第38部分(第4/7 頁)

she　would　never　consent　to

the　knitting　of　all　the　leaping　stone　in　a　great　roof　that

closed　her　in；　and　beyond　which　was　nothing；　nothing；　it　was　the

ultimate　confine。　His　soul　would　have　liked　it　to　be　so：　here；

here　is　all；　plete；　eternal：　motion；　meeting；　ecstasy；　and　no

illusion　of　time；　of　night　and　day　passing　by；　but　only

perfectly　proportioned　space　and　movement　clinching　and

renewing；　and　passion　surging　its　way　into　great　waves　to　the

altar；　recurrence　of　ecstasy。

Her　soul　too　was　carried　forward　to　the　altar；　to　the

threshold　of　Eternity；　in　reverence　and　fear　and　joy。　But　ever

she　hung　back　in　the　transit；　mistrusting　the　culmination　of　the

altar。　She　was　not　to　be　flung　forward　on　the　lift　and　lift　of

passionate　flights；　to　be　cast　at　last　upon　the　altar　steps　as

upon　the　shore　of　the　unknown。　There　was　a　great　joy　and　a

verity　in　it。　But　even　in　the　dazed　swoon　of　the　cathedral；　she

claimed　another　right。　The　altar　was　barren；　its　lights　gone

out。　God　burned　no　more　in　that　bush。　It　was　dead　matter　lying

there。　She　claimed　the　right　to　freedom　above　her；　higher　than

the　roof。　She　had　always　a　sense　of　being　roofed　in。

So　that　she　caught　at　little　things；　which　saved　her　from

being　swept　forward　headlong　in　the　tide　of　passion　that　leaps

on　into　the　Infinite　in　a　great　mass；　triumphant　and　flinging

its　own　course。　She　wanted　to　get　out　of　this　fixed；　leaping；

forward…travelling　movement；　to　rise　from　it　as　a　bird　rises

with　wet；　limp　feet　from　the　sea；　to　lift　herself　as　a　bird

lifts　its　breast　and　thrusts　its　body　from　the　pulse　and　heave

of　a　sea　that　bears　it　forward