his wife's dark blue brougham (with the wedding varnish still on it) met archer at the ferry, and conveyed him luxuriously to the pennsylvania terminus in jersey city.

it was a sombre snowy afternoon, and the gas-lamps were lit in the big reverberating station. as he paced the platform, waiting for the washington express, he remembered that there were people who thought there would one day be a tunnel under the hudson through which the trains of the pennsylvania railway would run straight into new york. they were of the brotherhood of visionaries who likewise predicted the building of ships that would cross the atlantic in five days, the invention of a flying machine, lighting by electricity, telephonic communication without wires, and other arabian night marvels.

"i don't care which of their visions comes true," archer mused, "as long as the tunnel isn't built yet." in his senseless school-boy happiness he pictured madame olenska's descent from the train, his discovery of her a long way off, among the throngs of meaningless faces, her clinging to his arm as he guided her to the carriage, their slow approach to the wharf among slipping horses, laden carts, vociferating teamsters, and then the startling quiet of the ferry-boat, where they would sit side by side under the snow, in the motionless carriage, while the earth seemed to glide away under them, rolling to the other side of the sun. it was incredible, the number of things he had to say to her, and in what eloquent order they were forming themselves on his lips . . .

the clanging and groaning of the train came nearer, and it staggered slowly into the station like a prey- laden monster into its lair. archer pushed forward, elbowing through the crowd, and staring blindly into window after window of the high-hung carriages. and then, suddenly, he saw madame olenska's pale and surprised face close at hand, and had again the mortified sensation of having forgotten what she looked like.

they reached each other, their hands met, and he drew her arm through his. "this way--i have the carriage," he said.

after that it all happened as he had dreamed. he helped her into the brougham with her bags, and had afterward the vague recollection of having properly reassured her about her grandmother and given her a summary of the beaufort situation (he was struck by the softness of her: "poor regina!"). meanwhile the carriage had worked its way out of the coil about the station, and they were crawling down the slippery incline to the wharf, menaced by swaying coal-carts, bewildered horses, dishevelled express-wagons, and an empty hearse--ah, that hearse! she shut her eyes as it passed, and clutched at archer's hand.

"if only it doesn't mean--poor granny!"

"oh, no, no--she's much better--she's all right, really. there--we've passed it!" he exclaimed, as if that made all the difference. her hand remained in his, and as the carriage lurched across the gang-plank onto the ferry he bent over, unbuttoned her tight brown glove, and kissed her palm as if he had kissed a relic. she disengaged herself with a faint smile, and he said: "you didn't expect me today?"

"oh, no."

"i meant to go to washington to see you. i'd made all my arrangements--i very nearly crossed you in the train."

"oh--" she exclaimed, as if terrified by the narrowness of their escape.

"do you know--i hardly remembered you?"

"hardly remembered me?"

"i mean: how shall i explain? i--it's always so. each time you happen to me all over again."

"oh, yes: i know! i know!"

"does it--do i too: to you?" he insisted.

she nodded, looking out of the window.

"ellen--ellen--ellen!"

she made no answer, and he sat in silence, watching her profile grow indistinct against the snow-streaked dusk beyond the window. what had she been doing in all those four long months, he wondered? how little they knew of each other, after all! the precious moments were slipping away, but he had forgotten everything that he had meant to say to her and could only helplessly brood on the mystery of their remoteness and their proximity, which seemed to be symbolised by the fact of their sitting so close to each other, and yet being unable to see each other's faces.

"what a pretty carriage! is it may's?" she asked, suddenly turning her face from the window.

"yes."

"it was may who sent you to fetch me, then? how kind of her!"

he made no answer for a moment; then he said explosively: "your husband's secretary came to see me the day after we met in boston."

in his brief letter to her he had made no allusion to m. riviere's visit, and his intention had been to bury the incident in his bosom. but her reminder that they were in his wife's carriage provoked him to an impulse of retaliation. he would see if she liked his reference to riviere any better than he liked hers to may! as on certain other occasions when he had expected to shake her out of her usual composure, she betrayed no sign of surprise: and at once he concluded: "he writes to her, then."

"m. riviere went to see you?"

"yes: didn't you know?"

"no," she answered simply.

"and you're not surprised?"

she hesitated. "why should i be? he told me in boston that he knew you; that he'd met you in england i think."

"ellen--i must ask you one thing."

"yes."

"i wanted to ask it after i saw him, but i couldn't put it in a letter. it was riviere who helped you to get away--when you left your husband?"

his heart was beating suffocatingly. would she meet this question with the same composure?

"yes: i owe him a great debt," she answered, without the least tremor in her quiet voice.

her tone was so natural, so almost indifferent, that archer's turmoil subsided. once more she had managed, by her sheer simplicity, to make him feel stupidly conventional just when he thought he was flinging convention to the winds.

"i think you're the most honest woman i ever met!" he exclaimed.

"oh, no--but probably one of the least fussy," she answered, a smile in her voice.

"call it what you like: you look at things as they are."

"ah--i've had to. i've had to look at the gorgon."

"well--it hasn't blinded you! you've seen that she's just an old bogey like all the others."

"she doesn't blind one; but she dries up one's tears."

the answer checked the pleading on archer's lips: it seemed to come from depths of experience beyond his reach. the slow advance of the ferry-boat had ceased, and her bows bumped against the piles of the slip with a violence that made the brougham stagger, and flung archer and madame olenska against each other. the young man, trembling, felt the pressure of her shoulder, and passed his arm about her.

"if you're not blind, then, you must see that this can't last."

"what can't?"

"our being together--and not together."

"no. you ought not to have come today," she said in an altered voice; and suddenly she turned, flung her arms about him and pressed her lips to his. at the same moment the carriage began to move, and a gas-lamp at the head of the slip flashed its light into the window. she drew away, and they sat silent and motionless while the brougham struggled through the congestion of carriages about the ferry-landing. as they gained the street archer began to speak hurriedly.

"don't be afraid of me: you needn't squeeze yourself back into your corner like that. a stolen kiss isn't what i want. look: i'm not even trying to touch the sleeve of your jacket. don't suppose that i don't understand your reasons for not wanting to let this feeling between us dwindle into an ordinary hole-and-corner love-affair. i couldn't have spoken like this yesterday, because when we've been apart, and i'm looking forward to seeing you, every thought is burnt up in a great flame. but then you come; and you're so much more than i remembered, and what i want of you is so much more than an hour or two every now and then, with wastes of thirsty waiting between, that i can sit perfectly still beside you, like this, with that other vision in my mind, just quietly trusting to it to come true."

for a moment she made no reply; then she asked, hardly above a whisper: "what do you mean by trusting to it to come true?"

"why--you know it will, don't you?"

"your vision of you and me together?" she burst into a sudden hard laugh. "you choose your place well to put it to me!"

"do you mean because we're in my wife's brougham? shall we get out and walk, then? i don't suppose you mind a little snow?"

she laughed again, more gently. "no; i shan't get out and walk, because my business is to get to granny's as quickly as i can. and you'll sit beside me, and we'll look, not at visions, but at realities."

"i don't know what you mean by realities. the only reality to me is this."

she met the words with a long silence, during which the carriage rolled down an obscure side-street and then turned into the searching illumination of fifth avenue.

"is it your idea, then, that i should live with you as your mistress--since i can't be your wife?" she asked.

the crudeness of the question startled him: the word was one that women of his class fought shy of, even when their talk flitted closest about the topic. he noticed that madame olenska pronounced it as if it had a recognised place in her vocabulary, and he wondered if it had been used familiarly in her presence in the horrible life she had fled from. her question pulled him up with a jerk, and he floundered.

"i want--i want somehow to get away with you into a world where words like that--categories like that-- won't exist. where we shall be simply two human beings who love each other, who are the whole of life to each other; and nothing else on earth will matter."

she drew a deep sigh that ended in another laugh. "oh, my dear--where is that country? have you ever been there?" she asked; and as he remained sullenly dumb she went on: "i know so many who've tried to find it; and, believe me, they all got out by mistake at wayside stations: at places like boulogne, or pisa, or monte carlo--and it wasn't at all different from the old world they'd left, but only rather smaller and dingier and more promiscuous."

he had never heard her speak in such a tone, and he remembered the phrase she had used a little while before.

"yes, the gorgon has dried your tears," he said.

"well, she opened my eyes too; it's a delusion to say that she blinds people. what she does is just the contrary--she fastens their eyelids open, so that they're never again in the blessed darkness. isn't there a chinese torture like that? there ought to be. ah, believe me, it's a miserable little country!"

the carriage had crossed forty-second street: may's sturdy brougham-horse was carrying them northward as if he had been a kentucky trotter. archer choked with the sense of wasted minutes and vain words.

"then what, exactly, is your plan for us?" he asked.

"for us? but there's no us in that sense! we're near each other only if we stay far from each other. then we can be ourselves. otherwise we're only newland archer, the husband of ellen olenska's cousin, and ellen olenska, the cousin of newland archer's wife, trying to be happy behind the backs of the people who trust them."

"ah, i'm beyond that," he groaned.

"no, you're not! you've never been beyond. and i have," she said, in a strange voice, "and i know what it looks like there."

he sat silent, dazed with inarticulate pain. then he groped in the darkness of the carriage for the little bell that signalled orders to the coachman. he remembered that may rang twice when she wished to stop. he pressed the bell, and the carriage drew up beside the curbstone.

"why are we stopping? this is not granny's," madame olenska exclaimed.

"no: i shall get out here," he stammered, opening the door and jumping to the pavement. by the light of a street-lamp he saw her startled face, and the instinctive motion she made to detain him. he closed the door, and leaned for a moment in the window.

"you're right: i ought not to have come today," he said, lowering his voice so that the coachman should not hear. she bent forward, and seemed about to speak; but he had already called out the order to drive on, and the carriage rolled away while he stood on the corner. the snow was over, and a tingling wind had sprung up, that lashed his face as he stood gazing. suddenly he felt something stiff and cold on his lashes, and perceived that he had been crying, and that the wind had frozen his tears.

he thrust his hands in his pockets, and walked at a sharp pace down fifth avenue to his own house.

妻子的深紫色马车（其婚礼的外饰犹存）在渡口接上阿切尔，将他堂而皇之地送到泽西城的宾夕法尼亚车站。

这天下午天色阴沉，下着雪，反响回荡的大车站里煤气灯已经点亮。他在站台上来回踱步，等待华盛顿驶来的快车。这时他不由想起，有人认为有朝一日会在哈德逊河床下面开掘一条隧道，宾夕法尼亚铁路上的火车可以穿过隧道直接开到纽约。那些人都属于梦想家，他们还预言要建造用5大时间就能横渡大西洋的轮船、发明飞行机器、用电来照明、不用电线的电话交流，还有其他一些天方夜谭般的奇迹。

“只要隧道不建，哪一种幻想成真我都不关心，”阿切尔沉思道。他怀着中学生那种糊里糊涂的幸福感想象着奥兰斯卡夫人从车上下来的情形：他在很远的地方，在人群中一张张毫无意义的脸中间认出了她，她挽着他的胳臂随他走到马车跟前，他们慢吞吞地朝码头驶去。一路上是迅跑的马匹、载重的货车、大喊大叫的车夫，然后是静得出奇的渡船。他们将肩并肩地坐在雪花飞舞的船上，然后坐进四平八稳的马车，任大地在他们脚下悄然滑行，滚滚滑向太阳的另一侧。真是不可思议，他有那么多事情要对她讲，它们将以怎样的顺序变成他滔滔的话语呢……

火车轰隆轰隆的铿锵声越来越近，它像载着猎物的怪兽进窝一样蹒跚着缓缓进了车站，阿切尔挤过人群，冲向前去，茫然地盯着列车一个接一个的窗口，接着，猛然在不远处看见了奥兰斯卡夫人那张苍白惊讶的脸。这时，那种忘记她的模样的窘迫感觉又涌上心头。

他们走到了一起，两双手相遇，他用手臂挽着她的手臂。“这边走——我带来了马车，”他说。

此后的情形完全跟他梦中憧憬的一样。他扶她上了马车，将她的包裹也放到车上，然后笼统概述了她祖母的病情，让她完全放下心来，又对博福特的情况做了简要介绍（她心软地说了声“可怜的里吉纳”，颇令他感动）。与此同时，马车也从混乱的车站挤了出来，他们慢吞吞地沿着滑溜的斜坡向码头行进，令他们担心的还有摇摇晃晃的煤车、受惊的马匹、凌乱的运货快车，以及一辆空灵车——啊呀，一辆灵车！她闭上眼睛，等灵车过去，并紧抓住阿切尔的手。

“但愿别是为可怜的祖母准备的！”

“哦，不，不——她好多了——真的完全康复了。瞧——过去了！”他大喊道，仿佛这一点有多重要似的。她的手依然握在他的手里，当马车蹒跚通过渡口的道板时，他弯下身，脱下她那只棕色的紧手套，像吻一件圣物似的亲吻了她的手掌。她嫣然一笑挣脱开来，他说：“你没想到今天我会来吧？”

“哦，没有。”

“我本来打算去华盛顿看你的，我全都安排好了——险些与你在火车上擦肩而过。”

“啊——”她喊了一声，仿佛被难得逃过的危险给吓坏了。

“你知道吗——我几乎把你忘了？”

“几乎把我忘了？”

“我的意思是——怎么说呢？我——总是这样，你对我来说，每一次都是重新开始。”

“噢，对：我知道！我知道！”

“我——对你来说——也是如此吗？”他追问道

她点了点头，向窗外望去。

“埃伦——埃伦——埃伦啊！”

她没有应声。他静静地坐在那儿，注视着她。衬着窗外雪痕斑驳的暮色，她的侧影渐渐模糊了。他想，在这漫长的4个月中她都做了些什么呢？他们之间相知毕竟太少了！珍贵的时光在流逝，他却把打算对她讲的话全都忘了，只能茫然地沉思他们既接近又疏远的奥秘。眼下两人近在咫尺，却都看个到对方的脸，似乎正是这种情形的象征。

“多漂亮的马车啊！是梅的吗？”她突然从窗口转过脸来问。

“是的。”

“这么说，是梅让你来接我的了？她真是太好了！”

他一时没有应声；接着又暴躁地说：“我们在波士顿相会的第一二天，你丈夫的秘书来见过我。”

在给她写的短信中他没有提里维埃先生拜访的事，他本来打算把那件事埋在自己心中。但她提起他们坐的是他妻子的马车，激发了他报复的冲动。他要看一看，她对提及里维埃是否比他听到梅的名字更好过！就像在另外的一些场合那样，当他期望驱走她平时的镇静时，她却不露一丝惊讶；他立即得出结论：“这么说，他给她写过信。”

“里维埃先生去看你了？”

“是的，难道你不知道？”

“不知道，”她坦率地说。

“你听了并不感到意外？”

她犹豫了。“干吗我会意外呢？他在波士顿对我说过他认识你；我想他是在英国与你相识的吧。”

“埃伦——我必须问你一件事。”

“好吧。”

“我见过他之后就想问你来着，可在信中不好讲。当你离开你丈夫的时候，是里维埃帮你逃走的吗？”

他的心决要窒息了。她还会那样镇静地对待这个问题吗？

“是的。我欠他很多债，”她回答说，声音平静，没有一丝颤抖。

她的语气极其自然，几近于冷淡，这使阿切尔的暴躁也平息下来。完全凭她的坦率，她又一次让他认识到他的因袭守旧是多么愚蠢，而他还自以为把传统抛到了九霄云外呢。

“我认为你是我见过的最诚实的女人！”他大声说。

“哦，不——不过也许得算个最不大惊小怪的女人吧，”她回答说，声音里含着一丝笑意。

“不管你怎么说，你看问题是很实际的。”

“唔——我只能如此。我不得不正视戈尔工。”

“可是——这并没有弄瞎你的眼睛！你看清了她不过是个老妖怪，跟别的妖怪没什么两样。”

“她并不弄瞎你的眼睛，而是弄干你的眼泪。”

这句话制止了来到阿切尔嘴边的恳求，它好像发自内心深处的经验，是他无法理解的。渡船慢吞吞的行驶已经停止，船首猛烈地撞在水中的木桩上，震得马车摇晃起来，使阿切尔与奥兰斯卡夫人撞在一起。年轻人接触到她肩膀的撞击，浑身一阵颤抖，伸手搂住了她。

“如果你眼睛没有瞎，那么你一定会看到，事情再也不能这样继续下去了。”

“什么不能继续下去了？”

“我们在一起——却又不能结合。”

“对。你今天就不该来接我，”她用一种异样的声音说。猛地，她转过身来，伸开双臂搂住了他，双唇紧紧吻在他的嘴上。与此同时，马车启动了，水边上那盏煤气灯的光从窗口照射进来。她抽身离开他，两人沉默地坐着，一动不动。马车在渡口拥塞的车辆中挤路前行，走到大街上之后，阿切尔急忙发话了。

“不要怕我，你用不着这样子缩在角落里，我需要的并非偷偷的吻，你瞧，我甚至都不去碰你的衣袖。你不愿让我们的感情降低为普通的私通，这我很理解。昨天我还不会说这种话，因为自我们分手以来，我一直盼望见到你，所有的想法都被熊熊的烈火烧光了。现在你来了，你远远不止是我记忆中的那样，而我需要你的也远远不是偶然的一两个小时，尔后就茫茫无期地处于焦急的等待中。所以我才这样安安静静坐在你身边，心里怀着另一种憧憬，安心地期待它的实现。”

有一会功夫她没有回话，后来她几乎是耳语般地问道：“你说期待它的实现是什么意思？”

“怎么——你知道它会实现的，不对吗？”

“你我结合的憧憬？”她猛然发出一阵冷笑。“你可选了个好地方对我讲这话！”

“你指的是因为我们坐在我妻子的马车里？那么，我们下去走怎么样？我认为你不会在意这点点雪吧？”

她又大笑起来，不过笑声温和了些。“不行，我不下车去走，因为我的正经事是尽快赶到奶奶那儿。你还是坐在我身边，我们来看一看现实，而不是幻想。”

“我不知你指的现实是什么，对我来说，这就是惟一的现实。”

她听了这话沉默了许久。这期间马车沿着一条昏暗的小街下行，随后又转入第五大街明亮的灯光之中。

“那么，你是不是想让我跟你在一起，做你的情妇呢——既然我不可能做你的妻子？”她问。

这种粗鲁的提问令他大惊失色：这个词他那个阶层的女子是讳莫如深的，即使当她们的谈话离这题目很接近的时候。他注意到奥兰斯卡夫人脱口而出，仿佛它早已在她的语汇中得到了认同。他怀疑在她已经逃脱的那段可怕的生活中，这个词她早已司空见惯。她的询问猛然制止了他，他支支吾吾地说：

“我想——我想设法与你逃到一个不存在这种词汇——不存在这类词汇的地方。在那儿我们仅仅是两个相爱的人，你是我生活的全部，我是你生活的全部，其他什么事都无关紧要。”

她深深叹了口气，最后又笑了起来。“啊，亲爱的——这个国度在哪儿呢？你去过那儿吗？”她问，他绷着脸，哑口无言。她接着说：“我知道有很多人曾设法找到那个地方，但是，相信我，他们全都错误地在路边的车站下了车：在布格涅、比萨或蒙特卡洛那样的地方——而那里与他们离开的旧世界根本没有区别，仅仅是更狭隘、更肮脏、更乌七八糟而已。”

他从来没听她说过这样的话，他想起了她刚才的说法。

“是啊，戈尔工已经挤干了你的眼泪了，”他说。

“可是，她也打开了我的眼界。说她弄瞎人们的眼睛那是一种误解，恰好相反——她把人们的眼睑撑开，让他们永远不能再回到清静的黑暗中去。中国不就有那么一种刑罚吗？就应当有。啊，说真的，那是一个很可怜的小地方！”

马车穿过了42街，梅那匹健壮的马像匹肯特基跑马，正载着他们朝北行驶。阿切尔眼见时间一分一秒地白白浪费，光说这些空洞的话令他感到窒息。

“那么，你对我们的事到底有什么打算呢？”他问。

“我们？从这个意义上讲根本不存在我们！只有在互相远离的时候才互相接近，那时我们才能是我们自己。不然，我们仅仅是埃伦·奥兰斯卡表妹的丈夫纽兰·阿切尔和纽兰·阿切尔妻子的表姊埃伦·奥兰斯卡，两个人企图背着信赖他们的人寻欢作乐。”

“哎，我可不是那种人，”他抱怨说。

“不，你是！你从来就没超越那种境界，而我却已经超越了，”她用一种陌生的声音说。“我知道那是一种什么样子。”

他坐着没有吭声，心中感到说不出的痛苦。接着，他在黑暗中摸索马车内那个对车夫传达命令的小铃，他记得梅想停车的时候拉两下。他拉了铃，马车在拦石边停了下来。

“干吗要停车？还没有到奶奶家呢，”奥兰斯卡夫人大声说。

一没有到。我要在这儿下去，”他结巴着说，并打开车门，跳到人行道上。借助街灯的光线他看到她那张吃惊的脸，以及本能地要阻止他的动作。他关上门，又在窗口倚了一会儿。

“你说得对：我今天就不该来接你，”他放低了声音说，以免车夫听见。她弯身向前，似乎有话要说，但他已经叫车夫赶车。马车向前驶去，他依然站在拐角处。雪已经停了，刺骨的寒风吹了起来，抽打着他的脸，他还站在那儿凝望。突然，他觉得睫毛上有一点又冷又硬的东西，发现原来是自己哭了，寒风冻结了他的眼泪。

他把双手插进口袋，沿第五大街快步朝自己家走去。