I  llay often that summer on a slope of sand and coarse grass， close to the Cornish sea， trying to catch thoughts; and I was trying very hard when I saw them coming hand in hand.

那年夏天，我经常躺在康沃尔海岸附近一道长着粗草的沙坡上，尽力厘清心中的想法。我正苦思冥想，突然看到他们手拉着手走来。

She was dressed in blue linen， and a little cloud of honey-coloured hair; her small face had serious eyes the colour of the chicory flowers she was holding up to sniff at—a clean sober little maid， with a very touching upward look of trust. Her companion was a strong， active boy of perhaps fourteen， and he， too， was serious—his deep-set， blacklashed eyes looked down at her with a queer protective wonder; the while he explained in a soft voice broken up between two ages， that exact process which bees adopt to draw honey out of flowers. Once or twice this hoarse but charming voice became quite fervent， when she had evidently failed to follow; it was as if he would have been impatient， only he knew he must not， because she was a lady and younger than himself， and he loved her.

女孩身穿蓝色亚麻布衣，蜜色的头发扎成一小团；她的小脸蛋上有一双透着认真的眼睛，颜色就像她举起来闻的菊苣花——她是一个纯洁朴素的小姑娘，抬眼的神情楚楚动人，充满信任。她的同伴是一个强壮活泼的男孩，大概有十四岁。男孩也一脸认真——他垂下睫毛乌黑的深邃双眼，以不解却又关切的目光看着女孩，同时用处于变声期的嗓音轻声解释蜜蜂从鲜花中采蜜的详细过程。有一两次女孩显然没有听懂，于是男孩沙哑却迷人的声音变得相当激动。他好像本来就不耐烦，只是知道自己不能这样，因为对方是一位淑女，年龄比自己小，况且自己又爱她。

They sat down just below my nook， and began to count the petals of a chicory flower， and slowly she nestled in to him， and he put his arm round her. Never did I see such sedate， sweet lovering， so trusting on her part， so guardianlike on his. They were like， in miniature—though more dewy， —those sober couples who have long lived together， yet whom one still catches looking at each other with confidential tenderness， and in whom， one feels， passion is atrophied from never having been in use.

他们在我躺着的隐蔽处的正下方坐下来，开始数一朵菊苣花的花瓣。随后，女孩慢慢地向男孩依偎过去，男孩则伸出胳膊搂住她。我从未见过如此沉着又甜美的爱恋，女孩十分信任男孩，男孩则像极了护花使者。他们如同那种长期生活在一起的稳重夫妻的缩影——不过更加纯洁清新，人们仍会发现他们以私密柔情对视，但也会感觉到他们的激情因从未释放而衰退。

Long I sat watching them in their cool communion， half-embraced， talking a little， smiling a little， never once kissing. They did not seem shy of that; it was rather as if they were too much each other’s to think of such a thing. And then her head slid lower and lower down his shoulder， and sleep buttoned the lids over those chicory-blue eyes. How careful he was， then， not to wake her， though I could see his arm was getting stiff！ He still sat， good as gold， holding her， till it began quite to hurt me to see his shoulder thus in chancery1. But presently I saw him draw his arm away ever so carefully， lay her head down on the grass， and lean forward to stare at something. Straight in front of them was a magpie， balancing itself on a stripped twig of thorn-tree. The agitating bird， painted of night and day， was making a queer noise and flirting one wing， as if trying to attract attention. Rising from the twig， it circled， vivid and stealthy， twice round the tree， and flew to another a dozen paces off. The boy rose; he looked at his little mate， looked at the bird， and began quietly to move toward it; but uttering again its queer call， the bird glided on to a third thorn-tree. The boy hesitated then—but once more the bird flew on， and suddenly dipped over the hill. I saw the boy break into a run; and getting up quickly， I ran too.

我久坐在原地观望着他们淡定传情、半搂半抱，偶尔浅谈几句，偶尔微微含笑，却从未亲吻过一次。