二つの魔法：ねじの回転、覆い隠された結末

There was a singular little dignity in it, something that made her release him and yet linger. She told him she had just begun a letter to his uncle. He said, well, then, finish it. She asked what had happened before—before he came back, and before he went away. He gazed at her, his eyes meeting hers, and for the very first time she caught in the sound of his words a small faint quaver of consenting consciousness. She dropped on her knees beside the bed. “Dear little Miles, dear little Miles, if you knew how I want to help you! It’s only that, it’s nothing but that, and I’d rather die than give you a pain or do you a wrong—I’d rather die than hurt a hair of you. Dear little Miles—I just want you to help me to save you!”

But she knew in a moment she had gone too far. The answer came as an extraordinary blast and chill, a gust of frozen air, a shake of the room as great as if, in the wild wind, the casement had crashed in. The boy gave a loud, high shriek, which might have seemed, indistinctly, a note either of jubilation or of terror. She jumped to her feet. Darkness. The drawn curtains were unstirred, the window tight. “Why, the candle’s out!” she cried. “It was I who blew it, dear!” said Miles.

XVIII

The morning after the governess’s confrontation with Miles about what he said at school, the household at Bly settles into a deceptive calm. Mrs. Grose finds a quiet moment to ask whether she has written to the master about the matter. The governess admits she has, but confesses the sealed letter still rests in her pocket. She has not yet sent it.

That morning the children perform brilliantly, as though eager to smooth over recent friction. Miles in particular seems determined to demonstrate how easily he can surpass her, soaring through arithmetic beyond her range and peppering lessons with clever jokes. To the governess, he remains a figure of impossible contradiction: outwardly frank and free, yet inwardly the most ingenious of small gentlemen. She finds herself perpetually guarding against the spell of contemplation his mystery casts over her, longing for proof that a child so distinguished could ever have committed an act deserving punishment.

After their early dinner, Miles approaches with exquisite tact and offers to play piano for half an hour. The gesture carries the polish of David soothing Saul, an unspoken negotiation: leave me free to come and go, and I will cease to resist your scrutiny. She accepts, and they return hand in hand to the schoolroom. He plays as he has never played before. Yet at some point she starts up with a start, realizing she has completely lost track of time, and worse, lost track of Flora. When she asks Miles where his sister is, he plays on for a moment before laughing and singing incoherently, offering no answer.