“My dear old fellow,” said Godfrey, “I am indeed thankful to see that you are better. I knew very well that this terrible business had upset you more than you were willing to admit. Never mind, it will all be put right in the end. How do you feel now?”
“Much better,” Victor replied. “I can not think what it was that caused me to make such an idiot of myself.”
At this moment Sir Vivian returned with a glass of brandy and water. Victor sipped2 a little.
He had not been feeling well of late, he explained, and this shock, coming on the top of certain other worries, had unmanned him altogether.
“This has been a terrible day,” said Godfrey, “and a poor welcome for you to Detwich. Now, perhaps, you would rather rest a little before joining the others.”
“I think I should prefer to do so,” said Victor, and he accordingly retired3 to his room, while Sir Vivian and Godfrey went on to explain matters as best they could to the ladies, who were in the dining-room, awaiting their return with such patience as they could command.
“My dear boy,” said Mrs. Henderson, hastening forward to greet Godfrey as he entered the room, “you must know how we all feel for you. This has been a terrible experience. Have you been able to arrive at any understanding of it?”
“I think I can,” said Godfrey, who dreaded5 another explanation. “It will be time enough, however, for me to explain later on. It is sufficient at present to say that a terrible murder has been committed in London, and that the assassin, knowing that I had endeavoured to be a good friend to his victim, has played a ghastly practical joke upon me. As you may suppose, the circumstance has upset me terribly; and when I tell you that you will make me happier if you will spare me further conversation upon the subject for the present, I am sure you will do so.”
“I think it would be better,” said Sir Vivian. “We have placed the matter in the hands of the police, and I am sure that Griffin will do all that lies in his power to prevent Godfrey from being unduly6 worried by the affair.”
Godfrey felt a small hand steal into his.
“I am so sorry for you,” whispered Molly.
The touch of her soft warm hand was infinitely7 soothing8 to him. It did him more good than any amount of verbal sympathy.
“But where is Mr. Fensden?” inquired Mrs. Henderson.
“The shock has proved too much for him,” Sir Vivian explained. “He informed Godfrey that he would prefer to go to his room to rest for a while. I have never met your friend before, Godfrey, but I should say that he is not very strong.”
“I am afraid he is not,” the other replied, and the subject dropped.
A quarter of an hour later Sir Vivian announced his intention of returning home, and when his carriage had come round, took Godfrey on one side.
“Keep up a stout9 heart, my boy,” he said. “The man who committed the crime will certainly be captured before very long, and then the poor girl will be avenged10.”
Then the kindly11 old gentleman drove away. When he had seen him depart, Godfrey went into the house and made his way upstairs to inquire after Fensden’s welfare. Somewhat to his surprise, he found him apparently12 quite himself once more.
“I can not think what made me behave in that foolish fashion,” said Victor, as he rose from the sofa on which he had been lying. “I am not given to fainting fits. Forgive me, old fellow, won’t you?”
“There is nothing to forgive,” said Godfrey.
As he spoke13 the dressing14 gong sounded, and after having asked Fensden whether he would prefer to come down, or to have his meal sent to him, and having received an answer to the first in the affirmative, Godfrey left him, and proceeded along the passage to his own room. When he reached it he passed to the further end and stood before the original sketch15 of his famous picture, “A Woman of the People.” It was only a mere16 study, roughly worked out; but whatever else it may have been, it was at least a good likeness17 of the hapless Teresina.
“And to think that that beautiful face is now cold in death,” he said to himself, “and that the brute18 who murdered her is still at large. God grant that it may be in my power to bring him to justice!”
Before he dressed, he sat down at his writing-table and composed a letter to the coroner, informing him of all he knew of the case, and promising19 him that he would be present at the inquest in order to give any evidence that might be in his power to supply. It was only when he had finished the letter and sealed it that he felt that he had done a small portion of his duty toward the dead. He also wrote to his solicitor20 giving him an account of the affair, and telling him that he would call upon him on Monday, prior to the inquest, in order to discuss the matter with him.
Then he rang for his valet and gave instructions that the letters should be posted without fail that evening. Then he began to dress with a heart as heavy as lead. He remembered how much he had been looking forward to this dinner ever since the idea had first occurred to him. In his own mind he had endeavoured to picture the first meal that Victor and his betrothed21 should take together. He had imagined his friend doing his best to amuse Molly with his half-cynical22, half-burlesque conversation, with Kitty chiming in at intervals23 with her sharp rejoinders, while he and his mother listened in quiet enjoyment24 of their raillery. How different the meal was likely to prove!
His dressing completed, he descended25 to the drawing-room, where he had the good fortune to find Molly alone. It was plain that she had been there long enough to read the evening paper, for there was a look of horror upon her face as she came forward to meet her lover.
“Godfrey, darling,” she said, “I see by this paper that a terrible murder has been committed in the neighbourhood of the Tottenham Court Road, and that the victim was once your model. I can now understand why it has affected26 you so much. Those hands were hers, were they not? I see also that it says that some one, a gentleman in evening dress, was seen talking to her about midnight on the pavement outside her house. Do you think that that man had anything to do with the crime?”
“I am quite sure he had not,” Godfrey answered. “For the simple reason that that man happened to be myself.”
“Yourself? You, Godfrey?” she inquired, looking up at him with startled eyes. “But that was the night on which we were at the theatre together?”
“Yes, dear, the same night,” he answered. “Perhaps it would be better if I were to tell you the whole story.”
“Tell me nothing more than you wish,” she said. “I am content to trust you in everything. If I did not, my love would scarcely be worth having, would it?”
And then he told her of his association with the unhappy woman; told her of Teresina’s sorrow, and of his own desire to assist her. Molly’s heart was touched as she listened.
“You were right,” she said, “to try and help her, poor girl! If I had known, I would have endeavoured to have done something for her for your sake. Now, unhappily, it is too late. But you must not think too much of it, Godfrey dear. Try to put it away from you, if only for a time.”
At this moment Victor Fensden entered the room. It was plain that he had recovered his former spirits. He apologized in an easy fashion for his weakness of the afternoon, and ascribed it to his recent travels, which, he said, had proved too much for his enfeebled constitution.
“I am not like Godfrey, Miss Devereux,” he said. “He seems capable of bearing any amount of fatigue27, plays cricket and football, tennis and golf, while on a summer’s day I sometimes find it impossible even to lift my head.”
It was a sad little party that sat down to dinner that evening. Godfrey was in the lowest spirits, and Molly was quiet in consequence. Fensden was accepted, on his own showing, for an invalid28, Mrs. Henderson was naturally of a silent disposition29, while Kitty, finding that her efforts were unappreciated, lapsed30 into silence after a time, and thus added to the general gloom. After dinner there were music and polite conversation in the drawing-room until ten o’clock, followed by a retirement31 to the billiard-room for a game at pool. It did not prove a success, however. No one had any heart for the game, and before the first three lives had been lost it was voted failure, and the cues were accordingly replaced in the rack. The memory of two white hands, tightly clinched32 in despair, rose continually before every eye, and when, at half-past ten, Mrs. Henderson proposed that they should retire for the night, every one accepted the situation with a feeling that was very near akin33 to relief.
The next day was scarcely better. For the first time since he had been master of the house Godfrey rose early on a Sunday morning, and, having ordered his dog-cart, drove into the village. It was scarcely seven o’clock when he reached the police-station to discover that the head constable34 had not yet risen from his bed. He waited in the small office while the other dressed, finding what consolation35 he could in a case above the chimney-piece in which several sets of manacles were displayed. The constable in charge was plainly overwhelmed by the squire36’s presence, and to cover his confusion poked37 the fire almost continuously. At last, after what seemed like an hour, Griffin put in an appearance, and with many apologies invited Godfrey to accompany him to his own private sanctum where breakfast was being laid.
“It’s the first time for many a long day that I have overslept myself, sir,” he hastened to remark; “but I have been so thinking of this ’ere case that I did not get to sleep until this morning, and I am mortal sorry, sir, that I should have kept you waiting.”
“You have communicated with Scotland Yard, of course?” said Godfrey, after the other had finished his apology.
“I telegraphed to them last night, sir, and forwarded my written report at the same time. The post isn’t in yet, sir, but I expect I shall get some instructions when it comes.”
He visibly swelled38 with importance as he made this remark. He felt that in having the Squire of Detwich for his ally he could scarcely fail to be noticed, particularly when the most valuable evidence in the case would be given by the gentleman in question.
Finding that the man had no further news to give him, Godfrey drove sorrowfully home again, feeling that both his early rising and his visit to the village were alike of no avail. All through the service in the little church afterward39, despite the fact that Molly worshipped beside him for the first time, he was ill at ease. Victor had excused himself from attending the service on the plea of a bad headache, saying he would go for a walk instead. When they emerged from the sacred edifice40 afterward Sir Vivian took his place by Godfrey’s side.
“You have heard nothing more, I suppose?” he asked. “Griffin promised to communicate with you at once on receipt of any intelligence, did he not?”
“He did,” said Godfrey. “But when I saw him at the station this morning there was nothing to tell. In any case I go up to town to-morrow morning, when I shall first call upon my own solicitor, to whom I have already written, and afterward attend the inquest as I have promised. Fensden says he’s coming up, too, in order that any evidence he may have to give may be accepted.”
“One moment, Godfrey,” said the old gentleman, stopping him and allowing the others to go on ahead. “I am going to put a question to you which may probably offend you. But whether it does or does not, it must be asked.”
“Anything you ask me, sir, you may be sure will not offend me,” said Godfrey. “What is this particular question?”
“I want to know how long you have known your friend?” the old man inquired. “You see I am going to be perfectly41 candid42 with you. You may think me absurd when I say so, but I have come to the conclusion that Mr. Fensden does not like you.”
“In that case, sir, I am sure you are mistaken,” said Godfrey. “Victor and I were at school together, and we have been companions ever since. He may be a little cynical in his humour, and inclined to be affected in his dress and speech, but, believe me, in his inmost heart he is a thoroughly43 good fellow.”
Sir Vivian was silent for a moment.
“If that is so,” he went on, “then I am wrong in my conclusions. I must confess, however, that I was not favourably44 impressed with Mr. Fensden yesterday. I noticed that when he was looking at you and you were not watching him, there was a curious expression upon his face that was either one of malice45 or something very like it. If I were asked my opinion about this affair I should say that he knew more about it than you and I put together, and more than he either cares, or is going, to tell.”
“I can not help disagreeing with you, sir,” said Godfrey, warming in defence of his friend. “I happen to know that Victor has not seen Teresina since the day we left England. It was he who induced me to get rid of her because he was afraid that she, being a pretty woman, might possibly induce me to fall in love with her. You see, I am quite candid with you.”
“I am glad that you are,” the other rejoined. “Nevertheless obstinacy46 is proverbially an old man’s failing, and I still adhere to my opinion concerning the gentleman in question. Whether I am right or wrong time will prove. In the meantime you say that you go up to town to-morrow morning.”
“Yes, to-morrow morning, first thing,” said Godfrey. “We shall leave Detwich by the 10.18.”
“In that case I am going to ask a favour of you,” said the other. “Will you allow me to accompany you? Remember that, as you are going to marry my daughter, your interests are, and must be, as my own.”
“I shall be only too glad if you will come, sir,” said Godfrey, gratefully. “It is a kindness I did not like to ask of you. I am sure it will make Molly happier to know that you are with me, while it will prove to the world, if such a proof is needed, that you believe my interest in this miserable47 affair to be only what I have stated it to be.”
“We all believe that, Godfrey, of course,” Sir Vivian replied. “The man who thinks otherwise would be insane. And now we turn off here. It is agreed, therefore, that we meet at the railway station to-morrow morning and go up to town together?”
“With all my heart, sir,” Godfrey replied, and then the kindly old gentleman turned off with his wife at the path that led across the fields to the court. When they were out of sight Godfrey informed Molly of her father’s decision.
“With father and Mr. Fensden beside you, the newspapers will not dare to hint at anything more.”
Then for the first time in his life Godfrey felt a vague distrust of Victor Fensden.
He put the suspicion from him, however, as being not only dishonourable to his friend, but also to himself.
“I have known Victor for a good many years,” he muttered, “and I should surely be familiar with his character by this time.”
Yet, despite his resolve to think no ill of the man, he felt that the idea was gaining ground with him.
When they reached the house they found Fensden in the drawing-room, comfortably ensconced in a large chair before a roaring fire. He had changed his mind, he asserted, and had not gone for a walk after all. He certainly did not look well. His face was paler than usual, while he was hollow-eyed, as if from want of sleep. As the party, radiant after their walk through the sharp air, entered the room, he looked up at them.
“How nice it must be to be so energetic,” he said, languidly. “Godfrey looks disgustingly fit, and more like the ideal country squire than ever. You should paint your own portrait in that capacity.”
This time there was no mistaking the sneer48. It may have been the thoughts that had occupied his brain as he walked home, but even he could not help coming to the conclusion that the man he had known for so long, whom he had trusted so implicitly49, and for whom he had done so much, was no longer well disposed toward himself. He said nothing, however, for Victor was not only his guest, but he had troubles enough of his own just then to look after, without adding to the number. Molly had noticed it also, and commented on it when she and her lover were alone together.
“Never mind, dear,” said Godfrey. “It doesn’t matter very much if he has taken a dislike to me. I think the truth of the matter is he is not quite himself. Though he will not show it, I have an idea he is as much cut up by this terrible business as I am myself. He is very highly strung, and the shock has doubtless proved too much for his nerves. You won’t see very much more of him, for he will bring his visit to a close to-morrow morning, as he has decided50 to go abroad again immediately after the inquest.”
“But I thought he was tired of travelling, and that he had stated his desire never to see a foreign hotel again?”
“I thought so too, but it appears we were mistaken. However, do not let us talk about him just now. Can you realize, dearest, that in ten days’ time we are to be married?”
“I am beginning to realize it,” she answered. “But this terrible affair has thrown such a shadow over our happiness for the last twenty-four hours that I have thought of little else.”
“The shadow will soon pass,” he answered. “Then we will go to the sunny South and try to forget all about it.”
In his own heart he knew that this was likely to be easier said than done. Ever since he had seen it on that memorable51 Thursday night, Teresina’s piteous face had been before him, and now with the recollection of what had followed so close upon their interview to deepen the impression, it was more than likely that some time would elapse before he would be able to forget it.
That night, when he went to bed, he found it difficult to get to sleep. It was as if the events of the morrow were casting their shadows before, and when he did sleep he was assailed52 with the most villainous dreams. He saw himself in a garret room with Teresina kneeling before him holding up her hands in piteous entreaty53; then he saw her lying dead upon the floor, her glassy eyes looking up at him as if in mute reproach. A moment later he was sitting up in bed staring at Victor Fensden, who was standing4 beside him, holding a candle in his hand, and with a look upon his face that showed he was almost beside himself with terror.
“Good Heavens, man, what is the matter?” cried Godfrey, for the other’s face frightened him. It was as white as paper, while in his eyes there shone a light that was scarcely that of reason.
“Let me stay with you, let me stay with you!” he cried. “If I am left alone I don’t know what I shall do. I have had such dreams to-night that I dare not even close my eyes. For God’s sake give me brandy! I must have something to bring back my courage. Look, look! Can’t you see, man, how badly I need it?”
Needless to say, Godfrey saw this. Accordingly bidding him remain where he was, he went off to procure54 some. When he returned he found Victor seated on the settee at the foot of the bed. Apparently he had recovered his self-command.
“I am afraid you must think me an awful fool, Godfrey,” he said. “But I have really had a deuce of a fright. You don’t know what awful dreams I had. I could not have stayed alone in that room another minute.”
It must indeed have been a fright, for Godfrey noticed that, though he pretended to have recovered, he was still trembling.
“Well, I am glad to see that you are feeling better,” he said. “Drink some of this, it will make a new man of you.”
“If it could do that I’d drink a hogshead,” he said bitterly. “If there’s one man in this world of whose society I am heartily55 sick, it is Victor Fensden. Now I’ll go back to my own room. Forgive me for disturbing you, won’t you, but I could not help myself.”
So saying, he took up his candle once more and returned to his own room, leaving Godfrey to put what construction he thought best upon the incident.
“I am beginning to think that poor Victor is not quite right in his head,” said the latter to himself as he blew out his candle and composed himself for slumber56 once more.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
reassure
|
|
| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
sipped
|
|
| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
dreaded
|
|
| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
unduly
|
|
| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
avenged
|
|
| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
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： |
|
|
|
|
14
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
sketch
|
|
| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
likeness
|
|
| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
brute
|
|
| n.野兽，兽性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
promising
|
|
| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
solicitor
|
|
| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
betrothed
|
|
| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
cynical
|
|
| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
intervals
|
|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
invalid
|
|
| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
lapsed
|
|
| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
retirement
|
|
| n.退休，退职 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
clinched
|
|
| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
akin
|
|
| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
constable
|
|
| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
squire
|
|
| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
poked
|
|
| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
swelled
|
|
| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
edifice
|
|
| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
candid
|
|
| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
favourably
|
|
| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
malice
|
|
| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
obstinacy
|
|
| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
sneer
|
|
| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
implicitly
|
|
| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
memorable
|
|
| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
assailed
|
|
| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
entreaty
|
|
| n.恳求，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
procure
|
|
| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
slumber
|
|
| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |