This being the case, both Jeannie and Miss Fortescue had, in the fourth week since the epidemic began, given up their places at the hospital. Regular trained nurses were there in abundance, and there was no longer need for them. But to both the sacrifice of giving up their work was far greater than the original risk of taking it up. For several weeks certainly their lives had centred on one thing, the victory over the microbe, and to think only of one thing, even for three weeks of a life, wears a rut in it, and a jolt9 is necessitated10 by passing out of the rut.
Jeannie, after the momentous11 midnight talk with her aunt, had not been encouraged to allude13 to the subject again, nor had she wished it. That curious flood of confidence had passed by in spate14, like the thunder-storm that had raged simultaneously15 outside, and, like the sediment16 of gravel17 which the storm had made on the grass, there lingered in Miss Fortescue’s manner a conscious and[278] expressed reminiscence of what had passed between them. An added tenderness in little things was there, hard to define, but impossible not to appreciate. Both of them, moreover, had something of that quality which is supposed to be confined to the sterner sex, who, when greatly moved, say, “Good-night, old chap,” and all is said.
This fortnight of deluged18 nights had brought about its natural consequences. The inimitable baby was to return to Wroxton, and, as was quite natural, Jack19 Collingwood was going to accompany it and its nurse in their hazardous20 forty-mile journey from town. The day had been fixed21 for its return, and the arrival, though the train was not certainly known, might be expected about Monday. So Jeannie, at first contrary to Miss Fortescue’s expectation, but on second thoughts conformably to them, went out for a walk about eleven, and said no word about meeting them at the station.
It was God’s own morning, a forenoon of brilliant autumnal sunshine, which caressed22 the yellowing trees, as if to remind the foliage23 that, though old, it might still be beau[279]tiful. The soap-suds of a light hoar-frost had been sprinkled in the meadows during the night, but when Jeannie set out at eleven they had already been melted to living drops, which hung in the long-leaved grasses, turning them into a pod of diamond peas. The stream by which she walked with Toby, now outgrown24 his puppyhood, and developing into a dog embarrassed with length of limb, was brimmed with the fallen rains, but the alchemy of the chalk and gravel beds, in which its lot was cast, was a filter for the turgid waters, and though brimming it was as translucent25 as in the summer days. The tall flowering herbs of the water-side dangled26 their stalks in the swollen27 water, and the reeds, breast-high in summer, were swimming in a plentiful28 bath. Only the trees were changed, yet who should say that the breath of winter had disfigured them? Here and there, it is true, the heavy-leaved chestnuts29 were being stripped by invisible hands, and a mound30 of their fallen yellow glory lay high around them, but the limes were pyramids of unminted gold, and the beeches31 mines of undelved copper32. Sleek33 speckled trout34, secure[280] in their close time, flicked35 with a riot of broken bubbles and cut the fast-flowing stream, and their ripples36 were already swallowed by the water ere their returning plunge37 cut the surface again.
What else was Jeannie’s goal but the mill with the red-walled garden? The mill was working, and good was the omen12, and the thicker growing weeds below the weir38 were still as Jack Collingwood had seen them. A soda-water of bubbles foamed39 from the prison of the darkness, and the stream shook off the remembrance of its more utilitarian40 moments in a froth of eddying41 waters. The plank42 bridge spanned the now sober-going river, and Toby followed her sedately43, yet quivering for his bath.
Indeed, this day no one had disappointment in store. Again and again he rescued his drowning stick from the eddies44, and the halo of his shaking made the meadow damp. And when, with a yard of pink tongue hanging out, he had rolled himself into an apology for a dry dog, Jeannie sat down on her cloak, and let the abundance of the autumn speak to her.[281]
“Here, it was here,” said the river, “here he passed, and we did not know it was he. Did we not know? Ah, we only did not tell you.”
And the grass of the meadow-land chimed in like distant bells.
“Here, it was here,” it said, “and we knew. And you knew, Jeannie, but you did not know you knew.”
And the grass laughed, like a child who laughs for no reason, except that it laughs, as a whiff of west wind passed over it.
“And Toby shook himself,” the grass continued, “and you were afraid of your dress. Your dress! As if a man looks at a maid’s dress!”
A more sonorous45 breath passed through the clump46 of elms near by.
“And he came,” they said, “and we knew him. He had looked at the water, he had looked at the meadows, he had looked at us, but none of us were what he looked for. He looked for one, for one, for the one,” and their branches clashed together.
Jeannie, in her seat where her hat had lain as Miss Fortescue made tea, gave a great[282] sigh, and this filled her lungs with the living air.
“I did not know,” she answered. “How should I have known?”
“The way of a man with a maid,” said the grass. “Oh, I have seen often in summer evenings——”
“Yes, and we have seen,” said a hundred leaves of the brambles. “You have no idea of their folly47. They sail little boats of straw or leaves, and wonder which will win. But for me, I always let the maid’s boat win. I do not care so much for the young men.”
“But I care, I care,” said the river. “The young men bathe in me, and with strong arms, and laughing, they deride48 my waves, or from the top of high ladders they throw themselves headlong to meet me. But I love them, and loving them I do not suffer them to touch the ooze49 of the bed, but bear them gently up, and they know not it was I, but say to each other, ‘That was a good header!’”
But the elms answered softly:
“Both I love, the man and the maid, for both sit by me, and tell their love. And the[283] spell of the woodland and the country is in their blood, though they know it not—for who can make love in towns?—and it is I who bring them together. Even now he comes, he comes, he comes—” and a louder blast swept through them.
Jeannie heard and understood.
“He comes,” she said softly to herself. “I knew he would come.”
And round the corner of the garden of the mill he came.
Toby gave a tentative growl50 to the intruder, in case he should prove unwelcome; but the growl had not ceased vibrating in his throat, and Jeannie had not time to correct him, when he recognised, and ran to meet Jack, muzzling51 a wet nose into his hand. He spoke52 to the dog in his low, soft voice, but he had no word seemingly for Jeannie, nor she for him, and in silence he sat down on the grass beside her. But on neither side was there embarrassment53 in that pause, but each drank deep of the other’s presence. Jeannie looked at him with wide-open eyes, and he at her. At length he gave a long sigh.
“You, it is you,” he said simply.[284]
Jeannie smiled at him. The great good pause was over.
“How did you know I should be here?” she asked.
“How could it have been otherwise? It was part of the whole plan.”
“What plan?” asked she, and her heart told her.
“The plan of you and me. The great plan,” he said; “God’s plan for us.”
She leaned forward toward him.
“Oh, Jack,” she said, “it is so? Is it indeed so?”
And he bent54 his face to hers, and the plan was sealed, and the stream and the trees and meadows were the witnesses thereof.
They sat there, it may have been for a few hundred years, or half an hour or so, and then by a common consent rose. Whether they walked back to Wroxton or not they scarcely knew; it may have been that the surface of the earth was fitted for them on a circular tape, which slid away beneath their feet, and stopped revolving55 only when they reached the garden door at Bolton Street. There certainly it stopped, for Jack said:[285]
“We will tell them, will we not, Jeannie?”
“Aunt Em knows,” she said. “She guessed, or I told her, I don’t know which, the evening after we sat in the garden. But we will tell Arthur.”
“And baby?” suggested Jack.
Jeannie’s face suddenly grew grave.
“Oh, what a little pig I am!” she said. “How is baby? I had forgotten.”
“As fat as—as a baby,” said Jack, at loss for a simile56.
Aunt Em was in the garden, with a pair of thick gloves on and a spade in her hand. She called it gardening, and was alone in this opinion. She was standing57 with her back to them as they entered, and seemed to be employed in spearing the young and tender chrysanthemums58. She was so absorbed in her destructive pursuit that she did not hear their steps till they were close to her, and she looked up with a snap.
“You, Jeannie,” she said, at length, “and you, Jack.”
Once again, as in her midnight talk with her niece, her face grew young and her eyes dim.[286]
“Thank God!” she said, and dropping her spade she gave a gardening-gloved hand to each.
A sound of abundance of broken glass came from the far end of the garden, and down the path shortly afterward59 came Arthur.
“If you don’t look where you go,” he explained, “you’ll go into the cucumber-frames. Aunt Em, I sha’n’t garden any more. How many chrysanthemums have you killed?”
He looked plaintively60 at Aunt Em, then curiously61 at the two others. Suddenly he burst out laughing, and threw his hat in the air. It stuck in the mulberry-tree.
“Hurrah!” he cried. “Jack, old chap, how splendid! What lucky people you both are!”
“And what will Cousin Robert say?” asked Aunt Em. “He will think he was right all along.”
“He is at liberty to think precisely62 what he pleases,” said Jeannie, withdrawing her arm from Jack’s. “Oh, Jack, you don’t know about that; you can be told now. I must go and see the baby. And it is lunch time.[287]”
Jack followed her with his eyes into the house, and turning to Arthur gave him a great hit in the chest, after the manner of a happy young man.
“You blazing fool!” he said, and Arthur understood, and smote63 him back.
There was no reason for keeping the engagement secret, and Wroxton, like Athens of old, ever anxious to hear some new thing, was not slow though prolix64 in discussing the exciting news. Miss Clara Clifford was among the first to receive it, for that very afternoon, while Jack had gone to tell Canon and Mrs. Collingwood about it, she met Jeannie in the street. Ever since Jeannie had been so friendly to her in the matter of the picture she had regarded her with a mixture of worship and affection, and during the weeks of the typhoid she had, so to speak, built a temple to her. A warm heart beat underneath65 Miss Clara’s flat bosom66, and its capacity for loving had never yet been put to the stretch. But Jeannie, with her beauty, her engaging grace, her kindness to herself, and her unquestioning devotion to the sick, had stormed and taken her. She was of a different order[288] to the people of Miss Clifford’s world, and nightly Miss Clifford dreamed of the aristocracy no longer as beings apart, but as her friends. Jeannie met her as she was walking down the High Street, turned her round, and insisted on her going her way, and not much insistence67 was required.
“Oh, I have something to tell you,” she said, “which I am sure will interest you. Oh, there’s Jim! Jim, you don’t look any worse for your typhoid; you see you were sensible and came to hospital at once. The class will begin again on Saturday. I shall see you? Yes?”
Miss Clifford glowed with appreciation68 while Jeannie talked to her policeman, and the two went on together.
“What was I saying?” she continued. “Oh, yes! Do you remember once your telling me that I was engaged to Jack Collingwood? Well, now it is I who tell you that.”
Miss Clifford stepped into a puddle69, and stood there.
“Oh, Miss Avesham!” she said. “I hope you will be very happy. To think that—dear me, how things turn out![289]”
“There is no secret about it,” said Jeannie; “you may tell whom you please. Only I should be rather glad, just in the way of private revenge, if you did not tell Colonel Raymond first. But as you please.”
“Miss Avesham,” said Miss Clara, impressively, “I would not tell Colonel Raymond for five gold mines.”
Jeannie laughed.
“Is he back yet?” she asked. “He went away, I think, a fortnight ago, when that poor little mite70 of his got typhoid.”
“He came back yesterday,” said Miss Clara.
They had reached Bolton Street, and here Jeannie had to turn off.
“Good-bye, Miss Clifford,” she said. “I’m so glad I met you, and told you myself.”
Miss Clifford felt herself a mere71 mass of congested sentiment which for the life of her she could not put words to.
“I must go home,” she said, “for Ph?be and I are going calling this afternoon. And, oh, I can not say things, but God bless you, dear Miss Avesham!”
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1
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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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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gorging
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| v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的现在分词 )；作呕 | |
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holocaust
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| n.大破坏；大屠杀 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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plethora
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| n.过量，过剩 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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necessitated
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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spate
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| n.泛滥，洪水，突然的一阵 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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sediment
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| n.沉淀，沉渣，沉积(物) | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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18
deluged
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| v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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20
hazardous
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| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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24
outgrown
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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29
chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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beeches
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| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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weir
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| n.堰堤，拦河坝 | |
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foamed
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| 泡沫的 | |
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utilitarian
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| adj.实用的，功利的 | |
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eddying
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| 涡流，涡流的形成 | |
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plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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sedately
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| adv.镇静地，安详地 | |
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eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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45
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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46
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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48
deride
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| v.嘲弄，愚弄 | |
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49
ooze
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| n.软泥，渗出物；vi.渗出，泄漏；vt.慢慢渗出，流露 | |
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50
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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51
muzzling
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| 给（狗等）戴口套( muzzle的现在分词 )； 使缄默，钳制…言论 | |
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52
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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53
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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54
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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55
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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simile
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| n.直喻，明喻 | |
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57
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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chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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59
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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61
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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63
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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prolix
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| adj.罗嗦的；冗长的 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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66
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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67
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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68
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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69
puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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70
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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71
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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