You're gone,—to feel you may not come,—
To hear the door-latch stir and clink,
Yet no more you!....
E. B. Browning.
It was true enough, no doubt, that Phyllis did not care for Darrell in Lucy's sense of the word; but at the same time it was sufficiently1 clear that he had been the means of injecting a subtle poison into her veins2.
Since the night of the conversazione at the Berkeley Galleries, when he had bidden her farewell, a change, in every respect for the worse, had crept over her.
The buoyancy, which had been one of her[Pg 226] chief charms, had deserted3 her. She was languid, restless, bored, and more utterly4 idle than ever. The flippancy5 of her lighter6 moods shocked even her sisters, who had been accustomed to allow her great license7 in the matter of jokes; the moodiness8 of her moments of depression distressed9 them beyond measure.
At Eastbourne she had amused herself with getting up a tremendous flirtation10 with Fred, to the Devonshires' annoyance11 and the satisfaction of the victim himself, whose present mood it suited and who hoped that Lucy would hear of it.
After Phyllis's visit to Eastbourne, which had been closely followed by Fanny's wedding, the household at Upper Baker12 Street underwent a period of dulness, which was felt all the more keenly from the cheerful fulness of the previous summer. Every one was out of town. In early September even the country cousins have departed, and people have not yet begun to return to London, where it is perhaps the most desolate13 period of the whole year.
Work, of course, was slack, and they had no longer the preparations for Fanny's wedding to fall back upon.
The air was hot, sunless, misty14; like[Pg 227] a vapour bath, Phyllis said. Even Gertrude, inveterate15 cockney as she was, began to long for the country. Nothing but a strong sense of loyalty16 to her sister prevented Lucy from accepting a cordial invitation from the "old folks." Phyllis openly proclaimed that she was only awaiting der erste beste to make her escape for ever from Baker Street.
Phyllis, indeed, was in the worst case of them all; for while Lucy had the precious letters from Africa to console her, Gertrude had again taken up her pen, which seemed to move more freely in her hand than it had ever done before.
So the days went on till it was the middle of September, and life was beginning to quicken in the great city.
One sultry afternoon, the Lorimers were gathered in the sitting-room17; both windows stood open, admitting the hot, still, autumnal air; every sound in the street could be distinctly heard.
Lucy sat apart, deep in a voluminous letter on foreign paper which had come for her that morning, and which she had been too busy to read before. Phyllis was at the table, yawning over a copy of The Woodcut;[Pg 228] which was opened at a page of engravings headed: "The War in Africa; from sketches18 by our special artist." Gertrude sewed by the window, too tired to think or talk. Now and then she glanced across mechanically to the opposite house, whence in these days of dreariness19, no picturesque20, impetuous young man was wont21 to issue; from whose upper windows no friendly eyes gazed wistfully across.
The rooms above the auctioneer's had, in fact, a fresh occupant; an ex-Girtonian without a waist, who taught at the High School for girls hard-by.
The Lorimers chose to regard her as a usurper22; and with the justice usually attributed to their sex, indulged in much sarcastic23 comment on her appearance; on her round shoulders and swinging gait; on the green gown with balloon sleeves, and the sulphur-coloured handkerchief which she habitually24 wore.
Presently Lucy looked up from her letter, folded it, sighed, and smiled.
"What has your special artist to say for himself?" asked Phyllis, pushing away The Woodcut.
"He writes in good spirits, but holds out no prospect25 of the war coming to an end.[Pg 229] He was just about to go further into the interior, with General Somerset's division. Mr. Steele of The Photogravure, with whom he seems to have chummed, goes too," answered Lucy, putting the letter into her pocket.
"Perhaps his sketches will be a little livelier in consequence. They are very dull this week."
Phyllis rose as she spoke26, stretching her arms above her head. "I think I will go and dine with Fan. She is such fun."
Fanny had returned from Switzerland a day or two before, and was now in the full tide of bridal complacency. As mistress of a snug27 and hideous28 little house at Notting Hill, and wedded29 wife of a large and affectionate man, she was beginning to feel that she had a place in the world at last.
"I will come up with you," said Lucy to Phyllis, "and brush your hair before you go."
The two girls went from the room, leaving Gertrude alone. Letting fall her work into her lap, she leaned in dreamy idleness from the window, looking out into the street, where the afternoon was deepening apace into evening. A dun-coloured[Pg 230] haze30, thin and transparent31, hung in the air, softening32 the long perspective of the street. School hours were over, and the Girtonian, her arm swinging like a bell-rope, could be discerned on her way home, a devoted33 cortège of school-girls straggling in her wake. From the corner of the street floated up the cries of the newspaper boys, mingling34 with the clatter35 of omnibus wheels.
An empty hansom cab crawled slowly by. Gertrude noticed that it had violet lamps instead of red ones.
A lamplighter was going his rounds, leaving a lengthening36 line of orange-coloured lights to mark his track. The recollection of summer, the presage37 of winter, were met in the dusky atmosphere.
"How the place echoes," thought Gertrude. It seemed to her that the boys crying the evening papers were more vociferous38 than usual; and as the thought passed through her mind, she was aware of a hateful, familiar sound—the hoarse39 shriek40 of a man proclaiming a "special edition" up the street.
No amount of familiarity could conquer the instinctive41 shudder42 with which she always listened to these birds of ill-omen,[Pg 231] these carrion43, whose hideous task it is to gloat over human calamity44. Now, as the sound grew louder and more distinct, the usual vague and sickening horror crept over her. She put her hands to her ears. "It is some ridiculous race, no doubt."
She let in the sound again.
Her fears were unformulated, but she hoped that Lucy upstairs in the bed-room had not heard.
The cry ceased abruptly45; some one was buying a paper; then was taken up again with increased vociferousness46. Gertrude strained her ears to listen.
"Terrible slaughter47, terrible slaughter of British troops!" floated up in the hideous tones.
She listened, fascinated with a nameless horror.
"A regiment48 cut to pieces! Death of a general! Special edition!" The fiend stood under the window, vociferating upwards49.
In an instant Gertrude had slipped down the dusky staircase, and was giving the man sixpence for a halfpenny paper. Standing50 beneath the gas-jet in the passage, she opened the sheet and read; then,[Pg 232] still clutching it, sank down white and trembling on the lowest stair.
Noiseless, rapid footfalls came down behind her, some one touched her on the shoulder, and a strange voice said in her ear, "Give it to me."
She started up, putting the hateful thing behind her.
"No, no, no, Lucy! It is not true."
"Yes, yes, yes! don't be ridiculous, Gerty."
Lucy took the paper in her hands, bore it to the light, and read, Gertrude hiding her face against the wall.
The paper stated, briefly51, that news had arrived at head-quarters of the almost total destruction of the troops which, under General Somerset, had set out for the interior of Africa some weeks before. A few stragglers, chiefly native allies, had reached the coast in safety, and had reported that the General himself had been among the first to perish.
Messrs. Steele and Jermyn, special artists of The Photogravure and The Woodcut, respectively, had been among those to join the expedition. No news of their fate had been ascertained52, and there was reason to fear that they had shared the doom53 of the others.
[Pg 233]
"It is not true." Lucy's voice rang hollow and strange. She stood there, white and rigid54, under the gas-jet.
Mrs. Maryon, who had bought a paper on her own account, issued from the shop-parlour in time to see the poor young lady sway forward into her sister's arms.
* * * * *
Those were dark days that followed. At first there had been hope; but as time went on, and further details of the catastrophe55 came to light, there was nothing for the most sanguine56 to do but to accept the worst.
Gertrude herself felt that the one pale gleam of uncertainty57 which yet remained was, perhaps, the most cruel feature of the case. If only Lucy's hollow eyes could drop their natural tears above Frank's grave she might again find peace.
Frank's grave! Gertrude found herself starting back incredulous at the thought.
Death, as a general statement, is so easy of utterance58, of belief; it is only when we come face to face with it that we find the great mystery so cruelly hard to realise; for death, like love, is ever old and ever new.
[Pg 234]
"People always come back in books," Fanny had said, endeavouring, in all good faith, to administer consolation59; and Lucy had actually laughed.
"Your sister ought to be able to do better for herself," Edward Marsh60 said, later on, to his wife.
But Fanny, who had had a genuine liking61 for kind Frank, disagreed for once with the marital62 opinion.
"He was good, and he loved her. She has always that to remember," Gertrude thought, as she watched Lucy going about her business with a calmness that alarmed her more than the most violent expressions of sorrow would have done.
"Dear little Frank! I wonder if he is really dead," Phyllis reflected, staring with wide eyes at the house opposite, rather as if she expected to see a ghost issue from the door.
Fortunately for the Lorimers they had little time for brooding over their troubles. Their success had proved itself no ephemeral one. As people returned to town, work began to flow in upon them from all sides, and their hands were full. Labour and sorrow, the common human portion, were theirs, and they accepted them with courage, if not, indeed, with resignation. September and October glided63 by, and now the winter was upon them.
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1
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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flippancy
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| n.轻率；浮躁；无礼的行动 | |
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lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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8
moodiness
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| n.喜怒无常；喜怒无常，闷闷不乐；情绪 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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14
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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15
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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16
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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17
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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18
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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19
dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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usurper
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| n. 篡夺者, 僭取者 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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26
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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27
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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28
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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32
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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33
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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35
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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36
lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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presage
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| n.预感，不祥感；v.预示 | |
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38
vociferous
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| adj.喧哗的，大叫大嚷的 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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40
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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41
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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42
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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43
carrion
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| n.腐肉 | |
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44
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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45
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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46
vociferousness
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| 喧哗的 | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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48
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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50
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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51
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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52
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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53
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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54
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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56
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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57
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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58
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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59
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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60
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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61
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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62
marital
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| adj.婚姻的，夫妻的 | |
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63
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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