好象磁石似地吸引他。他需要去亲近她，那并不是为了情欲，不，那是为了那残酷的缺憾的孤独的感觉，这种感觉是需要一个静寂的妇人抱在他的两臂里，才能使它消逝的，也许他能找到她罢，也许他甚至可以唤她出来，或者寻个方法到她那里去罢。因为这种需要是不可拒抗的。 He slowly, silently climbed the incline to the hall. Then he came round the great trees at the top of the knoll, on to the drive, which made a grand sweep round a lozenge of grass in front of the entrance. He could already see the two magnificent beeches which stood in this big level lozenge in front of the house, detaching themselves darkly in the dark air. 缓慢地，静默的，他攀登那小山坡向着大厦走去，他走到了山摄，绕过那结大树，踏上了绕着大厦门前那块菱形的草地，而直达门口的那条大路。门前那大草坪上矗立着的两株大山毛梯树，在夜色中阴暗地浮出，他都看得清楚了。 There was the house, low and long and obscure, with one light burning downstairs, in Sir Clifford's room. But which room she was in, the woman who held the other end of the frail thread which drew him so mercilessly, that he did not know. 这便是那大厦，低低的，长长的，暖味的，楼下点着一盏灯，那是克利福男爵的卧室，但是那牵着柔丝的极端残酷地引诱着他的妇人，竟在那一间房子呢？他可不知道。 He went a little nearer, gun in hand, and stood motionless on the drive, watching the house. Perhaps even now he could find her, come at her in some way. The house was not impregnable: he was as clever as burglars are. Why not come to her? He stood motionless, waiting, while the dawn faintly and imperceptibly paled behind him. He saw the light in the house go out. But he did not see Mrs Bolton come to the window and draw back the old curtain of dark-blue silk, and stand herself in the dark room, looking out on the half-dark of the approaching day, looking for the longed-for dawn, waiting, waiting for Clifford to be really reassured that it was daybreak. For when he was sure of daybreak, he would sleep almost at once. 他再前进了几步，手里拿着枪，在那大路上呆站着，注视着那大屋，也许他现在还可以用个什么方法找到她，面到她那儿去罢，这屋并不是难进的；他又有夜盗一样的聪明，为什么不到那儿去呢？他呆呆地站着，等着。这时，曙光在他的背后微微的破露了。他看见屋里的灯光熄灭了，但是他却没有看见被太太走近窗前，把深蓝色的绸窗幕拉开，望着外面黎明的半暗的天，希冀着曙光的早临，等待着，等待着克利福知道真的天亮了。因为当他知道的确天亮了时，他差不多便可以即刻入睡的。 She stood blind with sleep at the window, waiting. And as she stood, she started, and almost cried out. For there was a man out there on the drive, a black figure in the twilight. She woke up greyly, and watched, but without making a sound to disturb Sir Clifford. 她站在窗边，睡眼惺松地等待着，突然地，她吃了一惊，差不多叫出来了，因为那大路上，在黎明中，有个黑暗的人影。她完全清醒了，留神地审视着，但是不露声色，免得打扰克利福男爵的清睡。 
自日的光明开始疯疯地侵浸在大地上了；那黑暗的人影好象变小了，更清楚了，她分辨了枪和脚绊和宽大的短衣外一这不是奥利华·梅乐士那守猎人吗？是的，因她的狗儿在那里，好象一个影子似地东闻西嗅着，等着它的主人呢！ And what did the man want? Did he want to rouse the house? What was he standing there for, transfixed, looking up at the house like a love-sick male dog outside the house where the bitch is? 但是这人要什么呢？他是不是想把大家叫醒了？为什么他钉着似地站在那儿，仰望着这大厦，好象一条患着相思病的公狗，站在母狗的门前？ Goodness! The knowledge went through Mrs Bolton like a shot. He was Lady Chatterley's lover! He! He! 老天爷哟！波太太陡然地醒悟了，查太莱男的夫人的情人便是他！便是他！ To think of it! Why, she, Ivy Bolton, had once been a tiny bit in love with him herself. When he was a lad of sixteen and she a woman of twenty-six. It was when she was studying, and he had helped her a lot with the anatomy and things she had had to learn. He'd been a clever boy, had a scholarship for Sheffield Grammar School, and learned French and things: and then after all had become an overhead blacksmith shoeing horses, because he was fond of horses, he said: but really because he was frightened to go out and face the world, only he'd never admit it. 多么令人惊讶！但是她自己一爱微·波东敦，也曾有点钟爱过他的。那时，他是十六岁的孩子，面她是个二十六岁的妇人。她还在研究着护学，他曾大大地帮助过她研究关于解副学和其他应学的东西，那是个聪慧的孩子，他得过雪非尔德公学的奖学拿，学过法文和其他的东西，以后终竟成了个蹄铁匠，他说那是因炮喜欢马的缘故，其实那是因为他不敢与世触，不过他永不承认罢了。 But he'd been a nice lad, a nice lad, had helped her a lot, so clever at making things clear to you. He was quite as clever as Sir Clifford: and always one for the women. More with women than men, they said. 但是他是个可爱的孩子，很可爱的孩子，他曾大大地帮助过她，他有很巧妙的法使你明白事情，他的聪明全不下于克利福男爵，并且他和妇女们是秀合得来的，人都说，他和妇人们是比和男子们更合得来的。
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