Whither wilt1 thou lead me? speak; I’ll go no farther.
HAMLET.
I did not sleep well that night, but this did not prevent me from beginning work early in the morning. The sermon I had been interrupted in the afternoon before, had to be completed that day; and I was hard at work upon it when there came a knock at my study~door. I arose with any thing but alacrity2 and opened it. Dwight Pollard stood before me.
It was a surprise that called up a flush to my cheeks; but daylight was shining upon this interview, and I knew none of those sensations which had unnerved me the night before. I was simply on my guard, and saw him seat himself in my own chair, without any other feeling than that of curiosity as to the nature of his errand. He likewise was extremely self-possessed, and looked at me calmly for some instants before speaking.
“Last night,” he began, “you refused a request which my mother made of you.”
I bowed.
“It was a mistake,” he continued. “The paper which my father gave you cannot be one which he in his right senses would wish seen by the public. You should have trusted my mother, who knew my father much better than you did.”
“It was not a matter of trust,” I protest. “A document had been given me by I a dying man, with an injunction to put it into certain hands. I had no choice but to fulfil his wishes in this regard. Your mother herself would have despised me if I had yielded to her importunities and left it behind me.”
“My mother,” he commenced.
“Your mother is your mother,” I put in. “Let us have respect for her widowhood, and leave her out of this conversation.”
He looked at me closely, and I understood his glance.
“I cannot return you your father’s will,” I declared, firmly.
He held my glance with his.
“Have you it still?” he asked.
“I cannot return it to you,” I repeated.
He arose and approached me courteously4. “You are doing what you consider to be your duty,” said he. “In other words than my mother used, I simply add, on our heads must be the consequences.” And his grave look, at once half-sad and half-determined, impressed me for the first time with a certain sort of sympathy for this unhappy family. “And this leads me to the purpose of my call,” he proceeded, deferentially5. “I am here at my mothers wish, and I bring you her apologies. Though you have done and are doing wrong by your persistence6 in carrying out my poor father’s wishes to the detriment7 of his memory, my mother regrets that she spoke8 to you in the manner she did, and hopes you will not allow it to stand in the way of your conducting the funeral services.”
“Mr. Pollard,” I replied, “your father was my friend, and to no other man could I delegate the privilege of uttering prayers over his remains9. But I would not be frank to you nor true to myself if I did not add that it will take more than an apology from your mother to convince me that she wishes me well, or is, indeed, any thing but the enemy her looks proclaimed her to be last night.”
“I am sorry ——” he began, but meeting my eye, stopped. “You possess a moral courage which I envy you,” he declared. And waiving10 the subject of his mother, he proceeded to inform me concerning the funeral and the arrangements which had been made.
I listened calmly. In the presence of this man I felt strong. Though he knew the secret of my weakness, and possibly despised me for it, he also knew what indeed he had just acknowledged, that in some respects I was on a par11 with him.
The arrangements were soon made, and he took his leave without any further allusion12 to personal matters. But I noticed that at the door he stopped and cast a look of inquiry13 around the room. It disconcerted me somewhat; and while I found it difficult to express to myself the nature of the apprehensions14 which it caused, I inwardly resolved to rid myself as soon as possible of the responsibility of holding Mr. Pollard’s will. If Mr. Nicholls did not return by the day of the funeral, I would go myself to Boston and find him.
No occurrence worth mentioning followed this interview with Dwight Pollard. I conducted the services as I had promised, but found nothing to relate concerning them, save the fact that Mrs. Pollard was not present. She had been very much prostrated15 by her husband’s death, and was not able to leave her room, or so it was said. I mistrusted the truth of this, however, but must acknowledge I was glad to be relieved of a presence not only so obnoxious16 to myself, but so out of tune17 with the occasion. I could ignore Guy, subtle and secret as he was, but this woman could not be ignored. Where she was, there brooded something dark, mysterious, and threatening; and whether she smiled or frowned, the influence of her spirit was felt by a vague oppression at once impossible to analyze18 or escape from.
From the cemetery19 I went immediately to my house. The day was a dreary20 one, and I felt, chilled. The gray of the sky was in my spirit, and every thing seemed unreal and dark and strange. I was in a mood, I suppose, and, unlike myself on other similar occasions, did not feel that drawing towards the one dear heart which hitherto had afforded me solace21 and support. I had not got used to my new self as yet, and till I did, the smile of her I loved was more of a reproach to me than consolation22.
I was stopped at the gate by Mrs. Banks. She is my next-door neighbor, and in the absence of my landlady23 who had gone to visit some friends, took charge of any message which might be left for me while I was out. She looked flurried and mysterious.
“You have had a visitor,” she announced.
As she paused and looked as if she expected to be questioned, I naturally asked who it was.
“She said she was your sister,” she declared. “A tall woman with a thick veil over her face. She went right up to your study, but I think she must have got tired of waiting, for she went away again a few moments ago.”
My sister! I had no sister. I looked at Mrs. Banks in amazement24
“Describe her more particularly,” said I.
“That I cannot do,” she returned. “Her veil hid her features too completely for me to see them. I could not even tell her age, but I should say, from the way she walked that she was older than you.”
A chill, which did not come entirely25 from the east wind then blowing, ran sharply through my veins26.
“I thank you,” said I, somewhat incoherently, and ran hastily upstairs. I had a presentiment27 as to the identity of this woman.
At the door of my study I paused and looked hurriedly around. No signs of any disturbance28 met my eye. Crossing over to my desk, I surveyed the papers which I had left scattered29 somewhat loosely over it. They had been moved. I knew it by the position of the blotter, which I had left under a certain sheet of paper, and which now lay on top. Hot and cold at once, I went immediately to the spot where I had concealed30 Mr. Pollard’s will. It was in my desk, but underneath31 a drawer instead of in it, and by this simple precaution, perhaps, I had saved it from destruction; for I found it lying in its place undisturbed, though the hand which had crept so near its hiding~place was, as I felt certain, no other than that of Mrs. Pollard, searching for this very document.
It gave me a shuddering32 sense of disquiet33 to think that the veiled figure of this portentous34 woman had glided35 over my floors, reflected itself in my mirrors, and hung, dark and mysterious in its veiling drapery, over my desk and the papers which I had handled myself so lately.
I was struck, too, by the immovable determination to compass her own ends at any and every risk, which was manifested by this incident; and, wondering more and more as to what had been the nature of the offence for which Mr. Pollard sought to make reparation in his will, I only waited for a moment of leisure in order to make another effort at enlightenment by a second study of the prayer-book which my dying friend had placed so earnestly in my hands.
It came, as I supposed, about eight o’clock that evening. The special duties of the day were done, and I knew of nothing else that demanded my attention. I therefore took the book from my pocket, where I had fortunately kept it, and was on the point of opening its pages, when there came a ring at the door-bell below.
As I have said before, my landlady was away. I consequently went to the door myself, where I was met by an unexpected visitor in the shape of the idiot boy, Colwell. Somewhat disconcerted at the sight of a face so repugnant to me, I was still more thrown off my balance when I heard his errand. He had been sent, he said, by a man who had been thrown from his wagon36 on the north road, and was now lying in a dying condition inside the old mill, before which he was picked up. Would I come and see him? He had but an hour or so to live, and wished very much for a clergyman’s consolation.
It was a call any thing but agreeable to me. I was tired; I was interested in the attempt which I was about to make to solve a mystery that was not altogether disconnected with my own personal welfare, and — let me acknowledge it, since events have proved I had reason to fear this spot — I did not like the old mill. But I was far from conceiving what a wretched experience lay before me, nor did the fact that the unwelcome request came through the medium of an imbecile arouse any suspicion in my mind as to the truth of the message he brought. For, foolish as he is in some regards, his reliability37 as an errand-boy is universally known, while his partiality for roaming, as well as for excitements of all kinds, fully38 accounted for the fact of his being upon the scene of accident.
I had, then, nothing but my own disinclinations to contend with, and these, strong as they were, could not, at that time, and in the mood which my late experience had induced, long stand in the way of a duty so apparent.
I consequently testified my willingness to go to the mill, and in a few minutes later set out for that spot with a mind comparatively free from disagreeable forebodings. But as we approached the mill, and I caught a glimpse of its frowning walls glooming so darkly from out the cluster of trees that environed them, I own that a sensation akin3 to that which had been awakened39 in me by Mrs. Pollard’s threats, and the portentous darkness of her sombre mansion40, once again swept with its chilling effect over my nerves.
Shocked, disgusted with myself at the recurrence41 of a weakness for which I had so little sympathy, I crushed down the feelings I experienced, and advanced at once to the door. A tall and slim figure met me, clothed in some dark enveloping42 garment, and carrying a lantern.
“The injured man is within,” said he.
Something in the voice made me look up. His face was entirely in shadow.
“Who are you?” I asked.
He did not reply.
“Let us go in,” he said.
A week before I would have refused to do this without knowing more of my man. But the shame from which I had suffered for the last few days had made me so distrustful of myself that I was ready to impute43 to cowardice44 even the most ordinary instinct of self-preservation.
I accordingly followed the man, though with each step that I took I felt my apprehensions increase. To pierce in this manner a depth of sombre darkness, with only the dim outline of an unknown man moving silently before me, was any thing but encouraging in itself. Then the way was too long, and the spot we sought too far from the door. A really injured man would not be carried beyond the first room, I thought, and we had already taken steps enough to be half-way through the building. At last I felt that even cowardice was excusable under these circumstances, and, putting out my hand, I touched the man before me on the shoulder.
“Where are we going?” I demanded.
He continued to move on without reply.
“I shall follow you no longer if you do not speak,” I cried again. “This midnight journey through an old building ready to fall into ruins seems to me not only unpleasant but hazardous45.”
Still no answer.
“I warned you,” I said, and stopped, but the next moment I gave an almost frantic46 bound forward. A form had come up against me from behind, and I found that a man was following as closely upon my steps as I had been following those of the person who stalked before me.
The thrill of this discovery will never be forgotten by me. For a moment I could not speak, and when I did, the sound of my voice only added to my terrors.
“You have me in a trap,” said I; “who are you, and what are your intentions with me?”
“We have you where we can reason with you,” exclaimed the voice of him who pressed against my back; and at the sound of those gentlemanly tones with their underlying47 note of sarcasm48, I understood that my hour had come. It was the voice and intonation49 of Guy Pollard.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
wilt
|
|
| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
alacrity
|
|
| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
akin
|
|
| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
courteously
|
|
| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
deferentially
|
|
| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
persistence
|
|
| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
detriment
|
|
| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
waiving
|
|
| v.宣布放弃( waive的现在分词 )；搁置；推迟；放弃（权利、要求等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
par
|
|
| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
allusion
|
|
| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
apprehensions
|
|
| 疑惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
prostrated
|
|
| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
obnoxious
|
|
| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
tune
|
|
| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
analyze
|
|
| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
cemetery
|
|
| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
solace
|
|
| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
landlady
|
|
| n.女房东，女地主 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
presentiment
|
|
| n.预感，预觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
disturbance
|
|
| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
underneath
|
|
| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
shuddering
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
disquiet
|
|
| n.担心，焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
portentous
|
|
| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
glided
|
|
| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
wagon
|
|
| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
reliability
|
|
| n.可靠性，确实性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
recurrence
|
|
| n.复发，反复，重现 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
enveloping
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
impute
|
|
| v.归咎于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
cowardice
|
|
| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
hazardous
|
|
| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
frantic
|
|
| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
underlying
|
|
| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
sarcasm
|
|
| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
intonation
|
|
| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |