For the space of a quarter of an hour he stood motionless as a rock.
"It is a serious case," he heard the doctor laugh.
"Very," Alice sighed. "And he will get well?"
"Yes—of course he'll get well, in a week at best."
"And you're not bored in this dreadful place? And are still willing to stay?"
"Bored? Ah—you have been so sweet to me, dear friend," he ventured.
"I?" she returned. "I have not been even charitable. Your gratefulness is almost pathetic."
For some moments neither spoke4. The still hunter stood his ground; he became part of the great hemlock5 beside him, his eyes riveted6 upon the man and woman. Now she dipped her hands in the cool, pure water, the doctor sitting close to her upon the edge of her skirt which she had spread for him, her trim feet placed firmly against a rock, the frou-frou of her petticoat framing her silken ankles.
"You see," she resumed at length, as if speaking to a spoiled child, "because you have been very, very good we are still friends—good friends—am I not right?"
"Yes," he confessed gloomily, irritated by her words. "And how long am
I to be your model friend?"
"Until you cease to be," she replied, smiling mischievously8 through her half-closed eyes.
"And then?" he asked eagerly.
"Then you may go home," she returned in a cool, delicious voice.
With an impatient gesture the doctor tossed his half-smoked cigarette into the stream. He shrugged9 his shoulders, gazing absently at the cigarette bobbing along in the current.
"You cast me off like that," he muttered gloomily, nodding to the cigarette. "Did you notice," he added, "how it still fought to burn?"
"And how quickly it sizzled and went out when it had to?" she laughed.
Impulsively10 he took her hand—a hand which she did not withdraw, for she was trembling. Slowly his face bent11 nearer her own, his words were sunk to a whisper, but in his eyes there gleamed the craving12 of her lips.
"Don't!" she protested, raising her free hand—"for God's sake don't! You shall not!"
"I must," he answered, hotly.
"You shall not," she replied. "I should only suffer—I am unhappy enough as it is," and she buried her face in her clenched13 hands, her shoulders quivering.
Even the quiver did not evade14 the eyes of the man stock still beside the hemlock; no detail of the drama that was being enacted15 beside the brook escaped him. He who could observe with ease the smashing of a moth's wing thirty rods from shore, possessed16 a clearness of vision akin7 to that of a hawk17. A bird fluttered in the underbrush near them.
"What was that?" she asked, with a guilty little start, withdrawing her hand.
"A bird—nothing more dangerous," he laughed outright18, amused at her fright.
Holcomb's features, as he gazed at them, were like bronze. His first thought, as he gazed out from his ambush19, had been Margaret's mother! His second thought was his dislike for Sperry. He watched half unwillingly20, with a feeling of mingled21 curiosity and disgust. He had not pried22 upon them; it was pure chance that had brought him where he was. At length he withdrew.
He was still thinking of the incident when he heard the brush crack ahead of him. Then the smug face of Blakeman emerged from a thicket23. It was the butler's afternoon off, and he was out after birds. He let down the hammers of his gun as Holcomb drew near.
"Any luck?" asked Holcomb.
The butler drew from the wide pocket of a well-worn leather hunting coat a pair of ruffled24 partridges.
"Good enough!" exclaimed Holcomb.
"'Twas a bit of devil's luck," returned Blakeman, dropping into his native brogue, which he always suppressed in service. "Both birds jumped back of me, but I got 'em."
"You're a good shot," declared Billy.
"No, my friend," replied Blakeman modestly, "I used to be a good shot; I'm only a lucky shot now. It's not often I make a double. Where have you been?"
"Over to look at some timber on the West Branch."
"I heard voices," Blakeman said, "full half an hour ago"—and he pointed25 in the direction from which Holcomb had come—"and did you see anybody?"
"Yes," said Holcomb, after a moment's thoughtful hesitation26, "I did."
"Whom?"
"Mrs. Thayor and the doctor, out for a walk."
"Of course," said Blakeman, looking queerly into Holcomb's eyes. "You saw them quite by chance, I'll wager27. You're not the kind of a lad to prowl on the edge of other people's affairs."
Holcomb did not reply. He was weighing in his mind the advisability of making a confidant of Blakeman against the wisdom of telling him nothing.
"When you know these people of the world as well as I do, my friend," continued Blakeman, as the two seated themselves to rest, "what you've just seen won't rob you of much sleep," and he laid his favourite gun tenderly upon a log. "The very last people in the world—women—whom you wouldn't suspect—are usually the ones. Most of them do as they please if they've enough money."
"Blakeman," exclaimed Holcomb, unable to contain himself longer, "the man whom you and I serve is my friend. Sam Thayor never did a mean thing in his life—he's not that kind. It's his daughter, too, whom I am thinking about. You've known them both as well as I do—longer in fact—"
"And far better," added Blakeman. "It is a pleasure to serve a master like Mr. Thayor, and Miss Margaret is as good as gold." He scraped the mud from his boots as he continued: "Didn't I serve an archduke once, who was a pig in his household and a damned idiot out of it?—but neither you nor me are getting to the point. What you really want to talk about is madam, and since I believe in you I intend to post you further. It may be the means of keeping two people happy who deserve to be, if nothing else."
"That's about what I was going to say," confessed Holcomb simply, drawn28 by the butler's frankness.
Blakeman smiled—a bitter smile that terminated with a sudden gleam in his eyes as he leaned forward.
"Last winter," he went on hurriedly, as he glanced at the setting sun, "I stumbled on them both just as you've done, only my trail led through the conservatory29 of the New York house. They were both hard pressed, do you see, for a way out; that's how I first knew about Mr. Thayor's intention to purchase this property."
"The telegram Mr. Thayor sent, you mean?"
"No—a letter. It meant separation to them. I saw her hand it to the doctor to read. Do you know what he did? He condemned30 Miss Margaret's lungs—told her mother the child had consumption. By God—I could have strangled him!"
Holcomb gripped the log on which he sat, staring grimly at the butler.
"Yes, ordered her here!" continued Blakeman. "That was their way out. Damn him! Ordered her here—winter and summer, knowing that her father would go along with her, and let the wife do as she pleased. It was damnable!"
There are two kinds of anger that seize a man—explosive and suppressed. Holcomb was now suffering under the latter—a subtle anger that would undoubtedly31 have meant serious injury to the immaculate Sperry had he been unlucky enough to have crossed his path at the moment.
As Blakeman, little by little, unfolded more of the doctor's villainy, Holcomb's muscles relaxed and his indignation, which had risen by degrees until it boiled within him, now settled to reason. He had not only Thayor's happiness to think of, but Margaret's as well. Both, he determined32, must be kept in ignorance of what, so far, only he and Blakeman knew.
"The morning the little fellow, Le Boeuf, got hurt," Blakeman went on, "the doctor took Miss Margaret for a walk. I was in the pantry and saw them start off together in the woods down by the brook. I followed them—I couldn't help it; I had a little girl myself once in the old country, and I've seen too much of Sperry's kind. Europe is full of them."
The tenseness in Holcomb returned. "What did you see?" he asked grimly.
"No more than I expected," returned the butler. "The doctor is a snake—and Miss Margaret is young and pretty; well—he would have kissed her—but I announced luncheon33."
Holcomb caught his breath. "And she was willing?" he asked, looking sternly at Blakeman.
"Willing! She was frightened to death."
Holcomb threw up his head with a jerk—his clenched fists rigid34 on the log.
"I'm telling you this," Blakeman went on, not waiting for him to reply, "because I believe you can help. I have always made it a rule in service to keep silent, no matter what passes in a family. I meddled35 once at Ostend in an affair of the like of this, and it taught me a lesson. There'll be trouble here if things go on like this—maybe later a divorce—and a divorce is the devil in a family like Mr. Thayor's. Neither you nor me want that; we must stand by the little girl and the master and avoid it."
"What do you intend to do?" inquired Holcomb, staring grimly at the ground.
"I'm going to give madame a chance—she's a fool, but she's not crooked36; that is, I don't think she is," Blakeman replied. "Then I'll speak out."
"Do you think Mr. Thayor suspects anything?" asked Holcomb, after a moment's hesitation.
"He's not that kind. I dare not tell him—never in the world would tell him. You might—he would listen to you. Butlers are seldom believed—I've tried it."
He gathered up the pair of fat partridges and stuffed them in his pocket.
"And you advise me to tell him?" asked Holcomb slowly.
"No," returned Blakeman, "I don't. It would go hard with him and Miss Margaret; he's had hell enough in his life already; he's happy now—so is Miss Margaret. It's not always you find two people happy in the same family." He buttoned the collar of his shooting coat about his neck, for the sun was burning below the edge of the forest and with its last rays the woods grew still and cold. "I propose to watch madame and find out whether she is bad or whether she's only losing her head," said Blakeman, as he rose to go. "Mind you do the same—mind you promise me you will."
Blakeman had lifted his mask. Holcomb saw in him no longer the suave37, trained domestic, but a man of intelligence—a man with a heart and a wide experience in a world which he as yet knew but little of.
"You can count on me," said Holcomb, as he straightened to his feet.
Blakeman rested his gun in the hollow of his arm.
"We must be going," he said, "or I shall be late for my table. Have you a short cut home in your memory?"
"Come on," said Holcomb, and the two disappeared in the thick timber.
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收听单词发音
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1
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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4
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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hemlock
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| n.毒胡萝卜，铁杉 | |
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6
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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8
mischievously
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| adv.有害地；淘气地 | |
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9
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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11
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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13
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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15
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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18
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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19
ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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20
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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21
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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22
pried
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| v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的过去式和过去分词 )；撬开 | |
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23
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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24
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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25
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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27
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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28
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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29
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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30
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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31
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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32
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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33
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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34
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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35
meddled
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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37
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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