“Hush3, hush, father!” cried Charley sternly, as he raised one arm, and laid it upon his father’s shoulder. “What have I to forgive in you?”
He turned again, gazing with a despairing, stunned4 expression upon Ella’s face.
“But,” cried Sir Philip hastily, “what has been done?—Mrs Brandon, what medical advice have you had?”
“The best that money can procure,” said Mrs Brandon, in a choking voice. “We have done all that is possible.”
There was a dead silence now reigning5 in that chamber6, broken at last by Sir Philip, as, forgetful of all else but the fearful wrong that had been done the suffering girl before him, he bent7 over Ella to kiss her tenderly.
“O my child, my child!” he moaned, “my poor child! I came here angry and bitter to upbraid8; but has it come to this? that you, so young, so pure, must leave us to go where all is love, to bear witness to my selfish pride and ambition? Heaven forgive me!” he sobbed9, as his tears fell fast upon the little hand he held, “heaven forgive me! for, in my blindness, I have broken two loving hearts—sacrificed them to my insensate pride! Blind—blind—blind that I was, not to remember that the love of a pure true-hearted woman was a gem10 beyond price. Has it indeed come to this, that there is nothing to be done but for a poor, weak, blind old man to ask forgiveness for your wrongs?—Charley,” he sobbed, turning to his son, “my boy—my pride, the hope of my old age, forgive me, for I can never forgive myself!”
“Father, for heaven’s sake, hush!” cried Charley in his blank despair. “This is too much. I cannot bear it. I have nothing to forgive. It was our fate; but, O!” he said huskily, as he drew Ella nearer to his breast, “it is hard—hard—hard to bear!”
Here Mrs Brandon interposed; it was too much for the sufferer to encounter; and gently drawing the young man away, she bent over to whisper to Ella, but, in obedience11 to a whispered wish, she drew back, as Charley, weak now and trembling, gazed in his father’s quivering face for a few moments, and then, as did the patriarch of old, he fell upon the loving old man’s neck and kissed him, and wept sore.
The silence then in that sad chamber was painful; but at last, trembling in every limb, Sir Philip crept to the bedside, to take the place lately occupied by his son—to pass one arm beneath Ella’s neck, and then, with all a father’s gentle love, to raise her more and more, till her head, with all that glory of bright fair hair, rested upon his breast, and his old and wrinkled cheek touched the vein12-mapped, transparent13 forehead.
“If I could die for you, my child,” he murmured; “if my few poor useless days could be given, that you might live, I should be content. Heaven hear my prayer!” he cried piteously. “Poor sufferer! Has she not borne enough? Have we not all tried our best to make her way thorny14 and harsh? O my child, I loved you from the first, though my pride would not let me acknowledge it, and I left you that day moved almost beyond human power to bear; while, on my return, even the eyes of my wife’s poor semblance15 seemed, from the canvas, almost to look—to look down upon me with reproach. But you must not leave us—surely our prayers must be heard—you, so young, so gentle! My poor blighted16 flower! But you will live to bless us both—to be my stay and comfort—to help a weak old man tenderly along his path to the grave—to be the hope and stay of my boy—to be my pride! I ask you—I ask you this—I, his father, ask you to live for us, to bless us both with your pure and gentle love! Charley my boy, here—quick—quick—My God, she is dying!”
A faint shudder17 had passed through Ella’s frame as Sir Philip uttered that exclamation18, and her pinched pale face looked more strange and unearthly than ever; but she had heard every word uttered by the old man; words which, feeble as she was, had made her heart leap with a strange joy, sending life and energy once more through every vein and nerve, but only with the effect of a few drops of oil upon an expiring flame: the light sprang up for a few moments, and then seemed to sink lower and lower, till, with a shiver of dread19, Mrs Brandon softly approached.
She paused though, for at that moment Ella’s eyes softly unclosed, to gaze trustingly at Sir Philip Vining. Then they were turned to Charley; and as they rested there, her pale lips parted, but no word came. A faint sad smile of content, though, flitted for an instant over her face, and those lips spoke20 in silence their wishes—wishes read by heartbroken Charley, who, resting one hand upon his father’s shoulder, pressed upon that pale rosebud21 of a mouth a long, long kiss of love, one, though, to which there was no response. He did not even feel the soft fluttering breath, playing and hesitating, as it were, round her lips as her eyes slowly closed.
Was it in sleep or in death? The question was mentally asked again and again; but no one spoke, as all stood there watching—hardly daring to breathe.
Night had come, and still no movement, no trace by which hope could be for a moment illumined, and still they watched on; Lexville, the Brays23, everything, being forgotten in this great sorrow. But with the night came again the doctor, with an old friend and physician; then followed a long consultation24 in the sick-chamber, and another in the drawing-room, while friend and lover waited tremblingly for the sentence to be pronounced.
“My friend thinks with me that there is a change,” said Mr Tiddson; “and really, Mrs Brandon, in the whole course of my practice, nothing ever gave me greater pleasure.”
The next day, and the lamp of life still burning, but the brain-symptoms had passed away, in spite of the great excitement. There was extreme weakness, but soon that was all; and until, joyful25 and exultant26, Sir Philip avowed27 to himself that the danger was past, he did not return to Blandfield Court.
“Saved, my boy, saved! our prayers were heard!” he exclaimed then fervently28; and from that day Sir Philip seemed to know no rest when he was away from the invalid29 chamber.
Scandal and wonders seldom last above their reputed nine days; and so it seemed here at Lexville. People talked tremendously, and commented upon the absence of the Vinings, and their treatment of their old friends, the Brays. But from the Bray22 family themselves came not one word of rebuke30 or complaint. They started for London the day but one after that appointed for the wedding, to take up, as it proved, their permanent residence in Harley-street; and at the end of a month it was announced that The Elms was for sale; and, at a great price, the local auctioneer disposed of the whole of “Mr Onesimus Bray’s well-known and carefully-selected live and dead farming stock,” in spite of the old-fashioned farmers’ head-shaking and nods and winks31.
But, as time wore on, though the past was never again reverted32 to, pudgy quiet Mr Bray more than once had a snug33 tête-à-tête club dinner with his old friend Sir Philip Vining, and they parted in the best of fellowship.
And now we must ask our readers to follow us hastily through a few scenes, whose intent is to fill up voids in our narrative34, and to bring it more quickly to a close.
Any one who knows the neighbourhood of Blandfield and Laneton will acknowledge that no more pleasant piece of rural undulating country can be found within a radius35 of fifty miles round London; and through those pleasant dales and glades36, day after day of the bright spring-time, might one or other of Sir Philip Vining’s carriages be seen with the old gentleman himself in constant attendance upon his chosen daughter. His love had long been withheld37, but now it was showered down abundantly.
The slightest increase of pallor, a warm flush, anything, was sufficient to arouse the worthy38 old man’s alarms. And they were not quite needless; for the struggle back to health was on Ella Bedford’s part long and protracted39.
Charley Vining used to declare that he was quite excluded, and that he did not get anything like a fair share of Ella’s heart; but the warm glow of pleasure which suffused40 his face, as he saw the pride and affection Sir Philip had in his son’s choice, was, as Mrs Brandon used to say, “a sight to make any one happy.”
Often and often Mrs Brandon used to declare that the Vinings might just as well come and take up their residence altogether at Copse Hall, for she should never think of parting with Ella; while, as the summer came in, and with it strength and brightness of eye to the invalid, Sir Philip Vining’s great pleasure was, just before leaving of an evening, just as it was growing dusk, to lead Ella to the piano, where, unasked, she would plaintively41 sing him the old ballad42 that had once drawn43 a tear from Charley Vining’s eye, when he had told the singer that he was glad Sir Philip was not present.
And on those occasions, seated with his back to the light, and his forehead down upon his hand, the old man would be carried far back into the days of the past, when the wife he loved was with him; and as the sweet low notes rose and fell, now loud and clear, now soft and tremulous with pathos44, Sir Philip’s lip would tremble, and more than once, when he bade her good-night, Ella felt that his cheek was wet.
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1
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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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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3
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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4
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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7
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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8
upbraid
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| v.斥责，责骂，责备 | |
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9
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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10
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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13
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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18
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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19
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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20
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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21
rosebud
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| n.蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女 | |
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bray
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| n.驴叫声, 喇叭声；v.驴叫 | |
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brays
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| n.驴叫声，似驴叫的声音( bray的名词复数 )；（喇叭的）嘟嘟声v.发出驴叫似的声音( bray的第三人称单数 )；发嘟嘟声；粗声粗气地讲话（或大笑）；猛击 | |
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24
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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27
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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28
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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30
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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31
winks
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| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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32
reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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33
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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34
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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36
glades
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| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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37
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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38
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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39
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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40
suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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42
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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43
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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44
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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