With some tossing Arsdale had slept on without awaking fully1 enough to be conscious of his surroundings. Now, however, Donaldson became aware that the fellow's brain was clearing. He watched the process with some interest. It was an hour later before the man began to realize that he was in a strange room, and that another was in the room with him. It was evident that he was trying hard, and yet with fear of whither the road might lead him, to trace himself back. He had singled out Donaldson for some time, observing him through half-closed eyes, before he ventured to speak.
"Where am I?" he finally faltered2 huskily.
"In my charge."
"Who are you?"
"One Donaldson."
"I never heard of you."
"That is not improbable."
Arsdale reflected upon this for some time before he gained courage to proceed further.
"I 'm going to get up," he announced, at the end of some five minutes.
"No, you 're not. You are going to stay right where you are."
"What right have you to keep me here?" he demanded.
"The right of being stronger than you."
Arsdale struggled feebly to his elbow, but Donaldson pushed him back with a pressure that would not have made a child waver. He stood beside him wondering just how much the dulled brain was able to grasp. The long night had left him with little sympathy. The more he had thought of that blow, the greater the aversion he felt towards Arsdale. If the boy had n't struck her he would feel some pity for him, but that blow given in the dark against a defenseless woman—the one woman who had been faithful and kind to him—that was too much. It had raised dark thoughts there in the night.
Arsdale, his pupils contracted to a pin-point, stared back at him. Yet his questions proved that he was now possessed3 of a certain amount of intelligence. If he was able to realize that he was in a strange place, he might be able to realize some other things that Donaldson was determined4 he should.
"You are n't very clear-headed yet, but can you understand what I am saying to you now?"
Arsdale nodded weakly.
"Do you remember anything of what you did yesterday?" he demanded, in a vibrant5 voice that engraved6 each word upon the sluggish7 brain.
"No," answered the man quailing8.
"No? Then I'll tell you. You came back to the house and you struck your sister."
"No! No! Not that! I didn't do that."
Donaldson responded to a new hope. This seemed to prove that the conscience of the man was not dead. It came to him as a relief. He was relentless9, not out of hate, but because so much depended upon establishing the fact that the fellow still had a soul.
"Yes. You did," he repeated, his fingers unconsciously closing into his palms. "You struck her down."
"Good God!"
"Think of that a while and then I 'll tell you more."
"Is she hurt, is she badly hurt?"
Without replying Donaldson returned to his chair on the opposite side of the bed and watched him as a physician might after injecting a medicine. Arsdale stared back at him in dumb terror. Donaldson could almost see the gruesome pictures which danced witch-like through his disordered brain. He did n't enjoy the torture, but he must know just how much he had upon which to work.
It was in the early hours of the morning that Donaldson had become conscious of the new and tremendous responsibility which rested upon him. To leave Arsdale behind him alive in such a condition as this would be to leave the curse upon the girl,—would be to desert her to handle this mad-man alone. He had seen red at the thought of it. It would be to brand his own act with unpardonable cowardice10; it would be to go down into his grave with the helpless cries of this woman ringing in his ears; it would be to shirk the greatest and most sacred duty that can come to a man. The cold sweat had started upon his forehead at the thought of it.
The inexorable alternative was scarcely less ghastly. Yet in the face of this other the alternative had come as a relief. If it cost him his immortal11 soul, this other should not be left behind to mar12 a fair and unstained life. He would throttle13 him as he lay there upon the bed before he would leave him behind to this. He would go to his doom14 a murderer before he would leave Arsdale alive to do a fouler15 murder. That should be his final sacrifice,—his ultimate renunciation. In its first conception he had been appalled16 by the idea, but slowly its inevitability17 had paralyzed thought. It had made him feel almost impersonal18. Considering the manner in which he had been thrust into it, it seemed, as it were, an ordinance19 of Fate.
Though this had now become fixed20 in his mind, there was still the scant21 hope that he had grasped from what he had observed in Arsdale's manner. Given the morsel22 of a man, and there was still hope. Therefore it was with considerable interest that he watched for some evidence of the higher nature, even if only expressed in the crude form of shame. At times Arsdale looked like a craven cornered to his death—at times like a man struggling with a great grief—at times like a man dazed and uncomprehending.
To himself he moaned continuously. Frequently he rose to his elbow with the cry, "Is she hurt?"
Still in silence Donaldson watched him. Once Arsdale fell forward on his chin, where he lay motionless, his eyes still upon Donaldson. The latter helped him back to the pillow, but Arsdale shrank from his touch.
"Your eyes!" he gasped23, covering his own with his trembling hand. "They are the eyes of a devil. Take them off me—take them off!"
But Arsdale could not endure his blindness long. It made the ugly visions worse. So, he saw the girl with red blood streaming down her cheeks.
The sight of this writhing24 soul raised many new speculations25 in Donaldson's mind especially in connection with its possible outcome. In the matter of religion he was negative, neither believing any professed26 creed27 nor denying any. He had received no early impetus28, and had up to now been too preoccupied29 with his earthly interests, with no great grief or happiness to arouse him, to formulate30 any theory in his own mind. Even at the moment he had swallowed the poison the motive31 prompting him to it had been so intensely material that it had started but the most momentary32 questions. It was the thought of Mrs. Wentworth, the sight of the baby, the indefinable boundaries of his own love—it was love that pressed the question in upon him. Now the other extreme embodied33 in the sight of the man before him, capped by the acute query34 of what the sin of murder might mean, sharpened it to a real concern. If such love as the mother and the girl connoted forbade the conception that love expired with life, the torture of this other stunted35 soul seemed prophetic of what might be awaiting his own future, dwarfed36 by the shifty expedient37 he had adopted to check its development. If punishment counted for anything, he was, to be sure, receiving his full portion right here on earth. The realization38 of what he was leaving was an inquisition of the most exquisite39 order. But would this be the end? His consciousness, as he sat there, refused to allow the hope,—refused even to allow the hope to be desired.
So, face to face, each of these two struggled with the problem of his next step. To each of them life had a new and terrible significance. From a calm sea it had changed to wind-rent chaos40. It was revealing its potentialities,—lamb-like when asleep, lion-like when roused. Tangle-haired Tragedy had stalked forth41 into the midst of men going about their business.
The man on the bed broke out again,
"Why did n't I die before that? Why did n't I die before?"
Then he turned upon Donaldson with a new horror in his eyes.
"I did n't kill her?" he gasped.
The answer to his cry came—though he could not interpret it—in the ringing of the telephone. Donaldson crossed to it, while Arsdale cowered42 back in bed as though fearing this were news of some fresh disaster. To him the broken conversation meant nothing; to Donaldson it brought a relief that saved him almost from madness.
"Is that you, Mr. Donaldson?" she asked.
"Yes. And you—you are well?"
There was a pause, and then came the query again,
"Is that you?"
"Yes, can't you hear my voice?"
"It does n't sound like your voice. Is anything the matter?"
"No, nothing. I don't understand what you mean."
She hesitated again and then answered,
"It—it made me almost afraid."
"It's your nerves. Did you sleep well?"
"Yea. And is Ben all right?"
"Yes."
"There it is again," she broke in. "Your voice sounds harsh."
"That must be your imagination."
"Perhaps," she faltered. "Are you going to bring him home to-day?"
"Probably not until this evening. But," he broke in, "I shall come sooner myself. I shall come this morning. Will you tell that gentleman waiting near the gate to come down here?"
"What gentleman?"
"You probably have n't seen him. I put him there on guard."
"You are thoughtful. Your voice is natural again. Is Ben awake now?"
"Yes."
"And does he know?"
"Some things."
"Mr. Donaldson," she said, and he caught the shuddering43 fear in her voice, "are you keeping anything from me?"
"I don't know what you mean, but I will come up so that you may see there has been no change."
"I still think you are concealing44 something."
"Nothing that is not better concealed45; nothing that you could help."
"I should rather know. I do not like being guarded in that way."
"We all have to guard one another. You in your turn guard me."
"From what?"
"Many things. You are doing it now—this minute."
"From what?" she insisted.
"From myself."
"Oh, I don't know what you mean. I think you had better come up here at once—if it is safe to leave Ben."
"I shall make it safe. Don't forget to send down my man."
He hung up the receiver and turned to Arsdale. The latter must have noticed instantly the change in Donaldson's expression, for he rose to his elbow with eager face.
"You'll tell me before you go! You'll tell before—"
"You didn't kill," answered Donaldson.
"Thank God!"
"She is n't even wounded seriously."
"She knows that it was I?"
"Yes. She knows."
"How she must hate me, gentle Elaine."
"It is hard for her to hate any one."
"You think she—she might forgive?"
"I don't know. That remains46 to be seen."
The man buried his face in his arms and wept. This was not maudlin47 sentimentality; it struck deeper.
"Are you ready to do anything more than regret?" demanded Donaldson. "Are you ready to make a fight to quit that stuff?"
"So help me as long as I live—"
"Don't tell me that. I want you to think it over a while. I 'm going to have some one stay here with you until I get back this afternoon. Will you remain quiet?"
"Yes."
"And remember that even if by chance you did n't do much harm, still you struck. You struck a woman; you struck your sister."
Arsdale cringed. Each word was a harder blow than he, even in his madness, could strike.
"It's a—terrible thing to remember. But—but it will be always with me. It will never leave me."
As soon as the detective arrived Donaldson gave him his instructions, adding,
"Look out for tricks, and be ready to tell me all he says to you."
"I 've had 'em before," answered the man.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
faltered
|
|
| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
vibrant
|
|
| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
engraved
|
|
| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
sluggish
|
|
| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
quailing
|
|
| 害怕，发抖，畏缩( quail的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
9
relentless
|
|
| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
cowardice
|
|
| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
immortal
|
|
| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
mar
|
|
| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
throttle
|
|
| n.节流阀，节气阀，喉咙；v.扼喉咙，使窒息，压 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
doom
|
|
| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
fouler
|
|
| adj.恶劣的( foul的比较级 )；邪恶的；难闻的；下流的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
appalled
|
|
| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
inevitability
|
|
| n.必然性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
impersonal
|
|
| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
ordinance
|
|
| n.法令；条令；条例 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
scant
|
|
| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
morsel
|
|
| n.一口，一点点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
gasped
|
|
| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
writhing
|
|
| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
speculations
|
|
| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
professed
|
|
| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
creed
|
|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
impetus
|
|
| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
preoccupied
|
|
| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
formulate
|
|
| v.用公式表示；规划；设计；系统地阐述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
embodied
|
|
| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
query
|
|
| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
stunted
|
|
| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
dwarfed
|
|
| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
expedient
|
|
| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
realization
|
|
| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
chaos
|
|
| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
cowered
|
|
| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
shuddering
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
concealing
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
maudlin
|
|
| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |