At the time with which our narrative4 has to do, Mr. Ambrose Cortelyon, commonly known as Squire5 Cortelyon, of Stanbrook, an old family seat in one of the most northern counties of England, was well over his seventieth birthday. Thrown by his horse more than twenty years before, he had not only broken his leg, but three or four of his ribs6 into the bargain.
Surgical7 science in those days, especially in country places, was not what it is now. His leg was badly set, with the result that from that time he had been a partial cripple, who when he walked any distance alone, had to do so with the help of a couple of stout8 sticks, but who usually preferred the arm of his factotum9, Andry Luce, and one stick.
Andry--of whom we shall hear more later--was a man of forty, with a big, shaggy head and the torso of an athlete set on the short, bowed legs of a dwarf11. Further, he was dumb (the result of a fright when a child), a deficiency which only caused his employer to value him the more. He was clever with his pen and at figures, and kept the Squire's accounts and wrote most of his letters, for Mr. Cortelyon hated pen work, and besides suffered occasionally from gout in his fingers.
Finally, Andry filled up his spare time by dabbling12 in chemistry in an amateurish13 fashion, being quite content to experiment on the discoveries of others, and having no ambition to adventure on any of his own.
A full-length oil painting of Squire Cortelyon, taken a short time before his accident, and still in existence, represents him as a thin, wiry-looking man of medium height, close shaven, with a long, narrow face--a handsome face, with its regular, clear-cut features, most people would call it; cold, unsympathetic light-blue eyes, and a dry, caustic14 smile. His dark, unpowdered hair, cut short in front, is doubtless gathered into a queue, only, as he stands facing the spectator, the picture fails to show it. He is dressed in a high-collared, swallow-tailed, chocolate-colored coat with gilt15 buttons. His waistcoat is of white satin, elaborately embroidered16 with sprays of flowers. His small-clothes, tight-fitting and of some dark woven material, reach to the ankle, where they are tied with a knot of ribbon and are supplemented by white silk stockings and buckled17 shoes. Round his throat is wound a soft cravat18 of many folds; his shirt is frilled, and he wears lace ruffles19 at his wrists. He stands in an easy and not ungraceful posture20, looking right into the spectator's eyes. In one hand he clasps his snuffbox, deprived of which life for him would have lost half its value.
Although Squire Cortelyon courted and loved a cheap popularity, at heart he was a man of a hard and griping disposition21, whose chief object in life, more especially of late years, had been the accumulation of wealth in the shape of landed property. Even in early life he had never either hunted or shot, but, for all that, he subscribed22 liberally to the nearest pack of hounds, as also--but less liberally--to the usual local charities. Although he employed a couple of keepers, he did not preserve too strictly23, a fact which tended to his popularity among his poorer neighbors, while having an opposite effect among those of his own standing24 in the county. In point of fact, three-fourths of the game on his estates was shot by his keepers and sent, under his direction, for sale to the nearest large town.
When Ambrose Cortelyon, at the age of thirty-five, came into his patrimony25, it was not only grievously burdened with debt, but, as far as mere26 acreage was concerned, owing to extravagant27 living on the part of his two immediate28 progenitors29, had dwindled30 to little more than a third of what it had been sixty years before. From the first the new Squire made up his mind that the follies31 of his father and grandfather should not be repeated in his case. From the first he set two objects definitely before him, and never allowed himself to lose sight of them. Object number one was to wipe off the burden of debt he had inherited from his father. This, by the practice of rigid32 economy, he was enabled to do in the course of eight or ten years, after which he began to save. Object number two was to become, in the course of time, a large landowner, even as his great-grandfather and his more remote ancestors right away back to the sixteenth century had been.
Thus, in the course of time it came to pass that Ambrose Cortelyon had become the owner of sundry33 considerable properties (not all of them situated34 in his own county, but none of them farther off than a day's ride) which, owing to one cause or another, had come into the market. Every season--and what was true then seems equally true to-day--brought its own little crop of landed proprietors35 who, owing to improvidence36 or misfortune or both, had fallen upon evil days, and whenever there was a likely property in the neighborhood to be had a bargain, the Squire, or his agent Mr. Piljoy, was always to the fore1.
With the former it was an article of faith that, for one reason or other, landed property would rise greatly in value in the course of the next generation or two, and so constitute a stable inheritance for those to come after him. In so believing the prescience with which he credited himself was undoubtedly37 at fault. Many things were to happen during the next half-century of which not even the most far-seeing of the statesmen of those days had the slightest prevision.
Squire Cortelyon was turned forty before he married. He fixed38 his mature affections on a banker's daughter, who brought him a dowry of ten thousand pounds, with the prospect39 of thirty thousand to follow at her father's demise40. But three years later the bank in which Mr. Lowthian was senior partner failed, and the prospective41 thirty thousand went in the general smash. Such a loss to such a man was undoubtedly a terrible blow. A couple of years later still his wife died, leaving him with one child,--a son. He had felt no particular affection for her while living, and he was not hypocrite enough to pretend to mourn her very deeply now she was dead.
Ambrose Cortelyon was one of those men who never feel comfortable, or at home, in the presence of children, and as soon as Master Dick was old enough he was packed off to a public school, and for the next dozen or more years, except at holiday times, it was but little he saw either of his father or his home. From school he went to college, but with his twenty-first birthday his career at Cambridge came to an end. The life his father intended him for was that of a country gentleman, with, perhaps, an M.P.-ship in future. Where, then, would have been the use of wasting more time in competing for a degree which, even if he should succeed in taking it, would be of no after-value to him? Far better that he should spend a season or two in town, perfecting himself in his French meanwhile--the country swarmed42 with emigrés glad to give lessons for the merest pittance43--and after that devote a couple of years to the Grand Tour. Mr. Cortelyon would have his son a man of the world, and neither a milksop nor a puritan. With his own hands he put a copy of "Lord Chesterfield's Letters to his Son" into Dick's valise. "A book to profit by," he said. "Let me adjure44 you to read and re-read it."
Dick felt more respect--which till he was grown-up had not been unmixed with awe--than affection for his father. All his life Mr. Cortelyon had been a reserved and undemonstrative man, and averse45 from any display of feeling or sentiment. Still, that his son was far dearer to him than aught else in life, and that he looked with secret pride and hope to moulding him in accordance with his own views and wishes, can hardly be doubted. The mistake he made was in imagining that Dick was fashioned on the same lines, mental and moral, as himself; whereas the lad took after his mother in almost every particular. Easy-going, affable to all, led far more by his heart than his head, everybody's friend and nobody's enemy but his own--how was such a young man, with his handsome person, well-lined purse, and a certain element of rustic46 simplicity47 which still clung to him, to escape shipwreck48 in the great maelstrom49 of London in one form or another?
At any rate, Dick Cortelyon did not escape shipwreck in so far as the utter ruin of his worldly prospects50 was concerned. He had not been a year in town before he committed the unpardonable folly--unpardonable in the only son of Squire Cortelyon--of marrying a fascinating little actress of no particular ability, who at that time was playing "chambermaid" parts at one of the patent theatres for a remuneration of a guinea a week.
The marriage was kept by Dick a profound secret both from his father and his friends. But it had to be told the former when, some months later, he summoned Dick home on purpose to inform him that it was his wish--really tantamount to a command on the part of such a man--that he should "make up" to Miss Onoria Flood, the only daughter of a neighbor, and do his best to secure her before any other suitor appeared on the scene.
When the fatal news was broken to the Squire he bundled Master Dick out of doors without a moment's hesitation51. There and then he took an oath that he would never forgive him, nor ever set eyes on him again, and he was a man who prided himself on keeping his word. At once he stopped Dick's allowance.
Some few years before these things came to pass, the Squire's grand-niece--granddaughter of his sister Agatha--an orphan52 left without means beyond a narrow pittance of eighty pounds a year, had come to live at Stanbrook, no other home being open to her. Although there was a difference of some six years in their ages, and although they had only met at intervals53, they had been to each other like elder brother and younger sister. From the first Miss Baynard had conceived an almost passionate54 liking55 and admiration56 for her handsome, kind-hearted kinsman57, and now that poor Dick was leaving home never to return, she contrived58 to have a stolen interview with him before he went. Although only just turned sixteen, she was in many things wise beyond her years, and before parting from Dick she obtained from him an address at which, he told her, a letter would at any time find him. Not being sure what his future movements might be, he gave her the address of his wife's uncle, who kept a tobacconist's shop in a street off Holborn. That done, Dick kissed her and went, and with his going half the sunshine seemed to vanish out of Nell's life.
At once Dick Cortelyon broke with his old life and all its associations. The fashionable world knew him no more: he disappeared, he went under. He took a couple of furnished rooms in an obscure neighborhood, and for the next few months his wife's earnings59 and the proceeds of the sale of his watch and trinkets kept the pair of them. But there came a time when his wife could earn no more; and then a son was born to him. In this contingency60 he deemed himself a fortunate man in being able to get a lot of copying to do for a law firm in Chancery Lane.
But poor Dick's trials and troubles--the fruit, as every reasonable person must admit, of his own headstrong folly--were not destined61 to be of long duration. When his child was about six months old he caught a fever, and died after a very short illness. One of his last requests was that when all was over his wife should write and inform Miss Baynard of his death. This Mrs. Cortelyon did not fail to do. Her letter conveyed the double news of Dick's death and the birth of his son.
p46
"He gave her the address
of his wife's uncle."
Miss Baynard at once took the letter to her uncle. His sallow face became still sallower as he read the account of his son's death, but a frown deeper than the girl had ever seen on them before darkened his features by the time he had come to the end of the letter.
"Had Dick not been idiot enough to wed10 that play-acting huzzy," he said, "the lad would have been alive today. I owe his loss to her. Neither her nor her brat62 will I ever countenance63 or acknowledge. Tell her so from me. Stay, though; you may send her this ten-pound note, with the assurance that it is the last money she will ever receive at my hands."
A few days later the note was returned to the Squire through the post, accompanied by a few unsigned lines to the effect that the widow of Richard Cortelyon would accept no help at the hands of the man who had treated her husband with such inhuman64 cruelty.
Not long after this Miss Baynard wrote to the widow, to the address furnished by her in her letter, mentioning how attached she had been to Dick, and hinting delicately at the happiness it would afford her to send Mrs. Cortelyon a little monetary65 help now and again. But at the end of a fortnight her letter came back marked, "Gone away--present address not known," and enclosed in an official envelope. It had been opened and resealed by the post-office authorities. As it happened, the letter fell into the Squire's hands, who, noticing only the official envelope, opened it without perceiving that it was addressed to his niece. As a consequence he at once sent for her.
After explaining how it happened that he had opened the letter, he continued: "I am astonished and annoyed, Nell--very seriously annoyed--that, after what thou heard me say two or three weeks ago, thou should have chosen of thy own accord to communicate with this play-acting creature, and even to offer to help her out of thy own scanty66 means. Fortunately, the woman has disappeared. No doubt she has gone back to the life and the companions that are most congenial to her--curses on her for a vile67 baggage! To her I owe it that my boy lies mouldering68 in the grave. Never again, Nell, on pain of offending me past forgiveness, do thou attempt to have aught to do with her. 'Tis beneath thee to notice such creatures in any way--and she above all others."
It was an injunction which Nell--who had listened to his tirade69 with a sort of proud disdain70 and without a word of reply--determined to obey or disobey as circumstances might determine. For the present she was helpless to do more than she had done. Unfortunately, she had mislaid the address given her by Dick at parting, otherwise she might perhaps have been able to obtain tidings of Mrs. Cortelyon through the latter's uncle, the London tobacconist.
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1
fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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narrate
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| v.讲，叙述 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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surgical
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| adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的 | |
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factotum
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| n.杂役；听差 | |
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wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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dabbling
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| v.涉猎( dabble的现在分词 )；涉足；浅尝；少量投资 | |
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amateurish
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| n.业余爱好的，不熟练的 | |
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14
caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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15
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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ruffles
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| 褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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23
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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24
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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patrimony
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| n.世袭财产，继承物 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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progenitors
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| n.祖先( progenitor的名词复数 )；先驱；前辈；原本 | |
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30
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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proprietors
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| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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improvidence
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| n.目光短浅 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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39
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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40
demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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41
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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42
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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43
pittance
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| n.微薄的薪水，少量 | |
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44
adjure
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| v.郑重敦促(恳请) | |
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45
averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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47
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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48
shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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maelstrom
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| n.大乱动；大漩涡 | |
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50
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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51
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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52
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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53
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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54
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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58
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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61
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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brat
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| n.孩子；顽童 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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64
inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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65
monetary
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| adj.货币的，钱的；通货的；金融的；财政的 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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68
mouldering
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| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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69
tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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