rob the grinder loses his place

the porter at the iron gate which shut the court-yard from the street, had left the little wicket of his house open, and was gone away; no doubt to mingle in the distant noise at the door of the great staircase. lifting the latch softly, carker crept out, and shutting the jangling gate after him with as little noise as possible, hurried off.

in the fever of his mortification and unavailing rage, the panic that had seized upon him mastered him completely. it rose to such a height that he would have blindly encountered almost any risk, rather than meet the man of whom, two hours ago, he had been utterly regardless. his fierce arrival, which he had never expected; the sound of his voice; their having been so near a meeting, face to face; he would have braved out this, after the first momentary shock of alarm, and would have put as bold a front upon his guilt as any villain. but the springing of his mine upon himself, seemed to have rent and shivered all his hardihood and self-reliance. spurned like any reptile; entrapped and mocked; turned upon, and trodden down by the proud woman whose mind he had slowly poisoned, as he thought, until she had sunk into the mere creature of his pleasure; undeceived in his deceit, and with his fox's hide stripped off, he sneaked away, abashed, degraded, and afraid.

some other terror came upon him quite removed from this of being pursued, suddenly, like an electric shock, as he was creeping through the streets some visionary terror, unintelligible and inexplicable, asssociated with a trembling of the ground, - a rush and sweep of something through the air, like death upon the wing. he shrunk, as if to let the thing go by. it was not gone, it never had been there, yet what a startling horror it had left behind.

he raised his wicked face so full of trouble, to the night sky, where the stars, so full of peace, were shining on him as they had been when he first stole out into the air; and stopped to think what he should do. the dread of being hunted in a strange remote place, where the laws might not protect him - the novelty of the feeling that it was strange and remote, originating in his being left alone so suddenly amid the ruins of his plans - his greater dread of seeking refuge now, in italy or in sicily, where men might be hired to assissinate him, he thought, at any dark street corner-the waywardness of guilt and fear - perhaps some sympathy of action with the turning back of all his schemes - impelled him to turn back too, and go to england.

'i am safer there, in any case. if i should not decide,' he thought, 'to give this fool a meeting, i am less likely to be traced there, than abroad here, now. and if i should (this cursed fit being over), at least i shall not be alone, with out a soul to speak to, or advise with, or stand by me. i shall not be run in upon and worried like a rat.'

he muttered edith's name, and clenched his hand. as he crept along, in the shadow of the massive buildings, he set his teeth, and muttered dreadful imprecations on her head, and looked from side to side, as if in search of her. thus, he stole on to the gate of an inn-yard. the people were a-bed; but his ringing at the bell soon produced a man with a lantern, in company with whom he was presently in a dim coach-house, bargaining for the hire of an old phaeton, to paris.

the bargain was a short one; and the horses were soon sent for. leaving word that the carriage was to follow him when they came, he stole away again, beyond the town, past the old ramparts, out on the open road, which seemed to glide away along the dark plain, like a stream.

whither did it flow? what was the end of it? as he paused, with some such suggestion within him, looking over the gloomy flat where the slender trees marked out the way, again that flight of death came rushing up, again went on, impetuous and resistless, again was nothing but a horror in his mind, dark as the scene and undefined as its remotest verge.

there was no wind; there was no passing shadow on the deep shade of the night; there was no noise. the city lay behind him, lighted here and there, and starry worlds were hidden by the masonry of spire and roof that hardly made out any shapes against the sky. dark and lonely distance lay around him everywhere, and the clocks were faintly striking two.

he went forward for what appeared a long time, and a long way; often stopping to listen. at last the ringing of horses' bells greeted his anxious ears. now softer, and now louder, now inaudible, now ringing very slowly over bad ground, now brisk and merry, it came on; until with a loud shouting and lashing, a shadowy postillion muffled to the eyes, checked his four struggling horses at his side.

'who goes there! monsieur?'

'yes.'

'monsieur has walked a long way in the dark midnight.'

'no matter. everyone to his task. were there any other horses ordered at the post-house?'

'a thousand devils! - and pardons! other horses? at this hour? no.'

'listen, my friend. i am much hurried. let us see how fast we can travel! the faster, the more money there will be to drink. off we go then! quick!'

'halloa! whoop! halloa! hi!' away, at a gallop, over the black landscape, scattering the dust and dirt like spray!

the clatter and commotion echoed to the hurry and discordance of the fugitive's ideas. nothing clear without, and nothing clear within. objects flitting past, merging into one another, dimly descried, confusedly lost sight of, gone! beyond the changing scraps of fence and cottage immediately upon the road, a lowering waste. beyond the shifting images that rose up in his mind and vanished as they showed themselves, a black expanse of dread and rage and baffled villainy. occasionally, a sigh of mountain air came from the distant jura, fading along the plain. sometimes that rush which was so furious and horrible, again came sweeping through his fancy, passed away, and left a chill upon his blood.

the lamps, gleaming on the medley of horses' heads, jumbled with the shadowy driver, and the fluttering of his cloak, made a thousand indistinct shapes, answering to his thoughts. shadows of familiar people, stooping at their desks and books, in their remembered attitudes; strange apparitions of the man whom he was flying from, or of edith; repetitions in the ringing bells and rolling wheels, of words that had been spoken; confusions of time and place, making last night a month ago, a month ago last night - home now distant beyond hope, now instantly accessible; commotion, discord, hurry, darkness, and confusion in his mind, and all around him. - hallo! hi! away at a gallop over the black landscape; dust and dirt flying like spray, the smoking horses snorting and plunging as if each of them were ridden by a demon, away in a frantic triumph on the dark road - whither?

again the nameless shock comes speeding up, and as it passes, the bells ring in his ears 'whither?' the wheels roar in his ears 'whither?' all the noise and rattle shapes itself into that cry. the lights and shadows dance upon the horses' heads like imps. no stopping now: no slackening! on, on away with him upon the dark road wildly!

he could not think to any purpose. he could not separate one subject of reflection from another, sufficiently to dwell upon it, by itself, for a minute at a time. the crash of his project for the gaining of a voluptuous compensation for past restraint; the overthrow of his treachery to one who had been true and generous to him, but whose least proud word and look he had treasured up, at interest, for years - for false and subtle men will always secretly despise and dislike the object upon which they fawn and always resent the payment and receipt of homage that they know to be worthless; these were the themes uppermost in his mind. a lurking rage against the woman who had so entrapped him and avenged herself was always there; crude and misshapen schemes of retaliation upon her, floated in his brain; but nothing was distinct. a hurry and contradiction pervaded all his thoughts. even while he was so busy with this fevered, ineffectual thinking, his one constant idea was, that he would postpone reflection until some indefinite time.

then, the old days before the second marriage rose up in his remembrance. he thought how jealous he had been of the boy, how jealous he had been of the girl, how artfully he had kept intruders at a distance, and drawn a circle round his dupe that none but himself should cross; and then he thought, had he done all this to be flying now, like a scared thief, from only the poor dupe?

he could have laid hands upon himself for his cowardice, but it was the very shadow of his defeat, and could not be separated from it. to have his confidence in his own knavery so shattered at a blow - to be within his own knowledge such a miserable tool - was like being paralysed. with an impotent ferocity he raged at edith, and hated mr dombey and hated himself, but still he fled, and could do nothing else.

again and again he listened for the sound of wheels behind. again and again his fancy heard it, coming on louder and louder. at last he was so persuaded of this, that he cried out, 'stop' preferring even the loss of ground to such uncertainty.

the word soon brought carriage, horses, driver, all in a heap together, across the road.

'the devil!' cried the driver, looking over his shoulder, 'what's the matter?'

'hark! what's that?'

'what?'

'that noise?'

'ah heaven, be quiet, cursed brigand!' to a horse who shook his bells 'what noise?'

'behind. is it not another carriage at a gallop? there! what's that?' miscreant with a pig's head, stand still!' to another horse, who bit another, who frightened the other two, who plunged and backed. 'there is nothing coming.'

'nothing.'

'no, nothing but the day yonder.'

'you are right, i think. i hear nothing now, indeed. go on!'

the entangled equipage, half hidden in the reeking cloud from the horses, goes on slowly at first, for the driver, checked unnecessarily in his progress, sulkily takes out a pocket-knife, and puts a new lash to his whip. then 'hallo, whoop! hallo, hi!' away once more, savagely.

and now the stars faded, and the day glimmered, and standing in the carriage, looking back, he could discern the track by which he had come, and see that there was no traveller within view, on all the heavy expanse. and soon it was broad day, and the sun began to shine on cornfields and vineyards; and solitary labourers, risen from little temporary huts by heaps of stones upon the road, were, here and there, at work repairing the highway, or eating bread. by and by, there were peasants going to their daily labour, or to market, or lounging at the doors of poor cottages, gazing idly at him as he passed. and then there was a postyard, ankle-deep in mud, with steaming dunghills and vast outhouses half ruined; and looking on this dainty prospect, an immense, old, shadeless, glaring, stone chateau, with half its windows blinded, and green damp crawling lazily over it, from the balustraded terrace to the taper tips of the extinguishers upon the turrets.

gathered up moodily in a corner of the carriage, and only intent on going fast - except when he stood up, for a mile together, and looked back; which he would do whenever there was a piece of open country - he went on, still postponing thought indefinitely, and still always tormented with thinking to no purpose.

shame, disappointment, and discomfiture gnawed at his heart; a constant apprehension of being overtaken, or met - for he was groundlessly afraid even of travellers, who came towards him by the way he was going - oppressed him heavily. the same intolerable awe and dread that had come upon him in the night, returned unweakened in the day. the monotonous ringing of the bells and tramping of the horses; the monotony of his anxiety, and useless rage; the monotonous wheel of fear, regret, and passion, he kept turning round and round; made the journey like a vision, in which nothing was quite real but his own torment.

it was a vision of long roads, that stretched away to an horizon, always receding and never gained; of ill-paved towns, up hill and down, where faces came to dark doors and ill-glazed windows, and where rows of mudbespattered cows and oxen were tied up for sale in the long narrow streets, butting and lowing, and receiving blows on their blunt heads from bludgeons that might have beaten them in; of bridges, crosses, churches, postyards, new horses being put in against their wills, and the horses of the last stage reeking, panting, and laying their drooping heads together dolefully at stable doors; of little cemeteries with black crosses settled sideways in the graves, and withered wreaths upon them dropping away; again of long, long roads, dragging themselves out, up hill and down, to the treacherous horizon.

of morning, noon, and sunset; night, and the rising of an early moon. of long roads temporarily left behind, and a rough pavement reached; of battering and clattering over it, and looking up, among house-roofs, at a great church-tower; of getting out and eating hastily, and drinking draughts of wine that had no cheering influence; of coming forth afoot, among a host of beggars - blind men with quivering eyelids, led by old women holding candles to their faces; idiot girls; the lame, the epileptic, and the palsied - of passing through the clamour, and looking from his seat at the upturned countenances and outstretched hands, with a hurried dread of recognising some pursuer pressing forward - of galloping away again, upon the long, long road, gathered up, dull and stunned, in his corner, or rising to see where the moon shone faintly on a patch of the same endless road miles away, or looking back to see who followed.

of never sleeping, but sometimes dozing with unclosed eyes, and springing up with a start, and a reply aloud to an imaginary voice. of cursing himself for being there, for having fled, for having let her go, for not having confronted and defied him. of having a deadly quarrel with the whole world, but chiefly with himself. of blighting everything with his black mood as he was carried on and away.

it was a fevered vision of things past and present all confounded together; of his life and journey blended into one. of being madly hurried somewhere, whither he must go. of old scenes starting up among the novelties through which he travelled. of musing and brooding over what was past and distant, and seeming to take no notice of the actual objects he encountered, but with a wearisome exhausting consciousness of being bewildered by them, and having their images all crowded in his hot brain after they were gone.

a vision of change upon change, and still the same monotony of bells and wheels, and horses' feet, and no rest. of town and country, postyards, horses, drivers, hill and valley, light and darkness, road and pavement, height and hollow, wet weather and dry, and still the same monotony of bells and wheels, and horses' feet, and no rest. a vision of tending on at last, towards the distant capital, by busier roads, and sweeping round, by old cathedrals, and dashing through small towns and villages, less thinly scattered on the road than formerly, and sitting shrouded in his corner, with his cloak up to his face, as people passing by looked at him.

of rolling on and on, always postponing thought, and always racked with thinking; of being unable to reckon up the hours he had been upon the road, or to comprehend the points of time and place in his journey. of being parched and giddy, and half mad. of pressing on, in spite of all, as if he could not stop, and coming into paris, where the turbid river held its swift course undisturbed, between two brawling streams of life and motion.

a troubled vision, then, of bridges, quays, interminable streets; of wine-shops, water-carriers, great crowds of people, soldiers, coaches, military drums, arcades. of the monotony of bells and wheels and horses' feet being at length lost in the universal din and uproar. of the gradual subsidence of that noise as he passed out in another carriage by a different barrier from that by which he had entered. of the restoration, as he travelled on towards the seacoast, of the monotony of bells and wheels, and horses' feet, and no rest.

of sunset once again, and nightfall. of long roads again, and dead of night, and feeble lights in windows by the roadside; and still the old monotony of bells and wheels, and horses' feet, and no rest. of dawn, and daybreak, and the rising of the sun. of tolling slowly up a hill, and feeling on its top the fresh sea-breeze; and seeing the morning light upon the edges of the distant waves. of coming down into a harbour when the tide was at its full, and seeing fishing-boats float on, and glad women and children waiting for them. of nets and seamen's clothes spread out to dry upon the shore; of busy sailors, and their voices high among ships' masts and rigging; of the buoyancy and brightness of the water, and the universal sparkling.

of receding from the coast, and looking back upon it from the deck when it was a haze upon the water, with here and there a little opening of bright land where the sun struck. of the swell, and flash, and murmur of the calm sea. of another grey line on the ocean, on the vessel's track, fast growing clearer and higher. of cliffs and buildings, and a windmill, and a church, becoming more and more visible upon it. of steaming on at last into smooth water, and mooring to a pier whence groups of people looked down, greeting friends on board. of disembarking, passing among them quickly, shunning every one; and of being at last again in england.

he had thought, in his dream, of going down into a remote country-place he knew, and lying quiet there, while he secretly informed himself of what transpired, and determined how to act, still in the same stunned condition, he remembered a certain station on the railway, where he would have to branch off to his place of destination, and where there was a quiet inn. here, he indistinctly resolved to tarry and rest.

with this purpose he slunk into a railway carriage as quickly as he could, and lying there wrapped in his cloak as if he were asleep, was soon borne far away from the sea, and deep into the inland green. arrived at his destination he looked out, and surveyed it carefully. he was not mistaken in his impression of the place. it was a retired spot, on the borders of a little wood. only one house, newly-built or altered for the purpose, stood there, surrounded by its neat garden; the small town that was nearest, was some miles away. here he alighted then; and going straight into the tavern, unobserved by anyone, secured two rooms upstairs communicating with each other, and sufficiently retired.

his object was to rest, and recover the command of himself, and the balance of his mind. imbecile discomfiture and rage - so that, as he walked about his room, he ground his teeth - had complete possession of him. his thoughts, not to be stopped or directed, still wandered where they would, and dragged him after them. he was stupefied, and he was wearied to death.

but, as if there were a curse upon him that he should never rest again, his drowsy senses would not lose their consciousness. he had no more influence with them, in this regard, than if they had been another man's. it was not that they forced him to take note of present sounds and objects, but that they would not be diverted from the whole hurried vision of his journey. it was constantly before him all at once. she stood there, with her dark disdainful eyes again upon him; and he was riding on nevertheless, through town and country, light and darkness, wet weather and dry, over road and pavement, hill and valley, height and hollow, jaded and scared by the monotony of bells and wheels, and horses' feet, and no rest.

'what day is this?' he asked of the waiter, who was making preparations for his dinner.

'day, sir?'

'is it wednesday?'

'wednesday, sir? no, sir. thursday, sir.'

'i forgot. how goes the time? my watch is unwound.'

'wants a few minutes of five o'clock, sir. been travelling a long time, sir, perhaps?'

'yes'

'by rail, sir?'

'yes'

'very confusing, sir. not much in the habit of travelling by rail myself, sir, but gentlemen frequently say so.'

'do many gentlemen come here?

'pretty well, sir, in general. nobody here at present. rather slack just now, sir. everything is slack, sir.'

he made no answer; but had risen into a sitting posture on the sofa where he had been lying, and leaned forward with an arm on each knee, staring at the ground. he could not master his own attention for a minute together. it rushed away where it would, but it never, for an instant, lost itself in sleep.

he drank a quantity of wine after dinner, in vain. no such artificial means would bring sleep to his eyes. his thoughts, more incoherent, dragged him more unmercifully after them - as if a wretch, condemned to such expiation, were drawn at the heels of wild horses. no oblivion, and no rest.

how long he sat, drinking and brooding, and being dragged in imagination hither and thither, no one could have told less correctly than he. but he knew that he had been sitting a long time by candle-light, when he started up and listened, in a sudden terror.

for now, indeed, it was no fancy. the ground shook, the house rattled, the fierce impetuous rush was in the air! he felt it come up, and go darting by; and even when he had hurried to the window, and saw what it was, he stood, shrinking from it, as if it were not safe to look.

a curse upon the fiery devil, thundering along so smoothly, tracked through the distant valley by a glare of light and lurid smoke, and gone! he felt as if he had been plucked out of its path, and saved from being torn asunder. it made him shrink and shudder even now, when its faintest hum was hushed, and when the lines of iron road he could trace in the moonlight, running to a point, were as empty and as silent as a desert.

unable to rest, and irresistibly attracted - or he thought so - to this road, he went out, and lounged on the brink of it, marking the way the train had gone, by the yet smoking cinders that were lying in its track. after a lounge of some half hour in the direction by which it had disappeared, he turned and walked the other way - still keeping to the brink of the road - past the inn garden, and a long way down; looking curiously at the bridges, signals, lamps, and wondering when another devil would come by.

a trembling of the ground, and quick vibration in his ears; a distant shriek; a dull light advancing, quickly changed to two red eyes, and a fierce fire, dropping glowing coals; an irresistible bearing on of a great roaring and dilating mass; a high wind, and a rattle - another come and gone, and he holding to a gate, as if to save himself!

he waited for another, and for another. he walked back to his former point, and back again to that, and still, through the wearisome vision of his journey, looked for these approaching monsters. he loitered about the station, waiting until one should stay to call there; and when one did, and was detached for water, he stood parallel with it, watching its heavy wheels and brazen front, and thinking what a cruel power and might it had. ugh! to see the great wheels slowly turning, and to think of being run down and crushed!

disordered with wine and want of rest - that want which nothing, although he was so weary, would appease - these ideas and objects assumed a diseased importance in his thoughts. when he went back to his room, which was not until near midnight, they still haunted him, and he sat listening for the coming of another.

so in his bed, whither he repaired with no hope of sleep. he still lay listening; and when he felt the trembling and vibration, got up and went to the window, to watch (as he could from its position) the dull light changing to the two red eyes, and the fierce fire dropping glowing coals, and the rush of the giant as it fled past, and the track of glare and smoke along the valley. then he would glance in the direction by which he intended to depart at sunrise, as there was no rest for him there; and would lie down again, to be troubled by the vision of his journey, and the old monotony of bells and wheels and horses' feet, until another came. this lasted all night. so far from resuming the mastery of himself, he seemed, if possible, to lose it more and more, as the night crept on. when the dawn appeared, he was still tormented with thinking, still postponing thought until he should be in a better state; the past, present, and future all floated confusedly before him, and he had lost all power of looking steadily at any one of them.

'at what time,' he asked the man who had waited on him over-night, now entering with a candle, 'do i leave here, did you say?'

'about a quarter after four, sir. express comes through at four, sir. - it don't stop.

he passed his hand across his throbbing head, and looked at his watch. nearly half-past three.

'nobody going with you, sir, probably,' observed the man. 'two gentlemen here, sir, but they're waiting for the train to london.'

'i thought you said there was nobody here,' said carker, turning upon him with the ghost of his old smile, when he was angry or suspicious.

'not then, sir. two gentlemen came in the night by the short train that stops here, sir. warm water, sir?'

'no; and take away the candle. there's day enough for me.'

having thrown himself upon the bed, half-dressed he was at the window as the man left the room. the cold light of morning had succeeded to night and there was already, in the sky, the red suffusion of the coming sun. he bathed his head and face with water - there was no cooling influence in it for him - hurriedly put on his clothes, paid what he owed, and went out.

the air struck chill and comfortless as it breathed upon him. there was a heavy dew; and, hot as he was, it made him shiver. after a glance at the place where he had walked last night, and at the signal-lights burning in the morning, and bereft of their significance, he turned to where the sun was rising, and beheld it, in its glory, as it broke upon the scene.

so awful, so transcendent in its beauty, so divinely solemn. as he cast his faded eyes upon it, where it rose, tranquil and serene, unmoved by all the wrong and wickedness on which its beams had shone since the beginning of the world, who shall say that some weak sense of virtue upon earth, and its in heaven, did not manifest itself, even to him? if ever he remembered sister or brother with a touch of tenderness and remorse, who shall say it was not then?

he needed some such touch then. death was on him. he was marked off - the living world, and going down into his grave.

he paid the money for his journey to the country-place he had thought of; and was walking to and fro, alone, looking along the lines of iron, across the valley in one direction, and towards a dark bridge near at hand in the other; when, turning in his walk, where it was bounded by one end of the wooden stage on which he paced up and down, he saw the man from whom he had fled, emerging from the door by which he himself had entered

and their eyes met.

in the quick unsteadiness of the surprise, he staggered, and slipped on to the road below him. but recovering his feet immediately, he stepped back a pace or two upon that road, to interpose some wider space between them, and looked at his pursuer, breathing short and quick.

he heard a shout - another - saw the face change from its vindictive passion to a faint sickness and terror - felt the earth tremble - knew in a moment that the rush was come - uttered a shriek - looked round - saw the red eyes, bleared and dim, in the daylight, close upon him - was beaten down, caught up, and whirled away upon a jagged mill, that spun him round and round, and struck him limb from limb, and licked his stream of life up with its fiery heat, and cast his mutilated fragments in the air.

when the traveller, who had been recognised, recovered from a swoon, he saw them bringing from a distance something covered, that lay heavy and still, upon a board, between four men, and saw that others drove some dogs away that sniffed upon the road, and soaked his blood up, with a train of ashes.

在院子临街的那边有一道铁的大门，看门人让旁边的小门开着，他已经走开，无疑是混在远处大楼梯门边发出嘈杂的人群当中了。卡克轻轻地提起门闩，悄悄地溜到外面，并把后面嘎吱作响的门关上，尽可能不让它发出大声，然后急急忙忙离开了。

他觉得自己遭到屈辱，心中怀着无益的愤怒；在这种狂热的情绪中，他心头的恐慌完全主宰了他。它已达到了这样的程度：他宁肯盲目地遇到任何危险，也不愿意碰上他在两小时以前毫不注意的那个人。他完全没有料想到他会突然气势汹汹地来到；他听到了他说话的；他们刚才几乎就面对面相遇，这些情况使卡克在第一分钟内惊慌得头昏眼花，但他不久就能硬着头皮，沉着冷静地把它们顶住，像任何无赖一样厚颜无耻地对待自己犯下的罪行。然而他埋设的地雷竟在自己身上炸开，这一点似乎已破坏和动摇了他全部的刚毅与自信。那位高傲的女人，他原以为他已慢慢地毒害了她的思想，直到她已沦落为他寻欢作乐的工具；可是她却把他像爬虫似地踢在一旁，让他陷入圈套，并嘲弄他，责骂他，把他踩得粉碎；他想要欺骗别人，别人没有上当，自己反倒受了骗；他的狐狸皮已经被剥掉了；如今他又羞愧，又受到屈辱，又害怕地偷偷溜走了。

当他正蹑手蹑脚地穿过街道的时候，与这被人追赶的恐怖绝不相同的另一种恐怖突然像一道电流一样袭击着他。这是某种莫名其妙的、无法解释的幻想的恐怖，它使人联想起土地的颤抖——某种东西像死神展开翅膀飞行一样，向前猛冲过去，飞快地吹刮过去。他蜷缩着身子，仿佛要给那个东西让开道路似的，但它并没有过去，因为它从来就不在那里，可是它却留下了多么令人吃惊的恐怖啊！

他抬起他的邪恶的、充满忧虑的脸，仰望着夜空；夜空中十分宁静的星星就像他起初偷偷地走到外面的时候一样，正照耀着他。他停下脚步，想一下他现在该做什么。他害怕在一个陌生的、遥远的地方被人追赶，这里的法律可能是不会保护他的；——他新奇地感觉到，这个城市是个陌生的、遥远的地方；这个感觉是在他的计划遭到失败之后，他突然间成了孤独一人的情况下产生的；——他现在更害怕到意大利或西西里去避难；他想，被雇用的凶手可能会在那里一个黑暗的街道拐角里暗杀他；——由于罪过与恐惧，使他产生出反复无常的思想；——也许是由于他所有的计划全都遭到失败，因此他就有某种不想按原先意图行事的相应的心理；——所有这些都驱策他回到英国去。

“无论如何，我在英国要安全一些。”他想，“如果我决意不跟这个疯子见面的话，那么在英国寻找到我要比在这他乡异国寻找到我难得多。如果我决定跟他见面（当他这阵可恶的疯狂症过去以后）的话，那么至少我将不会像现在这样孤独一人，没有一个人我可以与他交谈、商量或他来帮助我。我将不会像一只耗子一样地被追逐和折磨。”

他抱怨地说到伊迪丝的名字，同时紧握着拳头。当他在高大的房屋的阴影下偷偷地向前走去的时候，他咬牙切齿，向她发出了最可怕的诅咒，同时左顾右盼，仿佛在寻找她似的。他就这样悄悄地走到一个客栈院子的门前。客栈里的人都已睡觉了。但是他拉了一下铃，立刻就有一个人提着灯笼出来，他们很快就一起到了一个马车房前，租一辆旧的二马四轮轻便马车前往巴黎的事情商议着价钱。

价钱很快就商议定了，立刻派人去把马拉来。他吩咐马来了以后就让马车跟随着他来，然后又悄悄离开，走出城外，经过古老的堡垒，一直走到大路上；这条大路似乎像一条溪流一样，在黑暗的平原上流动。

它流到哪里去？哪里是它的尽头？他心里想着这些事情，停住脚步，望着阴暗的平野和由细长的树木显示出的道路；这时候死神又展开翅膀，迅疾地飞来，然后又猛烈地、不可抗拒地飞过去，除了在他的心中留下恐怖外，又没有留下什么别的。那恐怖就像周围的风景一样黑暗，并像它的最遥远的边缘一样朦胧不清。

没有风；在深沉的夜色中没有闪过一个阴影；没有喧闹的。城市静躺在他的后面，在这里那里闪烁着灯光；尖塔与屋顶矗立在天空中，几乎显露不出形状，并遮挡着星星的世界。在他四周是茫茫一片黑暗与荒凉的地方；钟轻轻地敲了两下。

他觉得他已走了好久，并走过了长长的一段路程，他在中间时常停下来听一听。终于马的铃铛声传到了他的焦急的耳朵中。铃铛的有时轻一些，有时响一些，有时听不见，有时在经过坏的道路时断断续续，有时则活泼、轻快；最后，愈来愈近，一位身影模糊、围巾一直围到眼睛下面、骑在左马上的马夫响亮地吆喝了一声和劈啪地抽了一下鞭子，把四匹奋力前进的马拉住，停在他的身边。

“那里走的是谁，是monsieur吗？”

“是的。”

“monsieur在这黑咕隆咚的深更半夜已走了好长的一段路啦。”

“不要紧。每个人都有自己的爱好。有没有别人在驿馆要马的？”

“一千个魔鬼在捣乱！请原谅！有没有别人要马？在这种时候？没有。”

“听着，我的朋友。我十分着急。让我们看看我们能往前赶得多快！赶得愈快，您得到的酒钱就会愈多。出发吧！快！”

“嗨！嗬！嗨！嘿！”马飞快奔驰起来，越过了黑暗的原野，把尘土踢得像浪花似地四处飞扬！

马蹄的得得声和马车的摇晃反映出逃亡者慌忙与混乱的思想。他身外的一切是模糊不清的，他心中的一切也是模糊不清的。物体在迅速飞过，彼此融合，模糊难辨，在纷杂混乱中不见了，消失了！在路旁不断变化着的零零落落的篱笆与村舍外面，是一片昏暗的荒地。在他心中出现而又立即消逝的变动的形象外面，是一个广袤无边的世界，充满了恐惧、愤怒和未能得逞的奸诈。偶尔，从遥远的侏罗山脉1山风的呼啸声，在平原上逐渐消失。有时他在想象中觉得那猛烈的、可怕的恐怖又猛袭过来，吹刮过去，使他的血都变冷了。

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1侏罗山脉（jura）：一译汝拉山脉，是法国与西班牙之间的山脉。

车灯发射出微光，照射在晃动着的马头上，它与身影模糊的车夫以及他的飘动的上衣混杂交错，形成了上千种模糊不清的形状，这与他的思想状态倒是十分相似的。那些熟悉的人们的身影，以他所记得的姿态，弯着身子，坐在办公桌和帐册前面；他从他那里逃出来的那个人或伊迪丝呈现出奇怪的幻影；在铃铛声与车轮声中，那些过去说过的话现在正在不断重复说着；时间与地点的概念混乱了：昨夜好像是一个月以前，一个月以前又好像是昨夜；家乡一会儿远在天边，一会儿又近在眼前；动荡，纷争，慌忙，黑暗，他心中和他的周围全都是一片混乱。——嗨！嘿！在黑暗的原野上飞快地奔跑过去；尘土像浪花般飞扬，浑身冒着热气的马喷着鼻息，向前猛冲，仿佛每匹马背上都骑着一个魔鬼似的，在发狂似的胜利中在黑暗的道路上飞奔过去——奔向哪里去呢？

那不可名状的惊恐又加速袭来；当它过去的时候，铃铛在他耳朵里响着：“到哪里去？”飞轮在他耳朵里轰鸣着：“到哪里去？”所有的喧闹与声响都在重复着这同一个喊声。灯光和影子像顽童似地在马头上跳舞。现在决不能停下来；现在决不能放慢速度！向前，向前！在黑暗的道路上拉着他疯狂地向前奔跑！

他不能按照任何一个特定的目的来思考。他不能把一个思考的问题与另一个思考的问题分开，要想每次对一个问题细想一分钟也不可能。他本想得到肉欲的满足来补偿自我抑制方面的损失，这一打算已经破灭了；有一个人曾经真诚地、宽洪大量地对待他，但是他的高傲的言语与神色他好多年来一直铭记在心（因为虚伪与狡猾的人经常在暗地里轻视与厌恶他们所奉承的对象，经常憎恨他们所表示的尊敬，他们知道那是毫无价值的），他对这个人的叛逆已经失败了；——这些是首先浮现在他心中的问题。对那位使他陷入圈套、为自己报仇雪恨的女人的愤怒一直暗暗埋藏在他的心头；对她进行报复的各种粗略的、荒诞的计划浮现在他的脑中；可是所有这一切都是模糊不清的。他所有这些思想全都是急急匆匆，相互矛盾的。甚至当他这样狂热地、无益地思考着的时候，他一直怀着一个念头，就是他最好暂时什么也不想，而把这些推迟到将来一个什么不确定的时候再去考虑。

然后，在董贝先生第二次结婚之前那些往昔的日子又在他的记忆中出现。他记起他曾经妒嫉那个男孩子；他又曾经多么妒嫉那个女孩子；他曾经多么狡猾地在被他愚弄的人的周围划了一个圈子，把所有想闯进来的人阻挡在远处；除了他本人之外，谁也不能越过它。然后他想到，他所做的这一切难道只都是为了现在像一个被追捕的贼一样，从那位可怜的、被他愚弄的人那里逃走吗？

他本可以自杀来惩罚自己的懦怯，可是这种懦怯正好就是他失败的真正的阴影，与它是不能分开的。他相信他的诈骗计划已被完全粉碎；他知道他已成了另一个人手中可怜的工具；想到这些他就好像瘫痪似地浑身无力。怀着无能为力的狂暴劲头，他对伊迪丝发怒，他恨董贝先生，也恨他自己；

可是他还是逃跑了，不能做其他事情。

他一次又一次地听着后面的车轮声。他一次又一次地在想象中仿佛感觉到，这车轮声愈来愈响了。他终于对这点深信不疑，就喊道，“停下！”他宁肯停下耽误时间，对自己不利，也不愿意处在这种狐疑不定的状态中。

这喊声立刻使马车、马和马车夫在路中间停了下来。

“见鬼！”马车夫回过头，喊道，“怎么回事？”

“听，那是什么？”

“什么？”

“那？”

“啊，老天爷，安静点，你这可恶的土匪！”他对一匹摇着铃铛的马说道，“什么？”

“后面。是不是另外一辆马车正飞奔过来？那里！那是什么，听到了吗？”

“你这长得跟猪头一样的恶棍！安安静静站着！”他对另一匹马说道；这一匹马咬了另一匹马，那一匹马又惊吓了另外两匹；它们向前猛冲过去，然后又倒退回来。

“没有什么往这边来。”

“没有什么吗？”

“没有什么，只是天快亮了。”

“我想您说得不错。真的，我现在什么也没听到了。继续赶路吧！”

在马身上散发出的烟雾腾腾的热气之中半隐半现的马车开始慢吞吞地前进；马车夫因为在前进道路中被不必要地阻留了好些时间，不高兴地从衣袋中取出一把小刀，在鞭子上装上一条新的皮条。然后“嗨！嗬！嗨！嘿！”，又一次狂野地飞跑起来。

这时星星暗淡，晨光熹微，他站在马车中，回头看，可以分辨出他所走过的道路，并注意到在辽阔的原野上看不见一个赶路的人。不久天大亮了，太阳照亮了麦田和葡萄园。从路旁石头堆边临时性工棚里出来的一个个工人正在这里那里修着公路或吃着面包。不久农民们出来干活或赶市集，或懒洋洋地靠在破旧的茅舍门边，悠闲地注视着他从旁经过。然后他看到一个驿站，前面是深及踝骨的泥浆，四周是冒着热气的粪堆和很大的半毁坏的房屋；面对着这个优雅的景色的是一座巨大的、古老的石头城堡，它没有树木遮荫，发出耀眼的光，有一半窗子已遮上窗帘，绿色的霉懒散地在城堡上面蔓延，从围了栏杆的阳台一直扩展到塔楼上灭火器的锥形尖端。

他郁郁不乐地蜷缩在马车的一个角落里，一心只盼望着车子快快地跑；只有当周围是一片空旷的田野的时候，他才会站起来，站上整整一英里的路程，并往后看；——他就这样往前赶着路，依旧把那些思想暂时搁置起来，往后推到将来一个不确定的时候，同时依旧常常被那些没有目的的思想苦恼着。

羞耻、失望与失败折磨着他的心。他不断担心被追赶上或被碰见（因为他毫无根据地甚至连对面路上朝他走过来的行人都害怕），因此心情十分沉重。夜间，他感到难以忍受的畏惧和忧愁，到了白天它们又毫不减弱地重新返回。单调的铃铛声和马蹄声，他那毫无变化的焦急和无益的愤怒，周而复始的害怕、懊悔与痛苦，这一切他觉得这次旅行像是个梦幻，在这梦幻中，除了他自己的痛苦外，没有什么是真实的。

这是一个梦幻，在这梦幻中有一条漫长的道路，它伸向一直不断向后退、永远也不能到达的地平线；在这梦幻中有路面铺砌得很坏的城镇，在丘陵上面和下面都有；人们从黑暗的门户与没有擦亮的窗子中露出脸来；身上溅满污泥的母牛和公牛一行行地系在那里等待出卖；它们相互用头角顶撞着，哞哞地叫着；有时它们迟钝的头遭到大头棒的敲打，那是可以把头打破的；在这梦幻中，有桥梁、十字架、教堂、驿站；新的马正很不愿意地开始从事艰苦的劳役；最后一个驿站的马身上冒着热气，嘴里喘着气，正低垂着头，忧郁地站在马厩门边；在这梦幻中，有小小的墓地，坟墓上的黑十字架东倒西歪，坟上枯萎的花圈愈来愈少了；然后在这梦幻中又是漫长的、漫长的道路，伸延到山上和山下，一直伸向变化莫测的地平线。

在这梦幻中有早晨、中午和日落；有夜晚和新月的升起。在这梦幻中，漫长的道路暂时被抛在后面，马车走上了一条凹凸不平的铺石的道路，马蹄敲打着它的路面，马从上面跑过去；他抬头仰望，看到一座巍峨的教堂钟楼耸立在一些房屋的屋顶之上；他从马车中出来，匆匆忙忙吃点东西，喝几口酒，它却不能使他快活起来；他从一群乞丐中间徒步走过去——眼皮颤动的瞎子由老太婆领着走，她们举着蜡烛照着他们的脸；他看到白痴的女孩子、跛子、癫痫病人、瘫痪病人——；在这梦幻中，他从嘈杂吵闹的中间经过，并从座位上望出去；他看到仰望着他的脸孔和伸过来的胳膊，突然害怕认出一个追赶他的什么人从他们当中挤出来；然后在这梦幻中，又是在漫长的道路上飞快地奔驰；他迟钝、麻木地在马车角落里蜷缩着身体，或者站起身来，看一看月光正微弱地照耀着那条同样无穷无尽、伸向许多许多英里以外的道路中的一段，或者往后看看，有谁跟随而来。

在这梦幻中，他从来没有睡去，而只是有时眼睛没有合上，打个盹儿，然后突然间惊跳起来，大声地回答着一个想象中的声音。在这梦幻中，他咒骂自己到这里来，咒骂自己逃走，咒骂自己让她走掉了，咒骂自己没有跟他见面，向他挑战。在这梦幻中，他不共戴天地埋怨整个世界，但主要是埋怨他自己。在这梦幻中，当他被马车向前拉去的时候，他灰心丧气的情绪使周围的一切事物都显得黯然失色。

这是个狂热的梦幻，过去的事物与当前的事物乱七八糟地混合在一起，他往日的生活与现在的逃亡搀合为一体。在这个梦幻中，他正疯狂地急忙赶往他应该前去的一个什么地方。在这个梦幻中，旧时的情景突然跳进一路上穿行过的新鲜风光中。在这个梦幻中，当他沉思默想着过去和遥远的事情的时候，他似乎没有注意到他见到的现实的景物，而是厌倦不堪地感觉到，它们把他弄得糊里糊涂；在它们消失之后，它们的形象仍拥挤在他发热的头脑中。

这是个梦幻，在这个梦幻中，发生着一个接一个的变化，但却仍然是那单调的铃铛声，车轮声和马蹄声；他得不到休息。城镇和乡村，马，马车夫，丘陵和河谷，光明和黑暗，大路和铺石路，高地和山谷，雨天和晴天，但却仍然是那单调的铃铛声，车轮声，马蹄声，他得不到休息。这是个梦幻，在这个梦幻中，马车终于沿着行人较多的道路，往遥远的首都跑去；它从古老的大教堂旁边飞跑过去；从道路上的小城镇和村子中间急穿过去，现在这些小城镇不像先前那么稀疏；当路过的行人看着他的时候，他隐蔽地坐在角落里，斗篷盖到脸上。

在这个梦幻中，马车继续向前奔跑，他总是把一些思想暂时搁置起来，往后推到将来去考虑，并总是因为不断地思索而苦恼；他不能计算他在路上跑了多少个钟头，或了解旅程中的时间与地点。在这个梦幻中，他口干舌燥，眼花缭乱，近乎疯狂，可是不管怎样，他却还是依旧奋力向前行进，仿佛他不能停下来似的，然后他进入了巴黎；在那里，在生命与运动这两股哗哗的激流中间，混浊的河流泰然自若地转动着它的湍急的水流。

然后，是一个混乱的梦幻，在这个梦幻中，有桥梁、码头、没有尽头的街道；有酒店、运水的工人、熙熙攘攘的人群、士兵、轿式马车、军鼓、拱廊。在这个梦幻中，单调的铃铛声、车轮声和马蹄声最终消失在四周一片喧嚣声与鼎沸的人声之中了。他经过一个关口的时候，换乘了一辆马车，在这之后，这种闹音渐渐地平静下来。当他前往海岸的时候，单调的铃铛声、车轮声和马蹄声又恢复了，他得不到休息。

然后在这个梦幻中，又是日落和黄昏。在这个梦幻中，又是漫长的道路，沉寂的深夜，路旁窗户中微弱的灯光；然后依旧是单调的铃铛声、车轮声和马蹄声，他得不到休息。在这个梦幻中，有拂晓、黎明、日出。在这个梦幻中，马车费劲地慢慢地上了一个山冈，在山冈顶上他感觉到新鲜的海风微微吹拂；他看见晨光在远方海浪的边际闪闪反射着。下了山冈，是一个海港，正好是涨潮的时候，可以看见渔船顺潮返航，快活的女人和孩子正在等待着它们。渔网和渔人们的衣服摊晒在海岸上；船员们忙忙碌碌，在桅杆和索具当中高高的地方也能听到他们的。活泼、明亮的海水，到处在闪闪发光。

在这个梦幻中，船离开了海岸，从甲板上往回看，水面上烟雾朦胧。阳光穿过的地方，这里那里露出了一点明亮的陆地。在这个梦幻中，平静的海涨起了波浪，闪耀着水花，发出了喃喃的低语。在船舶经过的航线上，海洋上出现了另一条灰色的线条，迅速地变得更明亮和更高。在这个梦幻中，他看到了一座座悬崖、一间间房屋、一个风车、一座教堂，愈来愈分明。船终于进入了一个平静的水面，停泊在一个码头旁边；码头上一群群的人在往下看，并向船上的朋友们问候致意。他上了岸，迅速地从他们中间穿过，躲开每一个人，终于又到了英国了。

他在梦幻中曾经想到一个他所知道的遥远的乡村中去，在那里隐居下来，然后悄悄地打听流传的消息，再决定怎样行动。仍然是在同样头晕目眩的状态中，他曾记起一个火车站，他必须从那里沿一条铁路支线前往他的目的地；在火车站附近还有一个僻静的小旅馆，他不十分明确地打算到那里去停留和休息。

他怀着这个目的，尽快地偷偷溜进了一个火车车厢，用斗篷裹着在那里躺下，仿佛睡着了似的。火车很快就把他拉到离海远远的绿色的内地了。到达目的地之后，他从车厢窗子里往外看，仔细地观察着车站外面。他对这个地方的印象没有错。这是在一个小树林边上的一个隐蔽的地方。那里只有一间房屋，是特地为车站新建或改建起来的，房屋四周有一个整洁的花园；离这里最近的小城镇是在几英里之外。于是他在这里下了车，没有被任何人注意到，就直接到了那个小旅馆里，在那里要了楼上两个位置相当隐蔽、并且是相通的房间。

他的目的是休息，恢复自制力和稳定情绪。遭受失败之后茫然失措的情绪和愤怒的情绪完全支配着他，因此，他在房间里走来走去的时候，咬牙切齿。他不能制止或指引他的思想，他的思想依旧随意转来转去，并拖着他跑。他精神恍惚，疲乏得要死。

可是，仿佛他遭到了不幸，永远也不能再休息了，他感到昏昏欲睡，但并没有失去知觉。他对他的感觉丝毫没有办法，仿佛它们是属于另一个人似的。它们不仅强迫他注意现在的与事物，而且还不让他从旅途中所有匆匆忙忙的梦幻中解脱出来。这些梦幻不断地涌集在他的面前。她站在那里，用她乌黑的、轻蔑的眼光注视着他；他仍然坐在马车里，通过城镇与乡村，通过亮光与黑暗，通过雨天与晴天，通过道路与铺石路，通过丘陵与河谷，往前行进，单调的铃铛声、车轮声和马蹄声使他疲倦、恐慌，得不到休息。

“今天是星期几？”他问正在准备给他开晚饭的侍者。

“您是问星期几吗，先生？”

“是星期三吗？”

“星期三，先生？不，先生，星期四了，先生。”

“我忘了。现在什么时间？我的表没有上弦。”

“差几分就五点了，先生。您也许旅行了好久了吧，先生？”

“是的。”

“乘火车来的吗，先生？”

“是的。”

“很疲劳的，先生。我自己乘火车不多，先生，但是到这里的先生们常常这么说。”

“有很多先生到这里来吗？”

“总的来说是相当多的。可是现在没有人来。现在生意清淡，先生。现在不论什么行业都生意清淡。”

他没有回答；而只是从他原先躺着的沙发上欠起身来坐着，每只胳膊都支靠在一只脚的膝盖上，并凝视着地面。他不能把注意力继续集中一分钟。它随意地转来转去，但片刻也不能消失在睡眠中。

他吃完晚饭以后，喝了好多酒，但也无济于事。这种人为的方法不能使他合眼睡去。他的思想比先前更不连贯，更无情地把他拖来拖去，仿佛一位苦命的人被判定要这样来赎罪，被发狂的马拖着跑一样。没有忘却，没有休息。

他坐在那里，喝着，沉思着，被胡思乱想拖来拖去，究竟有多久，谁也不能比他回答得更不准确。但是当他突然跳了起来，并细听着的时候，他知道他已经在烛光旁边坐了好久。

因为现在，这确实不是幻想。地面震动了，房屋发出了格格的响声，那猛烈的、迅疾的、像死神一样的飞行就在空中！他觉得它临近了，又疾驰而过；甚至当他急忙跑到窗前，并看见那是什么的时候，他又往回退缩，站着不动，仿佛去看是不安全似的。

真该咒骂一声，这火一般的魔鬼！它发出了轰隆轰隆的响声，十分平稳地向前驶去，穿过了遥远的河谷，留下了耀眼的亮光与火红的烟尘，然后消失不见了！他觉得仿佛他已被拉出它行进的道路，幸免被它撕得粉碎似的。甚至现在，当最轻微的声响都已完全沉寂，他在月光中所能望见的整条铁路线已像沙漠一般安静无人的时候，这种感觉还使得他畏缩和打颤。

他不能休息，并不可抗拒地被吸引到这条路上（也许是他觉得这样），于是就走出屋子，在这条路的旁边漫步，同时根据落在轨道上、仍然在冒烟的煤屑来察看火车跑过的道路。他沿着火车消失不见的方向漫步了半个钟头光景之后，转过身来，朝着相反的方向走——依旧紧挨着铁路的旁边——，经过小旅馆的花园，又继续走了长长的一段路；他一边走一边好奇地看着桥梁、信号灯、路灯，心里想，什么时候另一个魔鬼会从这里跑过去呢？

地面在震动；他的耳朵中感觉到迅速的颤动；远方传来了尖锐的响声；暗淡的灯光正在向前移来，很快转变为两只红红的眼睛；强烈的火焰掉落着灼热的煤屑；不可阻挡的巨大的吼叫声愈来愈响；一阵劲风吹刮过来了，一阵轰隆轰隆的响声传过来了——另一列火车来了，又走了；他抓住门，仿佛要救住自己似的！

他等待着另一列火车，然后又等待着另一列火车。他沿着铁路又走回到原先的地点。然后走回来以后又回到那里，并且通过他这次路途中令人疲倦的梦幻，依旧在等待着这些前来的怪物。他在车站上闲逛，等待着有一列火车会在这里停下来；有一列火车果真在这里停下来了，机车和后面的车厢脱钩以后开去上水，这时候他面对着它站在那里，注视着它的笨重的轮子和铜制的头部，心想它具有多么残酷的能量与威力哪！看看这些巨大的轮子慢慢地转动，想想你被它们压到身上，压得粉碎的情景吧！

由于喝了酒以后引起的身心失调和缺乏休息——虽然他疲乏不堪，但却无法满足这种需要——，这些念头和这些事物在他的思想中病态地占据了很大的分量。当他回到自己房间里的时候——这已将近午夜了——，它们依旧反复出现在他的心头，他就坐在那里听着是不是又有一列火车开来。

当他在床上躺下，没有希望入睡的时候，也还是这种情况。他仍旧躺着听；当他感觉到摇晃和震动的时候，他从床上起来，走到窗口，观看（他从那里是看得到的）那暗淡的灯光转变成两只红红的眼睛，强烈的火焰掉落着灼热的煤屑；巨大的怪物飞快地奔驰过去，长长的一道烟雾弥漫在山谷上空。因为他在这里得不到休息，他打算在日出以后离开这里，于是他就朝着他前去的方向观望；然后他又重新躺下来，让他在旅途中的梦幻，让那些单调的铃铛声、车轮声和马蹄声来困扰他，直到另一列火车开来为止。这种情况持续了整整一夜。他不但不能恢复自制力，相反的，随着夜间时光的流逝，他愈来愈失去了它（如果还可能失去的话）。当黎明来临时，他仍然被各种胡思乱想所折磨，仍然把他的思想暂时搁置起来，直到他的情况好转以后再说；过去、现在和将来，全都混乱地浮现在他眼前，他完全失去了沉着对待它们当中任何一个的能力。

“您刚才说，我要搭乘的火车什么时候从这里开出？”他问昨夜侍候他的那个人，他这时候拿了一支蜡烛走进房间。

“四点一刻光景，先生。快车四点经过这里，先生。——

它在这里不停。”

他把手举到血管在跳动着的头前，看一看表。将近三点半。

“也许没有人跟您一道走吧，先生，”那位侍者说道，“这里有两位先生，先生，但是他们是在等去伦敦的火车。”

“我记得您好像说过，这里没有别的人，”卡克转向他，说道；脸上露出过去他在发怒或怀疑的时候经常露出的那种鬼怪般的笑容。

“我昨天跟您说的时候，这里是没有别的人，先生。这两位先生是在夜里搭乘慢车来的，这里是它的一个停车站，先生。要温水吗，先生？”

“不要。把蜡烛拿走。我觉得天已够亮了。”

他原先穿了一部分衣服倒在床上，那人刚一走开，他就走到窗口。夜色消逝，寒冷的晨光接着来临，天空中早已弥漫着即将升起的太阳的红光。他用冷水洗了洗头和脸——这并不能使他冷静下来——，匆匆忙忙穿上衣服，付了帐，然后走出旅馆。

向他吹来的空气冷飕飕的，使人感到很不舒服。露水很重。他虽然身上热乎乎的，但还是禁不住打哆嗦。他朝昨夜走过的地方和在早晨发出微光、已经失去重要性的信号灯看了一眼之后，转向太阳正在升起的地方。他看到了它露出地平线时那光辉壮丽的景象。它那美丽是多么威风凛凛，多么卓越非凡，它是多么神圣、庄严啊！他那淡弱无光的眼睛看着它平静地、安详地升起，对从世界创始以来在它的光线照耀下所曾发生过的所有的罪行与邪恶都无动于衷，这时候，谁能说甚至在他心中就没有激发出在世上行善积德，在天堂中得到报答的淡薄观念呢？如果他曾在什么时候怀着亲切和悔恨的心情回忆起他的姐姐或哥哥的话，那么谁能说那不就在现在呢？

他现在需要这样的心情。死神已迫近他。他已经从活着的世界中除名，正在走近坟墓。

他已支付了通往他打算前往的乡村的车费；现在正独自在走来走去，同时沿着铁路线看过去；从这一边看过去是河谷，从另一边看过去是近处的一座黑暗的桥梁；他走到来回踱步的木制站台的一边的尽头，正转回身子来的时候，突然看见了他从他那里逃出来的那个人，正从他本人曾经进去过的门中走出来。他们的眼光相遇了。

在突然的惊慌失措中，他步子不稳，身子摇摇晃晃，滑倒在下面的铁路上。但他立刻站了起来，在铁路上往后退了一、两步，使他们两人之间的距离扩大一些，同时呼吸短促地望着追赶他的人。

他听到一声呼喊，——又听到一声呼喊，——看到那张原先充满复仇的愤怒的脸孔，现在转变为有些病态与恐怖的表情，——他感到地面在震动，——在一刹那间明白了：火车正疾驰而来——他发出一声尖锐的喊叫——环顾四周——

看到那两只在白天显得模糊与暗淡的红眼睛就在他的面前——他被撞倒，钩住，卷到一个凹凸不平的磨上，这磨一圈一圈碾着他，把他的四肢撕断，用火一般的高热舐吃着他的生命，并把他支离破碎的肢体在天空中抛掷着。

当那位被他认出的旅客晕倒并苏醒过来的时候，他看到四个人从远处用一块板抬来一个什么东西，沉重与安静地躺在板上，上面被覆盖着；他还看到另外一些人把在铁路上嗅来嗅去的几条狗赶开，并撒了好些灰烬，把他的血给覆盖上。