What did he say? That he loved her—her whom he had seen so few times! He loved her: he, the heir to a baronetcy, loved her—a poor governess, the persecuted7, despised dependent of this family—that his love for her was as pure as that white blossom! It could not be. And yet he had spoken so earnestly; his voice trembled, and those low soft utterances8 so tenderly, so feelingly whispered, so full of appeal and reverence9, were evidently genuine. They were not the words of the thoughtless, the lovers of conquest, the distributors of vain compliments, empty nothings, to every woman who was the toy of the hour. And he was no weak boy, ready to be led away by a fresh face—no empty-headed coxcomb10, but a man of sterling11 worth.
There was a plain, straightforward12, manly13 simplicity14 in what he had said that went home to her heart; there was a nobility in his disappointment and anger which made her thrill with the awakening15 of new thoughts, new senses, that had before lain dormant16 in her breast; there was the sterling ring of the true gentleman in his every act and look and word, and—Ah, but—no—no—no! She was mad to harbour such thoughts, even for an instant; it was folly17—all folly. How could she accept him, even if her heart leaned that way? It would be doing him a grievous wrong, blighting18 his prospects19, tying him down to one unworthy of his regard. She could not—she did not love him. Love! What was it to love? She had loved those who were no more; but love him, a stranger! What was it to love?
Beat, beat!—beat, beat!—beat, beat! Heavy throbbings of her poor wounded heart answering the question she had asked, plainly, and in a way that would not be ignored, even though she pressed that flower-burdened hand tightly over the place, and laid the other upon her hot and tingling21 cheeks. But even if she knew it, could she own to it? No! impossible; not even to herself. That was a secret she could not ponder on, even for an instant.
And yet he had said that he loved her! What were his words? She must recall them once more: that his love for her was as truthful22 and as pure as that flower—that poor crushed rose.
As she thought on, flushed and trembling, she raised the flower nearer and nearer to her face, gazing at the bruised petals, crushed, torn, and disfigured. It was to her as the reading of a prophecy—that his pure love for her was to become torn and sullied, and that, for her sake, he was to suffer bitter anguish23, till, like that flower, his love should wither24 away. But there would still be the recollection of the sweet words, even as there stayed in the crushed blossom its own sweet perfume, the incense-breathing fragrance25, as she raised it more and more till the hot tears began to fell.
No, she did not love him—she could not love him: it was folly—all a dream from which she was awaking; for she knew the end—she knew her days at the Elms must be but few—that, like a discarded servant, she must go: whither she knew not, only that it must be far away—somewhere to dream no more, neither to be persecuted for what she could not help.
No; she did not love him, and he would soon forget her. It could be but a passing fancy. But she esteemed26 him—she must own to a deep feeling of esteem27 for one of so noble, frank, and generous a nature. Had he not always been kind and gentle and sympathising—displaying his liking28 for her with a gentlemanly respect that had won upon her more and more? Yes, she esteemed him too well, she was too grateful, to injure him ever so slightly; and her greatest act of kindness would be to hurry away.
The fragrance from the poor crushed flower still rose, breathing, as it were, such love and sweetness; recalling, too, the words with which it was given so vividly29, that, betrayed beyond her strength to control the act, for one brief instant Ella’s lips were pressed softly, lovingly, upon the flower—petals kissing petals—the bright bee-stung and ruddy touching30 the pale and crushed; and then, firmly and slowly, though each act seemed to send a pang31 through her throbbing20 heart, Ella plucked the rose in pieces, telling herself that she was tearing forth32 the mad passion as she went on showering down the creamy leaflets, raining upon them her tears the while, till the bare stalk alone remained in her hands—her cruel hands; for had she not been tearing and rending33 her own poor breast as every petal6 was plucked from its hold? For what availed the deceit? The time had been short—they had met but seldom: but what of that? The secret would burst forth, would assert itself; and she knew that she loved him dearly—loved him so that she would give her life for his sake; and that to have been his slave—to have been but near him—to listen to his voice—to see his broad white forehead, his sun-tinged cheeks, and clustering brown hair; not to be called his, but only to be near him—would be life to her; while to go far—far—far away, where she might never see him more, would be, as it were, tottering34 even into her grave.
No; there was no one looking: it was close upon midnight, but she glanced guiltily round, as with burning cheeks she sank upon her knees, whispering to that wild beating heart that it could not be wrong. And then she began to slowly gather those petals, taking them up softly one by one, to treasure somewhere—to gaze upon, perhaps, sometimes in secret; for was it not his gift that she had cast down as if it had been naught35? She might surely treasure them up to keep in remembrance of what might have been, had hers been a happier lot.
Then came once more the thoughts of the past evening, and more than ever she felt that she must go. She would see him no more, and he would soon forget it all. But would she forget? A sob36 was the answer—a wild hysterical37 sob—as she felt that she could not.
One by one, one by one, she gathered those leaflets up to kiss them once again; and that night, flush-cheeked and fevered, she slept with the fragments of the blossom pressed tightly to her aching breast, till calm came with the earliest dawn, and with the lightening sky dreams of hope and love and happiness to come, with brighter days and loving friends, and all joyous38 and blissful. She was walking where white rose petals showered down to carpet the earth; the air was sweet with their fragrance, and she was leaning upon his stout39 arm as he whispered to her of a love truthful and pure as the flowers around; and then she awoke to the bare chill of her own stiffly-papered, poorly-furnished room, as seen in the grey dawn of a pouring wet morning, with the wind howling dismally40 in the great old-fashioned chimney, the rain pattering loudly against the window-panes, and hanging in great trembling beads41 from the sash. It was a fit morning, on the whole, to raise the spirits of one who was dejected, spiritless, almost heart-broken; find it was no wonder that Ella Bedford’s head sank once more upon the pillow, which soon became wet with her bitter tears.
For how could she meet the different members of that family? She felt as if she was guilty; and yet what had she done? It was not of her seeking. She could have wept again and again in the despair and bitterness of her heart; but her eyes were dried now, and she began to ponder over the scenes of the past night.
She rose at last to go down to the schoolroom, for it was fast approaching eight, and as she descended42, her mind was made up as to her future proceedings43. She would go carefully on with her duties; but in the course of the morning, if not sent for sooner, she would herself seek Mrs Bray44, and ask to be set at liberty, so that she might elsewhere seek a home—one that should afford her rest and peace.
点击收听单词发音
1 trampled | |
踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
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2 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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3 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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4 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
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5 petals | |
n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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6 petal | |
n.花瓣 | |
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7 persecuted | |
(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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8 utterances | |
n.发声( utterance的名词复数 );说话方式;语调;言论 | |
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9 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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10 coxcomb | |
n.花花公子 | |
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11 sterling | |
adj.英币的(纯粹的,货真价实的);n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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12 straightforward | |
adj.正直的,坦率的;易懂的,简单的 | |
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13 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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14 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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15 awakening | |
n.觉醒,醒悟 adj.觉醒中的;唤醒的 | |
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16 dormant | |
adj.暂停活动的;休眠的;潜伏的 | |
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17 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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18 blighting | |
使凋萎( blight的现在分词 ); 使颓丧; 损害; 妨害 | |
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19 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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20 throbbing | |
a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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21 tingling | |
v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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22 truthful | |
adj.真实的,说实话的,诚实的 | |
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23 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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24 wither | |
vt.使凋谢,使衰退,(用眼神气势等)使畏缩;vi.枯萎,衰退,消亡 | |
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25 fragrance | |
n.芬芳,香味,香气 | |
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26 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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27 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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28 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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29 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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30 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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31 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
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32 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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33 rending | |
v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 );分裂;(因愤怒、痛苦等而)揪扯(衣服或头发等);(声音等)刺破 | |
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34 tottering | |
adj.蹒跚的,动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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35 naught | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
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36 sob | |
n.空间轨道的轰炸机;呜咽,哭泣 | |
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37 hysterical | |
adj.情绪异常激动的,歇斯底里般的 | |
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38 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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40 dismally | |
adv.阴暗地,沉闷地 | |
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41 beads | |
n.(空心)小珠子( bead的名词复数 );水珠;珠子项链 | |
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42 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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43 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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44 bray | |
n.驴叫声, 喇叭声;v.驴叫 | |
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