Our own forgotten lore1.”
Keble.
Little Mary Carbonel was not the worse for all the agitations2, from which, indeed, she had been so carefully shielded, but her mother was sadly broken down by all she had undergone, and likewise by mortification4 at the whole conduct of the Uphill people. After all the years that she and her husband and sisters had striven for them, it was very hard to find that so very few would exert themselves for their protection, and that so many would even turn against them. It was hard to make allowance for the bewilderment of slow minds, for sheer cowardice5, and for the instinct of going along with one’s own class of people. She and Sophy prayed that they might forgive the people, but it was impossible just then not to feel that there was a good deal to forgive, and Captain Caiger was always telling them that all their trouble came in trying to help the good-for-nothing people.
They had moved into the George Hotel at Elchester. It was a good large inn, such as used to exist in coaching days, where travellers stopped for meals, and sometimes spent a night, and the rooms were so comfortable that they were glad to stay there, while Captain Carbonel could go backwards6 and forwards to make arrangements about the repair of Greenhow. Of course, when he came to look the place over with a builder from Elchester it turned out that a great deal more was needed than simply re-building what had been burnt; and he was in difficulties about the cost, when an offer came which he was glad to accept.
The Seven Ionian Islands had been put under the protection of England since they had been set free from the Turkish dominion7, and the Governor, Sir Thomas Maitland, (King Tom as he was often called), was very active in building, making roads, and improving them in every way possible. He wanted an English officer to superintend his doings in the little isle8 of Santa Maura, and being acquainted with Major Sandford, Dora’s husband, the proposal was made that Captain Carbonel should undertake the work for two or three years, bringing out, of course, his family with a handsome salary. It was a most opportune9 offer, giving him the means of renewing Greenhow, of a visit to the sister, and of restoring his wife’s health, which had been much tried by her child’s death, little Mary’s delicate state, and the alarm of the riots. So it was gladly accepted, and the departure was to take place as soon as the trials were over, for a special commission had been appointed to try the rioters; and poor Sophy was much distressed10 at having so evidently recognised Dan Hewlett when she found that “rioting and arson,” that is, burning, made a capital offence, so that it was a matter of life and death.
But there was another to whom this same discovery made a great difference—namely, Dan Hewlett himself. When he found that his life was at stake, he declared himself willing to turn King’s evidence, if his pardon were secured to him, and this was really important, as he was able to identify Jack11 Swing, who really was the chief mischief-maker, being a young clerk whose head had been turned by foolish notions about liberty for the people, and who really acted more generously, and with less personal spite, than most of his unhappy followers12. However, Dan was content to purchase his own life by denouncing the leader whom he had followed, and he was promised safety after the trial should be over, until which time he must remain in prison at Minsterham.
Captain Carbonel had consulted George Hewlett, when arranging the ruins at Greenhow, as to what had best be done for John, whose services he could not forget. George considered for a night, and the next day said—
“Well, sir, I beg your pardon, but the best thing as could be done with that there John would be to put him somewhere to learn the cabinet-making. He is a right sharp, clever hand, and knows pretty well all I can teach him; and he would get on famous if he had the chance. And it bain’t so comfortable for him here. Some of ’em owes him a grudge13 for bringing the soldiers down on ’em, and calls him an informer; and it will be all the worserer for him when his father comes home—the scamp that he is! I’m ready to wish my name wasn’t the same. Wuss shame by far than to be strung up to turn agin him as he was hand and glove with!”
“I am quite of your opinion, Hewlett; and I fully3 think John would be best out of the way, poor fellow. I will inquire for a good master for him.”
“Thank you, sir. I would have had the boy up to sleep at my place, but he won’t leave his poor aunt. He be the chief comfort she has, poor thing. But she won’t be here long anyway; and if ever there was a good woman, ’tis Judith Grey.”
It was quite true. Mr Harford, who had come home on Saturday, walked over to Poppleby, partly for the sake of saying that Judith was certainly near the close of her trials, and that it was her great wish to see one of the dear ladies again, though she durst not ask one of them to come into Dan’s house. Indeed Mr Harford had only drawn14 the expression of her desire out of her with difficulty.
Mrs Carbonel was not well enough for a trying interview, so it was Sophy who drove from Elchester with her brother-in-law, grave and thoughtful, and only wishing to avoid everybody; for she could not yet forget how no one had shown any gratitude15, nor desire to shield those who had been so long their friends. The Poppleby doctor had been sent to see Judith, and had pronounced that the old disease had made fatal progress, accelerated by the hysterical16 convulsions caused by the night and day of suspense17 and anxiety, and the attack on her nephew, as well as the whole of Dan’s conduct. He did not think that she could last many more days.
So Sophy arrived at the well-known cottage, and was met at the door by Molly, with her apron18 to her eyes, and a great deal to say about her poor sister, and “it wasn’t her wish”; but Mr Harford, who was on the watch, began to answer her, so as to keep her from going upstairs with the visitors. Little Judy, now a nice, neat girl of fourteen, was sitting by her, but rose to go away when the lady came in.
Judith was leaning against pillows, and the pink flush in her cheeks and her smile of greeting prevented Sophy from seeing how ill and wasted she looked, thin and weak as were the fingers that lay on the coverlet.
“Why, Judith, you look much better than I expected. You will soon be as well as ever.”
Judith only smiled, and said, “Thank you, ma’am! I hope Mrs Carbonel is better.”
“Yes. She is getting better now, and she is very sorry not to come and see you; but perhaps she may be able before we go away.”
“And little Miss Mary, ma’am?”
“She has been quite another creature since we have been at Poppleby—not at all fretty, and almost rosy19.”
“I am glad. And you are going away, ma’am?”
“Yes; off to a beautiful island in the Mediterranean20 Sea, close to all the places where Saint Paul preached. You know Dora is at Malta, where he was shipwrecked.”
“Yes, ma’am; I like to know it. You will give my duty to her, Miss Sophy, and thank her—oh! so much,”—and Judith clasped her hands—“for all she and you and Mrs Carbonel have been to me. You seemed to bring the light back to me, just as my faith was growing slack and dull.”
“Yes; I will tell her, Judith. I don’t like leaving you, but it won’t seem long till we come back; and we will send you those beautiful Maltese oranges.”
Judith smiled that beautiful smile again. “Ah, Miss Sophy, you have been very good, and helped me ever so much; but my time is nearly over, and I shall not want even you and madam where I am going. I shall see His face,” she murmured; and lifted up her hands.
Sophy was rather frightened, and felt as if she had done wrong in talking of oranges. She did not know what to say, and only got out something about Johnnie and a comfort.
“Yes, that he is, Miss Sophy, and little Judy too. The boy, he is that shy and quiet, no one would believe the blessed things he says and reads to me at night. He be a blessing21, and so be Judy, all owing to the Sunday School.”
“Oh! to you, Judith. You made him good before we had him, though Mary and Dora did help,” said Sophy, with rising tears.
“And oh! I am so thankful,” she said, clasping her hands, “for what the captain is doing for the boy.”
“He deserves it, I am sure,” said Sophy.
“It will keep him easier to the right way, and it would be harder for him when I am gone, and his father come home! And Mr Harford, he says he will find a good place for Judy. She is a good girl, a right good girl.”
“That she is.”
“And, maybe, Mrs Carbonel and you, when you come home, would be good to my poor sister. She’ve been a good sister to me, she has, with it all, but it has all been against her, and she would be a different woman if she could. Please remember her.”
“We will, we will if we can.”
Then Judith went on to beg Sophy to write to her former mistress, Mrs Barnard, with all her thanks for past kindness. That seemed to exhaust her a good deal, and she lay back, just saying faintly, “If you would read me a little bit, miss.”
The Prayer-Book lay nearest, and Sophy read, “Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace,” as well as she could amid the choking tears. She felt as if she were lifted into some higher air, but Judith lay so white and still that she durst not do more than say, “Good-bye, dear Judith.” She was going to say, “I will come and see you again,” but something withheld22 her. She thought Judith’s lips said, “Up there.” She bent23 down, kissed the cheek, now quite white, and crept down, passing Molly at the turn.
Two days later Mr Harford came to say that Judith was gone. Her last communion with Johnnie, and with George Hewlett, had been given to her the day before, and she had not spoken afterwards, only her face had been strangely bright.
The Carbonels could only feel that her remnant of life had been shortened by all she had undergone for their sakes, and Edmund and Sophy both stood as mourners at her grave, Sophy feeling that her life had been more of a deepening, realising lesson than anything that had gone before, making her feel more than had ever come yet into her experience, what this life is compared with eternal life.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
lore
|
|
| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
agitations
|
|
| （液体等的）摇动( agitation的名词复数 )； 鼓动； 激烈争论； （情绪等的）纷乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
mortification
|
|
| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
cowardice
|
|
| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
backwards
|
|
| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
dominion
|
|
| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
isle
|
|
| n.小岛，岛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
opportune
|
|
| adj.合适的，适当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
distressed
|
|
| 痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
jack
|
|
| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
followers
|
|
| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
grudge
|
|
| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
hysterical
|
|
| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
Mediterranean
|
|
| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
withheld
|
|
| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |