I AM, if you will be so good as to remember, constitutionally French — and, therefore, constitutionally averse1 to distressing2 myself, if I can possibly help it. For this reason, I really cannot summon courage to describe what passed between my blind Lucilla and me when I returned to our pretty sitting-room3. She made me cry at the time; and she would make me (and perhaps you) cry again now, if I wrote the little melancholy4 story of what this tender young creature suffered when I told her my miserable5 news. I won’t write it; I am dead against tears. They affect the nose; and my nose is my best feature. Let us use our eyes, my fair friends, to conquer, not to cry.
Be it enough to say, that when I went back to Browndown, Lucilla went with me.
I now observed her, for the first time, to be jealous of the eyes of us happy people who could see. The instant she entered, she insisted on being near enough to the bed, to hear us, or to touch us, as we waited on the injured man. This was at once followed by her taking the place occupied by Mrs. Gootheridge at the bed-head, and herself bathing Oscar’s face and forehead. She was even jealous of me, when she discovered that I was moistening the bandages on the wound. I irritated her into boldly kissing the poor insensible face in our presence! The landlady6 of the Cross Hands was one of my sort: she took cheerful views of things. “Sweet on him — eh, ma’am?” she whispered in my ear; “we shall have a wedding in Dimchurch.” In presence of these kissings and whisperings, Mrs. Gootheridge’s brother, as the only man present, began to look very uncomfortable. This worthy7 creature belonged to that large and respectable order of Englishmen, who don’t know what to do with their hands, or how to get out of a room. I took pity on him — he was, I assure you, a fine man. “Smoke your pipe, sir, in the garden,” I said. “We will call to you from the window, if we want you up here.” Mrs. Gootheridge’s brother cast on me one look of unutterable gratitude8 — and escaped, as if he had been let out of a trap.
At last, the doctor came.
His first words were an indescribable relief to us. The skull9 of our poor Oscar was not injured. There was concussion10 of the brain, and there was a scalp-wound — inflicted11 evidently with a blunt instrument. As to the wound, I had done all that was necessary in the doctor’s absence. As to the injury to the brain, time and care would put everything right again. “Make your minds easy, ladies,” said this angel of a man. “There is no reason for feeling the slightest alarm about him.”
He came to his senses — that is to say, he opened his eyes and looked vacantly about him — between four and five hours after the time when we had found him on the floor of the workshop.
His mind, poor fellow, was still all astray. He recognized nobody. He imitated the action of writing with his finger; and said very earnestly, over and over again, “Go home, Jicks; go home, go home!” fancying himself (as I suppose), lying helpless on the floor, and sending the child back to us to give the alarm. Later in the night he fell asleep. All through the next day, he still wandered in his mind when he spoke12. It was not till the day after, that he began feebly to recover his reason. The first person he recognized was Lucilla. She was engaged at the moment in brushing his beautiful chestnut13 hair. To her unutterable joy, he patted her hand, and murmured her name.
She bent14 over him; and, under cover of the hair-brush, whispered something in his ear which made the young fellow’s pale face flush, and his dull eyes brighten with pleasure. A day or two afterwards, she owned to me that she had said, “Get well, for my sake.” She was not in the least ashamed of having spoken to that plain purpose. On the contrary, she triumphed in it. “Leave him to me,” said Lucilla, in the most positive manner. “I mean first to cure him. And then I mean to be his wife.”
In a week more, he was in complete possession of his faculties15 — but still wretchedly weak, and only gaining ground very slowly after the shock that he had suffered.
He was now able to tell us, by a little at a time, of what had happened in the workshop.
After Mrs. Gootheridge and her daughter had quitted the house at their usual hour, he had gone up to his room; had remained there some little time; and had then gone downstairs again. On approaching the workshop, he heard voices talking in whispers in the room. The idea instantly occurred to him that something was wrong. He softly tried the door, and found it locked — the robbers having no doubt taken that precaution, to prevent their being surprised at their thieving work by any person in the house. The one other way of getting into the room, was the way that we had tried. He went round to the back garden, and found an empty chaise drawn16 up outside the door. This circumstance thoroughly17 puzzled him. But for the mysterious locking of the workshop door, it would have suggested to him nothing more alarming than the arrival of some unexpected visitors. Eager to solve the mystery, he crossed the garden; and, entering the room, found himself face to face with the same two men whom Jicks had discovered ten days previously18 lounging against the wall.
As he approached the window, they were both busily engaged, with their backs towards him, in cording up the packing-case which contained the metal plates.
They rose and faced him as he stepped into the room. The act of robbery which he found them coolly perpetrating in broad daylight, instantly set his irritable19 temper in a flame. He rushed at the younger of the two men — being the one nearest to him. The ruffian sprang aside out of his reach; snatched up from the table on which it was lying ready, a short loaded staff of leather called “a life-preserver;” and struck him with it on the head, before he had recovered himself, and could face his man once more.
From that moment, he remembered nothing, until he had regained20 his consciousness after the first shock of the blow.
He found himself lying, giddy and bleeding, on the floor; and he saw the child (who must have strayed into the room while he was senseless) standing21 petrified22 with fear, looking at him. The idea of making use of her — as the only living being near — to give the alarm, came to him instinctively23 the moment he recognized her. He coaxed24 the little creature to venture within reach of his hand; and, dipping his finger in the blood that was flowing from him, sent us the terrible message which I had spelt out on the back of her frock. That done, he exerted his last remains25 of strength to push her gently towards the open window, and direct her to go home. He fainted from loss of blood, while he was still repeating the words, “Go home! go home!”— and still seeing, or fancying that he saw, the child stopping obstinately26 in the room, stupefied with terror. Of the time at which she found the courage and the sense to run home, and of all that had happened after that, he was necessarily ignorant. His next conscious impression was the impression, already recorded, of seeing Lucilla sitting by his bedside.
The account of the matter thus given by Oscar, was followed by a supplementary27 statement provided by the police.
The machinery28 of the law was put in action; and the village was kept in a fever of excitement for days together. Never was there a more complete investigation29 — and never was a poorer result achieved. Substantially, nothing was discovered beyond what I had already found out for myself. The robbery was declared to have been (as I had supposed) a planned thing. Though we had none of us noticed them at the rectory, it was ascertained30 that the thieves had been at Dimchurch on the day when the unlucky plates were first delivered at Browndown. Having taken their time to examine the house, and to make themselves acquainted with the domestic habits of the persons in it, the rogues31 had paid their second visit to the village — no doubt to commit the robbery — on the occasion when we had discovered them. Foiled by the unexpected return of the gold and silver to London, they had waited again, had followed the plates back to Browndown, and had effected their object — thanks to the lonely situation of the house, and to the murderous blow which had stretched Oscar insensible on the floor.
More than one witness had met them on the road back to Brighton, with the packing-case in the chaise. But when they returned to the livery-stables from which they had hired the vehicle, the case was not to be seen. Accomplices32 in Brighton had, in all probability, assisted them in getting rid of it, and in shifting the plates into ordinary articles of luggage, which would attract no special attention at the railway station. This was the explanation given by the police. Right or wrong, the one fact remains that the villains33 were not caught, and that the assault and robbery at Oscar’s house may be added to the long list of crimes cleverly enough committed to defy the vengeance34 of the law.
For ourselves, we all agreed — led by Lucilla — to indulge in no useless lamentations, and to be grateful that Oscar had escaped without serious injury. The mischief35 was done; and there was an end of it.
In this philosophical36 spirit, we looked at the affair while our invalid37 was recovering. We all plumed38 ourselves on our excellent good sense — and (ah, poor stupid human wretches39!) we were all fatally wrong. So far from the mischief being at an end, the mischief had only begun. The true results of the robbery at Browndown were yet to show themselves, and were yet to be felt in the strangest and the saddest way by every member of the little circle assembled at Dimchurch.
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1
averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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8
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spoke
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| 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 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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supplementary
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| adj.补充的，附加的 | |
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28
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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30
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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accomplices
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| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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39
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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