"What's up, Lal?" he asked tenderly, bending over her.
She would not look up.
"It's nothing, daddy," she sobbed4 and crept away up the street, like a wounded animal.
Ernie went in. Ruth was sitting alone in the kitchen forlorn and wistful as he had never known her. It was clear to him that the sorrow, whatever it might be, was shared by mother and daughter. He watched her quietly for a minute; then came to her.
"What is it, mother?" he asked with unusual gentleness.
His tone touched the spring of tears in her heart. She bit her lip.
"Its Alf," she said with gasps6. "He's been settin em on to her again... He's spiteful because the war's spoilt his Syndicate... So he takes it out of her... They've been tormenting7 her... Only she wouldn't tell you because she wanted your last day to be happy."
Ern went out, found little Alice once again in the door, her pinafore still to her eyes, took her up in his arms and put her in her mother's lap.
"Love one another," he said huskily. "And don't forget me."
Then he went out again, burning his battle-flare.
In half an hour he was back with Joe Burt.
There was a strange hushed dignity about him as he entered the kitchen. He might have been a priest about to conduct a ceremony at the altar of the Most High. Joe lagged behind sullen8 and with downward eyes, twisting his cap. Somehow he looked strangely common beside his friend. Ruth, as she rose to meet the two men, was profoundly conscious of the contrast between them.
"Joe," said Ernie, still and solemn, "I bequeath Ruth to you..."
In a flash the woman seized the situation.
"—to have and to hold," she murmured quietly, her head down to stifle10 sobs11 and laughter.
Ernie with that love of ritual which characterises his class continued with the smile-less intensity12 of a child.
"Yes, to have and to hold ... her and her children ... for me ... till I return."
Joe was obviously staggered. His eyes roved the floor; his head weaved to and fro.
"Here, I didn't bargain for this," he muttered.
Ruth thrust out her hand almost sternly, as though to silence him. He took it grudgingly13, and then Ern's.
"A suppose A'll do ma best," he said, and slouched out hasty as a schoolboy escaping from the schoolroom.
When he was gone Ruth laid both hands on Ernie's shoulders and looked at him her eyes dazzled with laughter and tears.
"You should never ha done it, Ern!" she said. "Never!"
"There was nothing for it only that," Ern answered sturdily. "It's a world of wolves. Somebody must see to you while I'm away."
She withdrew her hands and stood before him, defenceless now, humble14, beautiful, appealing.
"Ern," she said with a little sob5, "will you take me up along to the Ambush15—our last night and all?"
He looked at her steadily16. Then he caught her hand.
"All right, old lass," he said.
They had not visited their couching-place that summer and the romance of old and intimate association was on them both now as they came to the tryst17 in the scented18 dusk. The gorse, unpruned, had grown over the track that led to the heart of the covert19. Ernie forced his way through, Ruth following him, anchored jealously to his hand. Behind her the bushes closed, blocking the way; and she was glad. Her eyes were on the shoulders of her man, wistful still but triumphant20; and she found herself smiling secretly as she marked how bride-like she felt, how warm and shy and tremulous. In this great hour the tides of her ebbing21 youth had returned with power and the desert bloomed afresh. The world-catastrophe had wrought22 a miracle. Spring had quickened the stale summer air. Here at the parched23 noon was a hint of dawn, dew-drenched and lovely.
Waist-deep in the dark covert, the man and woman stood on the summit of the hill, under the sky, the sea spread like a dulled shield beneath them.
It was already nine o'clock; a perfect evening of that never-to-be-forgotten August. The sun had long gone down behind the Seven Sisters. In Paradise a nightjar was thrumming harshly. Below in the coombe the lights of Undercliff began to twinkle. On the Head Brangwyn-like figures were moving heavily. A night-shift was working there behind windy flares24, screened by tarpaulins25 from enemy eyes at sea. Ernie knew what they were doing.
"They're building a battery to protect the new wireless26 station against aircraft attack," he told Ruth. "That dark thing in the road's a fire-engine to dowse the flares if a night attack's made."
Then above the noise of the navvies busy with pick and shovel27, and the pleasant gargle of the night-jar, blended another sound. A hollow ominous28 rumbling29 like the voice of a great ghost laughing harshly in his grave came rolling across the sea out of the darkness.
"Guns," said Ernie. "They're at it in the Bight."
Ruth drew closer and took his arm. One finger was to her lips. She was a little bit afraid. He felt it, and pressed her arm.
From the distance, muffled30 by the shoulder of the hill, came the hammer-hammer that would endure all night of the emergency gangs, rushed down in special trains from the North, to run up a huge camp in the great coombe at the end of Rectory Walk where of old lambs had often roused Ernie as a lad on bleak31 March mornings by their forlorn music of spirits exiled and crying for home.
He stood and looked and listened.
"Who'd ever ha beleft it'd ha come to this when we first lay out here six years ago?" he mused32.
"Or now for that matter," answered Ruth, her voice deep and hushed as the evening. "All so good and quiet as it looks."
She pulled him down into the darkness of the covert.
"D'is safer here, I reck'n," she said, and nuzzled up against him.
Ernie peeped though the gorse at the lights flickering33 on the Head.
"They ca-a-n't see us here," he said.
"And a good job, too, I reck'n," answered Ruth sedately34, fingering her hair.
Ernie chuckled35.
"Listen!" he said.
They sat close in their ambush, walled about with prickly darkness, roofed in by the living night.
Beneath them the sea came and went, rose and fell, rhythmical36 and somnolent37, as it had done in the days when badger38 and wolf and bear roamed the hill, with none to contest their sovereignty but the hoary39 old sea-eagle from the cliffs; as it might still do when man had long passed away. Sounds ancient almost as the earth on which they lay, which had lulled40 them and millions of their forefathers41 to sleep, were crossed by others, new, man-made, discordant42.
Down the road at the back of the covert, not a hundred yards away, came a sudden bustling43 phut-phut-phut.
"Despatch-rider," said Ernie, peering. "Light out and all. Rushin it to Birling Gap. There's a company of Territorials44 there, diggin emselves in behind barbed wire to guard the deep-sea cables."
"The Boy-Scouts were layin out all day on the road to Friston, Mr. Chislehurst told me," remarked Ruth. "They took the number of every motor and motor-bike on the road to Newhaven."
She unloosed her hair that fell about her like a torrent45 of darkness.
A huge beetle46 twanged by above them; and then in the covert close at hand there was a snuffling and grunting47, so loud, so close, so portentous48 that Ruth, creature of the earth though she was, was startled and paused in her undoing49.
"What-ever's that?" she asked, laying a hand on Ernie.
"Hedge-pig, I allow."
"Sounds like it might be a wild boar routin and snoutin and carryin on," she laughed.
Ruth reclined on the bed of sand. The calm blessedness of night embraced her; and the stars lay on her face. She lifted her lips to them, seeming to draw them down with each breath, and blow them away again, babe-like. A dreamy amazement50 still possessed51 her.
"Who'd ever ha beleft it?" she said quietly.
Then she turned her face to him and laughed.
"Ernie!" she called.
"Whose are you now?" he said fiercely in her ear.
She chuckled and gathered him to her bosom52.
He sighed his content.
"That's better," he murmured. "Now, never no more of it!"
A great mate, Ruth was a still greater mother; and this living, pulsing creature in her arms was her child, her first-born cub53.
In the stress and conflict of the last few years necessity had compelled her to discard the royal indolence that was her natural habit. The lioness in her, roused by conflict, had made her fierce and formidable in any battle. Six months ago she had fought Ernie—because he was weak; now she would shield him—because he was strong.
Jealously she pressed him to her.
"They shan't get you, my lad," she said between her teeth. "I'll see to that."
"I'm not afraid o them," answered Ernie drowsily54. "I knaw the Germans. All you got to do is to say Shoo!—and goo with your arms and they're off like rabbits from the garden."
She thrust his head back till she saw it as a dim blob against the shining night; and looked up into his eyes, her own so close to his, so deep, so dear.
"You're my soldier," she murmured in his ear. "I always knew you was."
Then she drew his face down to hers, till their lips met.
"I got something to tell you, Ern."
Now she leaned over him. The moon shone on the smooth sweep of her shoulders, rounded and luminous55.
"I only deceived you the once, Ern," she whispered, her voice murmuring like a stream that issued from the slowly-heaving ocean of her chest. "Afore we were married. He ne'er wrote me ne'er a letter."
"I knew that then," muttered Ernie, sleepily, his head beside her own.
"It was Madame," Ruth continued. "She come over in a car and told the tale."
Her confession56 made she waited; but in a moment his breathing told her that he had fallen off to sleep.
She stroked him rhythmically57, just as she would her children when they were tired.
He was going back to the regiment—to Captain Royal—to the Unknown. She was not afraid for him—nor for herself—nor for the children. An immense peace had fallen on her.
Then all about her a murmur9 as of wings grew. There was a whispering patter as of rain upon the turf that ringed the covert; but no rain fell. Through the patter came the tinkle58 of a bell. An immense flock of sheep was rippling59 dimly like a flood over the parched turf to the dew-pond by the old wall on the brow. The whisper grew louder, as though the rain had turned to hail. The flock was crossing the road. Then there was almost a silence, and in the silence the leader ba-a-a-d. The flock had reached the waters of refreshing60.
Ruth slept, strangely comforted.
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收听单词发音
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1
moot
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| v.提出；adj.未决议的；n.大会；辩论会 | |
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shrimp
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| n.虾，小虾；矮小的人 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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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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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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7
tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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9
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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11
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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12
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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grudgingly
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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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15
ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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16
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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tryst
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| n.约会；v.与…幽会 | |
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18
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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19
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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21
ebbing
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的现在分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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22
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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24
flares
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| n.喇叭裤v.（使）闪耀( flare的第三人称单数 )；（使）（船舷）外倾；（使）鼻孔张大；（使）（衣裙、酒杯等）呈喇叭形展开 | |
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25
tarpaulins
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| n.防水帆布，防水帆布罩( tarpaulin的名词复数 ) | |
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26
wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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27
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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29
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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30
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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31
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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32
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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33
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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34
sedately
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| adv.镇静地，安详地 | |
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35
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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37
somnolent
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| adj.想睡的，催眠的；adv.瞌睡地；昏昏欲睡地；使人瞌睡地 | |
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38
badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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39
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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40
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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41
forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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42
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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43
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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44
territorials
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| n.（常大写）地方自卫队士兵( territorial的名词复数 ) | |
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45
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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46
beetle
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| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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47
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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48
portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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49
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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50
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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51
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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52
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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53
cub
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| n.幼兽，年轻无经验的人 | |
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54
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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55
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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56
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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57
rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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58
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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59
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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