Morning after morning, with an old caped4 driving-coat cast about his shoulders and a shabby hunting-cap on his grey head, he would walk down to the little bridge that carried the drive over the stream. There, a gaunt high-shouldered figure, he would stand, looking morosely5 out over the wet fields. The distant hills were clothed in mist, the nearer heights wore light caps, down the vale the clear rain-soaked air showed sombre woods and red soil, with here and there a lop-sided elm, bursting into bud, and reddening to match the furrows7. "We shall lose one in ten of the lambs," he thought, "and not a sound foot in the flock!"
One morning as he stood there he saw a man turn off the road and come shambling towards him. It was Pugh, the man-of-all-work at the Cottage, and in his disgust at things in general, the Squire cursed him for a lazy rascal8. "I suppose they've nothing to do," he growled9, "that they send the rogue10 traipsing the roads at this hour!" Aloud, "What do you want, my man?" he asked.
Pugh quaked under the Squire's hard eyes. "A letter from the mistress, your honor."
"Any answer?"
Reluctantly Pugh gave up the hope of beer with Calamy the butler. "I'd no orders to wait, sir."
"Then off you go! I've all the idlers here I want, my lad."
The Squire had not his glasses with him, and he turned the letter over to no purpose. Returning to his room he could not find them, and the delay aggravated11 a temper already oppressed by the weather. He shouted for his spectacles, and when Miss Peacock, hurrying nervously12 to his aid, suggested that they might be in the Prayer Book from which he had read the psalm13 that morning, he called her a fool. Eventually, it was there that they were found, on which he dismissed her with a flea14 in her ear. "If you knew they were there, why did you leave them there!" he stormed. "Silly fools women be!"
But when he had read the letter, he neither stormed nor swore. His anger was too deep. Here was folly15, indeed, and worse than folly, ingratitude16! After all these years, after forty years, during which he had paid them their five per cent. to the day, five per cent. secured as money could not be secured in these harum-scarum days--to demand their pound of flesh and to demand it in this fashion! Without warning, without consulting him, the head of the family! It was enough to make any man swear, and presently he did swear after the manner of the day.
"It's that young fool," he thought. "He's written it and she's signed it. And if they have their way in five years the money will be gone, every farthing, and the woman will come begging to me! But no, madam," with rising passion, "I'll see you farther before I'll pay down a penny to be frittered away by that young jackanapes! I'll go this moment and tell her what I think of her, and see if she's the impudence17 to face it out!"
He clapped on his hat and seized his cane18. But when he had flung the door wide, pride spoke19 and he paused. No, he would not lower himself, he would not debate it with her. He would take no notice--that, by G--d, was what he would do. The letter should be as if it had not been written, and as to paying the money, why if they dared to go to law he would go all lengths to thwart20 them! He was like many in that day, violent, obstinate21 men who had lived all their lives among dependents and could not believe that the law, which they administered to others, applied22 to them. Occasionally they had a rude awakening23.
But the old Squire did not lack a sense of justice, which, obscured in trifles, became apparent in greater matters. This quality came to his rescue now, and as he grew cooler his attitude changed. If the woman, silly and scatterbrained as she was, and led by the nose by that impudent24 son of hers--if she persisted, she should have the money, and take the consequences. The six thousand was a charge; it must be met if she held to it. Little by little he accustomed himself to the thought. The money must be paid, and to pay it he must sell his cherished securities. He had no more than four hundred, odd--he knew the exact figure--in the bank. The rest must be raised by selling his India Stock, but he hated to think of it. And the demand, made without warning, hurt his pride.
He took his lunch, a hunch25 of bread and a glass of ale, standing26 at the sideboard in the dining-room. It was an airy room, panelled, like most of the rooms at Garth, and the pale blue paint, which many a year earlier had been laid on the oak, was dingy27 and wearing off in places. His den6 lay behind it. On the farther side of the hall was the drawing-room, white-panelled and spacious28, furnished sparsely29 and stiffly, with spindle-legged tables, and long-backed Stuart chairs set against the wall. It opened into a dull library never used, and containing hardly a book later than Junius' letters or Burke's speeches. Above, under the sloping roofs of the attics30, were chests of discarded clothes, wig-boxes and queerly-shaped carriage-trunks, which nowadays would furnish forth31 a fancy-ball, an old-time collection almost as curious as that which Miss Berry once viewed under the attics of the Villa32 Pamphili, but dusty, moth-eaten, unregarded, unvalued. Cold and bare, the house owned everywhere the pinch of the Squire's parsimony33; there was nothing in it new, and little that was beautiful. But it was large and shadowy, the bedrooms smelled of lavender, the drawing-room of potpourri34, and in summer the wind blew through it from the hay-field, and garden scents35 filled the lower rooms.
An hour later, having determined36 how he would act, the old man walked across to the Cottage. As he approached the plank-bridge which crossed the river at the foot of the garden he caught a glimpse of a petticoat on the rough lawn. He had no sooner seen it than it vanished, and he was not surprised. His face was grim as he crossed the bridge, and walking up to the side door struck on it with his cane.
She was all of a tremble when she came to him, and for that he was prepared. That did not surprise him. It was due to him. But he expected that she would excuse herself and fib and protest and shift her ground, and pour forth a torrent37 of silly explanations, as in his experience women always did. But Mrs. Bourdillon took him aback by doing none of these things. She was white-faced and frightened, but, strange thing in a woman, she was dumb, or nearly dumb. Almost all she had to say or would say, almost all that he could draw from her was that it was her letter--yes, it was her letter. She repeated that several times. And she meant it? She meant what she had written? Yes, oh yes, she did. Certainly, she did. It was her letter.
But beyond that she had nothing to say, and at length, harshly, but not as harshly as he had intended, "What do you mean, then," he asked, "to do with the money, ma'am, eh? I suppose you know that much?"
"I am putting it into the bank," she replied, her eyes averted38. "Arthur is going--to be taken in."
"Into the bank?" The Squire glared at her. "Into Ovington's?"
"Yes, into Ovington's," she answered, with the courage of despair. "Where he will get twelve per cent. for it." She spoke in the tone of one who repeated a lesson.
He struck the floor with his cane. "And you think that it will be safe there? Safe, ma'am, safe?"
"I hope so," she faltered39.
"Hope so, by G--d? Hope so!" he rapped out, honestly amazed. "And that's all. Hope so! Well, all I can say is that I hope you mayn't live to regret your folly. Twelve per cent. indeed! Twelve----"
He was going to say more, but the silly woman burst into tears and wept with such self-abandonment that she fairly silenced him. After watching her a moment, "Well, there, there, ma'am, it's no good crying like that," he said irritably40. "But damme, it beats me! It beats me. If that is the way you look at it, why do you do it? Why do you do it? Of course you'll have the money. But when it's gone, don't come to me for more. And don't say I didn't warn you! There, there, ma'am!" moved by her grief, "for heaven's sake don't go on like that! Don't--God bless me, if I live to be a hundred, if I shall ever understand women!"
He went away, routed by her tears and almost as much perplexed41 as he was enraged42. "If the woman feels like that about it, why does she call up the money?" he asked himself. "Hope that it won't be lost! Hope, indeed! No, I'll never understand the silly fools. Never! Hope, indeed! But I suppose that it's that son of hers has befooled her."
He saw, of course, that it was Arthur who had pushed her to it, and his anger against him and against Ovington grew. He would take his balance from Ovington's on the very next market day. He would go back to Dean's, though it meant eating humble43 pie. He thought of other schemes of vengeance44, yet knew that when the time came he would not act upon them.
He was in a savage45 mood as he crossed the stable-yard at Garth, and unluckily his eye fell upon Thomas, who was seated on a shaft46 in a corner of the cart-shed. The man espied47 him at the same moment and hurried away a paper--it looked like a newspaper--over which he had been poring. Now, the Squire hated idleness, but he hated still more to see a newspaper in one of his men's hands. A laborer48 who could read was, in his opinion, a laborer spoiled, and his wrath49 blazed up.
"You d--d idle rascal!" he roared, shaking his cane at the man. "That's what you do in my time, is it! Read some blackguard twopenny trash when you should be cleaning harness! Confound you, if I catch you again with a paper, you go that minute! D'you hear? D'you think that that's what I pay you for?"
The worm will turn, and Thomas, who had been spelling out an inspiring speech by one Henry Hunt, did turn. "Pay me? You pay me little enough!" he answered sullenly50.
The Squire could hardly believe his ears. That one of his men should answer him!
"Ay, little enough!" the man repeated impudently51. "Beggarly pay, and 'tis time you knew it, Master."
The Squire gasped52. Thomas was a Garthmyle man, who ten years before had migrated to Lancashire. Later he had returned--some said that he had got into trouble up north. However that may be, the Squire had wanted a groom53, and Thomas had offered himself at low wages and been taken. The village thought that the Squire had been wrong, for Thomas had learned more tricks in Manchester than just to read the newspaper, and, always an ill-conditioned fellow, was fond of airing his learning in the ale-house.
Perhaps the Squire now saw that he had made a mistake; or perhaps he was too angry to consider the matter. "Time I knew it?" he cried, as soon as he could recover himself. "Why, you idle, worthless vagabond, do you think that I do not know what you're worth? Ain't you getting what I've always given?"
"That's where it be!"
"Eh!"
"That's where it be! I'm getting what you gave thirty years agone! And you soaking in money, Master, and getting bigger rents and bigger profits. Ain't I to have my share of it?"
"Share of it!" the old man ejaculated, thunderstruck by an argument as new as the man's insolence54. "Share of it!"
"Why not?" Thomas knew his case desperate, and was bent55 on having something to repeat to the awe-struck circle at the Griffin Arms. "Why not?"
"Why, begad?" the Squire exclaimed, staring at him. "You're the most impudent fellow I ever set eyes on!"
"You'll see more like me before you die!" Thomas answered darkly. "In hard times didn't we share 'em and fair clem? And now profits are up, the world's full of money, as I hear in Aldersbury, and be you to take all and us none?"
It was a revelation to the Squire. Share? Share with his men? Could there be a fool so foolish as to look at the matter thus? Laborers56 were laborers, and he'd always seen that they had enough in the worst times to keep soul and body together. The duty of seeing that they had as much as would do that was his; and he had always owned it and discharged it. If man, woman or child had starved in Garthmyle he would have blamed himself severely57. But the notion that they should have more because times were good, the notion that aught besides the county rate of wages, softened58 by feudal59 charity, entered into the question, was a heresy60 as new to him as it was preposterous61. "You don't know what you are talking about," he said, surprise diminishing his anger.
"Don't I?" the man answered, his little eyes sparkling with spite. "Well there's some things I know as you don't. You'd ought to go to the summer-house a bit more, Master, and you'd learn. You'd ought to walk in the garden. There's goings-on and meetings and partings as you don't know, I'll go bail62! But t'aint my business and I say nought63. I do my work."
"I'll find another to do it this day month," said the Squire. "And you'll take that for notice, my man. You'll do your duty while you're here, and if I find one of the horses sick or sorry, you'll sleep in jail. That's enough. I want no more of your talk!"
He went into the house. Things had come to a pretty pass, when one of his men could face him out like that. The sooner he made a change and saw the rogue out of Garthmyle the better! He flung his stick into a corner and his hat on the table and damned the times. He would put the matter out of his mind.
But it would not go. The taunt64 the man had flung at him at the last haunted him. What did the rogue mean? And at whom was he hinting? Was Arthur working against him in his own house as well as opposing him out of doors? If so, by heaven, he would soon put an end to it! And by and by, unable to resist the temptation--but not until he had sent Thomas away on an errand--he went heavily out and into the terraced garden. He climbed to the raised walk and looked abroad, his brow gloomy.
The day had mended and the sun was trying to break through the clouds. The sheep were feeding along the brook-side, the lambs were running races under the hedgerows, or curling themselves up on sheltered banks. But the scene, which usually gratified him, failed to please to-day, for presently he espied a figure moving near the mill and made out that the figure was Josina's. From time to time the girl stooped. She appeared to be picking primroses65.
It was the idle hour of the day, and there was no reason why she should not be taking her pleasure. But the Squire's brow grew darker as he marked her lingering steps and uncertain movements. More than once he fancied that she looked behind her, and by and by with an oath he turned, clumped66 down the steps, and left the garden.
He had not quite reached the mill when she saw him descending67 to meet her. He fancied that he read guilt68 in her face, and his old heart sank at the sight.
"What are you doing?" he asked, confronting her and striking the ground with his cane. "Eh? What are you doing here, girl? Out with it! You've a tongue, I suppose?"
She looked as if she could sink into the ground, but she found her voice. "I've been gathering--these, sir," she faltered, holding out her basket.
"Ay, at the rate of one a minute! I watched you. Now, listen to me. You listen to me, young woman. And take warning. If you're hanging about to meet that young fool, I'll not have it. Do you hear? I'll not have it!"
She looked at him piteously, the color gone from her face. "I--I don't think--I understand, sir," she quavered.
"Oh, you understand well enough!" he retorted, his suspicions turned to certainty. "And none of your woman's tricks with me! I've done with Master Arthur, and you've done with him too. If he comes about the place he's to be sent to the right-about. That's my order, and that's all about it. Do you hear?"
She affected69 to be surprised, and a little color trickled70 into her cheeks. But he took this for one of her woman's wiles--they were deceivers, all of them.
"Do you mean, sir," she stammered71, "that I am not to see Arthur?"
"You're neither to see him nor speak to him nor listen to him! There's to be an end of it. Now, are you going to obey me, girl?"
She looked as if butter would not melt in her mouth. "Yes, sir," she answered meekly72. "I shall obey you if those are your orders."
He was surprised by the readiness of her assent73, and he looked at her suspiciously. "Umph!" he grunted74. "That sounds well, and it will be well for you, girl, if you keep to it. For I mean it. Let there be no mistake about that."
"I shall do as you wish, of course, sir."
"He's behaved badly, d--d badly! But if you are sensible I'll say no more. Only understand me, you've got to give him up."
"Yes, sir."
"From this day? Now, do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
After that he had no more to say. He required obedience75, and he should have been glad to receive it. But, to tell the truth, he was a little at a loss. Girls were silly--such was his creed--and it behoved them to be guided by their elders. If they did not suffer themselves to be guided, they must be brought into line sharply. But somewhere, far down in the old man's heart, and unacknowledged even by himself, lay an odd feeling--a feeling of something like disappointment. In his young days girls had not been so ready, so very ready, to surrender their lovers. He had even known them to fight for them. He was perplexed.
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1
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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2
sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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3
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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4
caped
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| 披斗篷的 | |
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5
morosely
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| adv.愁眉苦脸地，忧郁地 | |
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6
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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7
furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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8
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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9
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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10
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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11
aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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12
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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13
psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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14
flea
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| n.跳蚤 | |
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15
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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16
ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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17
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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18
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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19
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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20
thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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21
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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22
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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23
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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24
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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25
hunch
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| n.预感，直觉 | |
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26
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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27
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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28
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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29
sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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30
attics
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| n. 阁楼 | |
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31
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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32
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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33
parsimony
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| n.过度节俭，吝啬 | |
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34
potpourri
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| n.混合之事物；百花香 | |
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35
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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36
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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37
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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38
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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39
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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40
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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41
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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42
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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43
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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44
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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45
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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46
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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47
espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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49
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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50
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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51
impudently
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52
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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53
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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54
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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55
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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56
laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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57
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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58
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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59
feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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60
heresy
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| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
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61
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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62
bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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63
nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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64
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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65
primroses
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| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
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66
clumped
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| adj.[医]成群的v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的过去式和过去分词 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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67
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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68
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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69
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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70
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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71
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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73
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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74
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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75
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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