Viewed from the other side, from the cliffs, the scene made a different impression. Not the intervening valley but the house held the eye. It was not large, but the knoll on which it stood was scarped on that side, and the walls of weathered brick rose straight from the rock, fortress-like and imposing11, displaying all their mass. The gables and the stacks of fluted12 chimneys dated only from Dutch William, but tradition had it that a strong place, Castell Coch, had once stood on the same site; and fragments of pointed13 windows and Gothic work, built into the walls, bore out the story.
The road leaving the village made a right-angled turn round Garth and then, ascending14, ran through the upper part of the Thirty Acres, skirting the foot of the rocks. Along the lower edge of the covert, between wood and water, there ran also a field-path, a right-of-way much execrated15 by the Squire. It led by a sinuous16 course to the Acherley property, and, alas17, for good resolutions, along it on the afternoon of the very day which saw the elder Ovington at Garth came Clement18 Ovington, sauntering as usual.
He carried a gun, but he carried it as he might have carried a stick, for he had long passed the bounds within which he had a right to shoot; and at all times, his shooting was as much an excuse for a walk among the objects he loved as anything else. He had left his horse at the Griffin Arms in the village, and he might have made his way thither19 more quickly by the road. But at the cost of an extra mile he had preferred to walk back by the brook, observing as he went things new and old; the dipper curtseying on its stone, the water-vole perched to perform its toilet on the leaf of a brook-plant, the first green shoots of the wheat piercing through the soil, an old laborer20 who was not sorry to unbend his back, and whose memory held the facts and figures of fifty-year-old harvests. The day was mild, the sun shone, Clement was happy. Why, oh, why were there such things as banks in the world?
At a stile which crossed the path he came to a stand. Something had caught his eye. It was a trifle, to which nine men out of ten would not have given a thought, for it was no more than a clump of snowdrops in the wood on his right. But a shaft21 of wintry sunshine, striking athwart the tiny globes, lifted them, star-like, above the brown leaves about them, and he paused, admiring them--thinking no evil, and far from foreseeing what was to happen. He wondered if they were wild, or--and he looked about for any trace of human hands--a keeper's cottage might have stood here. He saw no trace, but still he stood, entranced by the white blossoms that, virgin-like, bowed meek22 heads to the sunlight that visited them.
He might have paused longer, if a sound had not brought him abruptly23 to earth. He turned. To his dismay he saw a girl, three or four paces from him, waiting to cross the stile. How long she had waited, how long watched him, he did not know, and in confusion--for he had not dreamed that there was a human being within a mile of him--and with a hurried snatch at his hat, he moved out of the way.
The girl stepped forward, coloring a little, for she foresaw that she must climb the stile under the young man's eye. Instinctively24, he held out a hand to assist her, and in the act--he never knew how, nor did she--the gun slipped from his grasp, or the trigger caught in a bramble. A sheet of flame tore between them, the blast of the powder rent the air.
"O my God!" Clement cried, and he reeled back, shielding his eyes with his hands.
The smoke hid the girl, and for a long moment, a moment of such agony as he had never known, Clement's heart stood still. What had he done? oh, what had he done at last, with his cursed carelessness! Had he killed her?
Slowly, the smoke cleared away, and he saw the girl. She was on her feet--thank God, she was on her feet! She was clinging with both hands to the stile. But was she--"Are you--are you----" he tried to frame words, his voice a mere25 whistle.
She clung in silence to the rail, her face whiter than the quilted bonnet26 she wore. But he saw--thank God, he saw no wound, no blood, no hurt, and his own blood moved again, his lungs filled again with a mighty27 inspiration. "For pity's sake, say you are not hurt!" he prayed. "For God's sake, speak!"
But the shock had robbed her of speech, and he feared that she was going to swoon. He looked helplessly at the brook. If she did, what ought he to do? "Oh, a curse on my carelessness!" he cried. "I shall never, never forgive myself."
It had in truth been a narrow, a most narrow escape, and at last she found words to say so. "I heard the shot--pass," she whispered, and shuddering28 closed her eyes again, overcome by the remembrance.
"But you are not hurt? They did pass!" The horror of that which might have been, of that which had so nearly been, overcame him anew, gave a fresh poignancy29 to his tone. "You are sure--sure that you are not hurt?"
"No, I am not hurt," she whispered. "But I am very--very frightened. Don't speak to me. I shall be right--in a minute."
"Can I do anything? Get you some water?"
She shook her head and he stood, looking solicitously30 at her, still fearing that she might swoon, and wondering afresh what he ought to do if she did. But after a minute or so she sighed, and a little color came back to her face. "It was near, oh, so near!" she whispered, and she covered her face with her hands. Presently, and more certainly, "Why did you have it--at full cock?" she asked.
"God knows!" he owned. "It was unpardonable. But that is what I am! I am a fool, and forget things. I was thinking of something else, I did not hear you come up, and when I found you there I was startled."
"I saw." She smiled faintly. "But it was--careless."
"Horribly! Horribly careless! It was wicked!" He could not humble31 himself enough.
She was herself now, and she looked at him, took him in, and was sorry for him. She removed her hands from the rail, and though her fingers trembled she straightened her bonnet. "You are Mr. Ovington?"
"Yes. And you are Miss Griffin, are you not?"
"Yes," smiling tremulously.
"May I help you over the stile? Oh, your basket!"
She saw that it lay some yards away, blackened by powder, one corner shot away; so narrow had been the escape! He had a feeling of sickness as he took it up. "You must not go on alone," he said. "You might faint."
"Not now. But I shall not go on. What----" Her eyes strayed to the wood, and curiosity stirred in her. "What were you looking at so intently, Mr. Ovington, that you did not hear me?"
He colored. "Oh, nothing!"
"But it must have been something!" Her curiosity was strengthened.
"Well, if you wish to know," he confessed, shamefacedly, "I was looking at those snowdrops."
"Those snowdrops?"
"Don't you see how the sunlight touches them? What a little island of light they make among the brown leaves?"
"How odd!" She stared at the snowdrops and then at him. "I thought that only painters and poets, Mr. Wordsworth and people like that, noticed those things. But perhaps you are a poet?"
"Goodness, no!" he cried. "A poet? But I am fond of looking at things--out of doors, you know. A little way back"--he pointed up-stream, the way he had come--"I saw a rat sitting on a lily leaf, cleaning its whiskers in the sun--the prettiest thing you ever saw. And an old man working at Bache's told me that he--but Lord, I beg your pardon! How can I talk of such things when I remember----?"
He stopped, overcome by the recollection of that through which they had passed. She, for her part, was inclined to ask him to go on, but remembered that this, all this was very irregular. What would her father say? And Miss Peacock? Yet, if this was irregular, so was the adventure itself. She would never forget his face of horror, the appeal in his eyes, his poignant32 anxiety. No, it was impossible to act as if nothing had happened between them, impossible to be stiff and to talk at arm's length about prunes33 and prisms with a person who had all but taken her life--and who was so very penitent34. And then it was all so interesting, so out of the common, so like the things that happened in books, like that dreadful fall from the Cobb at Lyme in "Persuasion35." And he was not ordinary, not like other people. He looked at snowdrops!
But she must not linger now. Later, when she was alone in her room, she could piece it together and make a whole of it, and think of it, and compass the full wonder of the adventure. But she must go now. She told him so, the primness36 in her tone reflecting her thoughts. "Will you kindly37 give me the basket?"
"I am going to carry it," he said. "You must not go alone. Indeed you must not, Miss Griffin. You may feel it more by and by. You may--go off suddenly."
"Oh," she replied, smiling, "I shall not go off, as you call it, now."
"I will only come as far as the mill," humbly38. "Please let me do that."
She could not say no, it could hardly be expected of her; and she turned with him. "I shall never forgive myself," he repeated. "Never! Never! I shall dream of the moment when I lost sight of you in the smoke and thought that I had killed you. It was horrible! Horrible! It will come back to me often."
He thought so much of it that he was moving away without his gun, leaving it lying on the ground. It was she who reminded him. "Are you not going to take your gun?" she asked.
He went back for it, covered afresh with confusion. What a stupid fellow she must think him! She waited while he fetched it, and as she waited she had a new and not unpleasant sensation. Never before had she been on these terms with a man. The men whom she had known had always taken the upper hand with her. Her father, Arthur even, had either played with her or condescended39 to her. In her experience it was the woman's part to be ordered and directed, to give way and to be silent. But here the parts were reversed. This man--she had seen how he looked at her, how he humbled40 himself before her! And he was--interesting. As he came back to her carrying the gun, she eyed him with attention. She took note of him.
He was not handsome, as Arthur was. He had not Arthur's sparkle, his brilliance41, his gay appeal, the carriage of the head that challenged men and won women. But he was not ugly, he was brown and clean and straight, and he looked strong. He bent42 to her as if he had been a knight43 and she his lady, and his eyes, grey and thoughtful--she had seen how they looked at her.
Now, she had never given much thought to any man's eyes before, and that she did so now, and criticised and formed an opinion of them, implied a change of attitude, a change in her relations and the man's; and instinctively she acknowledged this by the lead she took. "It seems so strange," she said half-playfully--when had she ever rallied a man before?--"that you should think of such things as you do. Snowdrops, I mean. I thought you were a banker, Mr. Ovington."
"A very bad banker," he replied ruefully. "To tell the truth, Miss Griffin, I hate banking44. Pounds, shillings, and pence--and this!" He pointed to the country about them, the stream, the sylvan45 path they were treading, the wood beside them, with its depths gilded46 here and there by a ray of the sun. "A desk and a ledger47--and this! Oh, I hate them! I would like to live out of doors. I want"--in a burst of candor--"to live my own life! To be able to follow my own bent and make the most of myself."
"Perhaps," she said with na?veté, "you would like to be a country gentleman?" And indeed the lot of a country gentleman in that day was an enviable one.
"Oh no," he said, his tone deprecating the idea. He did not aspire48 to that.
"But what, then?" She did not understand. "Have you no ambition?"
"I'd like to be--a farmer, if I had my way."
That surprised as well as dashed her. She thought of her father's tenants49 and her face fell. "Oh, but," she said, "a farmer? Why?" He was not like any farmer she had ever seen.
But he would not be dashed. "To make two blades of grass grow where one grew before," he answered stoutly50, though he knew that he had sunk in her eyes. "Just that; but after all isn't that worth doing? Isn't that better than burying your head in a ledger and counting other folk's money while the sun shines out of doors, and the rain falls sweetly, and the earth smells fresh and pure? Besides, it is all I am good for, Miss Griffin. I do think I understand a bit about that. I've read books about it and I've kept my eyes open, and--and what one likes one does well, you know."
"But farmers----"
"Oh, I know," sorrowfully, "it must seem a very low thing to you."
"Farmers don't look at snowdrops, Mr. Ovington," with a gleam of fun in her eyes.
"Don't they? Then they ought to, and they'd learn a lot that they don't know now. I've met men, laboring51 men who can't read or write, and it's wonderful the things they know about the land and the way plants grow on it, and the live things that are only seen at night, or stealing to their homes at daybreak. And there's a new wheat, a wheat I was reading about yesterday, Cobbett's corn, it is called, that I am sure would do about here if anyone would try it. But there," remembering himself and to whom he was talking, "this can have no interest for you. Only wouldn't you rather plod52 home weary at night, feeling that you had done something, and with all this"--he waved his hand--"sinking to rest about you, and the horses going down to water, and the cattle lowing to be let into the byres, and--and all that," growing confused, as he felt her eyes upon him, "than get up from a set of ledgers53 with your head aching and your eyes muddled54 with figures?"
"I'm afraid I have not tried either," she said. But she smiled. She found him new, his notions unlike those of the people about her, and certainly unlike those of a common farmer. She did not comprehend all his half-expressed thoughts, but not for that was she the less resolved to remember them, and to think of them at her leisure. For the present here was the mill, and they must part. At the mill the field-path which they were following fell into a lane, which on the right rose steeply to the road, on the left crossed a cart-bridge, shaken perpetually by the roar and wet with the spray of the great mill-wheel. Thence it wound upwards55, rough and stony56, to the back premises57 of Garth.
He, too, knew that this division of the ways meant parting, and humility58 clothed him. "Heavens, what a fool I've been," he said, blushing, as he met her eyes. "What must you think of me, prating59 about myself when I ought to have been thinking only of you and asking your pardon."
"For nearly shooting me?"
"Yes--and thank God, thank God," with emotion, "that it was not worse."
"I do."
"I ought never to carry a gun again!"
"I won't exact that penalty." She looked at him very kindly.
"And you will forgive me? You will do your best to forgive me?"
"I will do my best, if you will not carry off my basket," she replied, for he was turning away with the basket on his arm. "Thank you," as he restored it, and in his embarrassment60 nearly dropped his gun. "Good-bye."
"You are sure that you will be safe now?"
"If you have no fresh accident with your firearms," she laughed. "Please be careful."
She nodded, and turned and tripped away. But she had hardly left him, she had not passed ten paces beyond the bridge, before her mood changed. The cloak of playfulness fell from her, reaction did its work. The color left her cheeks, her knees shook as she remembered. She felt again the hot blast on her cheek, lived through the flash, the shock, the onset61 of faintness. Again she clung to the stile, giddy, breathless, the landscape dancing about her. And through the haze62 she saw his face, white, drawn63, terror-stricken--saw it and strove vainly to reassure64 him.
And now--now he was soothing65 her. He was pouring out his penitence66, he was upbraiding67 himself. Presently she was herself again; her spirits rising, she was playing with him, chiding68 him, exercising a new sense of power, becoming the recipient69 of a man's thoughts, a man's hopes and ambitions. The color was back in her cheeks now, her knees were steady, she could walk. She went on, but slowly and more slowly, full of thought, reviewing what had happened.
Until, near the garden door, she was roughly brought to earth. Miss Peacock, visiting the yard on some domestic errand, had discerned her. "Josina!" she cried. "My certy, girl, but you have been quick! I wish the maids were half as quick when they go! A whole afternoon is not enough for them to walk a mile. But you've not brought the eggs?"
"I didn't go," said Josina. "I was frightened by a gun."
"A gun?"
"And I felt a little faint."
"Faint? Why, you've got the color of a rose, girl. Faint? Well, when I want galeny eggs again I shan't send you. Where was it?"
"Under the Thirty Acres--by the stile. A gun went off, and----"
"Sho!" Miss Peacock cried contemptuously. "A gun went off, indeed! At your age, Josina! I don't know what girls are coming to! If you don't take care you'll be all nerves and vapors70 like your aunt at the Cottage! Go and take a dose of gilly-flower-water this minute, and the less said to your father the better. Why, you'd never hear the end of it! Afraid because a gun went off!"
Josina agreed that it was very silly, and went quickly up to her room. Yes, the less said about it the better!
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1
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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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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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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7
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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fluted
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| a.有凹槽的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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execrated
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| v.憎恶( execrate的过去式和过去分词 )；厌恶；诅咒；咒骂 | |
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sinuous
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| adj.蜿蜒的，迂回的 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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clement
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| adj.仁慈的；温和的 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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poignancy
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| n.辛酸事，尖锐 | |
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solicitously
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| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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prunes
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| n.西梅脯，西梅干( prune的名词复数 )v.修剪（树木等）( prune的第三人称单数 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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primness
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| n.循规蹈矩，整洁 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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41
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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42
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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banking
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| n.银行业，银行学，金融业 | |
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sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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49
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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50
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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51
laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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52
plod
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| v.沉重缓慢地走，孜孜地工作 | |
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53
ledgers
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| n.分类账( ledger的名词复数 ) | |
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54
muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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55
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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57
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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58
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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prating
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| v.（古时用语）唠叨，啰唆( prate的现在分词 ) | |
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60
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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61
onset
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| n.进攻，袭击，开始，突然开始 | |
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62
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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63
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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64
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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65
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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66
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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67
upbraiding
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| adj.& n.谴责（的）v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的现在分词 ) | |
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68
chiding
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| v.责骂，责备( chide的现在分词 ) | |
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69
recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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vapors
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| n.水汽，水蒸气，无实质之物( vapor的名词复数 )；自夸者；幻想 [药]吸入剂 [古]忧郁（症）v.自夸，（使）蒸发( vapor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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