Blythe fell asleep with the sound of creaking timbers in her ears, as the good ship strained against the rising sea, and when the clear note of the cornet, playing the morning hymn2, roused her from her dreams, the roaring of wind and waves sent her thoughts with a shock of pity to the little steerage passenger shut up below. For with such a sea as this the waves must be sweeping3 the lower deck, and there could be no release for the poor little prisoner.
“Vhy you not report that veather from the lookout4?” the Captain asked with mock severity as Blythe appeared at the breakfast table.
The racks were on, and the knives and forks had begun their time-honoured minuet within their funny little fences. The amateur “lookout” glanced across the table at her friend and ally the poet, who nodded encouragingly as she answered:
“Oh, we knew the Captain knew all about it!”
“You think de Capit?n know pretty much eferything, wie es scheint!” was the 25 reply, uttered in so deep a guttural that Blythe knew the old Viking did not take very seriously the “bit of weather” that seemed to her so violent. In fact, he owned as much before he had finished his second cup of coffee.
Yet when she came up the companionway after breakfast, she found a stout5 rope stretched across the deck from stanchion to stanchion to hold on by, the steamer chairs all tied fast to the rail that runs around the deckhouse, and every preparation made for rough weather.
It was not what a sailor would have called a storm, but the sea was changed enough from the smiling calm of yesterday. Not many passengers were on deck, half a dozen, only, reclining in their chairs in the lee of the deckhouse, close reefed in their heavy wraps; while here and there a pair of indefatigable6 promenaders lurched and slid along the heaving deck arm in arm, or clung to any chance support in a desperate effort to keep their footing.
Blythe had to buffet8 her way lustily as 26 she turned a corner to windward. Holding her golf-cape close about her and jamming her felt hat well down on her head, she made her way to the narrow passageway forward of the wheel-house where one looks down into the steerage. The waves were dashing across the deck, which was deserted9 excepting for one or two dark-browed men crouched10 under shelter of the forecastle.
There was a light, drizzling11 rain, and now and then the spray struck against her face. Blythe looked up at the “crow’s nest,” which was describing strange geometrical figures against the sky. The lookouts12 in their oil-coats did not seem in the least to mind their erratic13 passage through space. She wished it were eight-bells and time for them to change watch; it was always such fun to see them running up the ladder, hand over hand, their quick, monkey-like figures silhouetted14 against the sky.
How nobly the great ship forged ahead against an angry sea, climbing now to the crest15 of a big wave, and giving a long, 27 shuddering16 shake of determination before plunging17 down into a black, swirling18 hollow! And how the wind and the waters bellowed19 together!
The Captain was on the bridge in his rubber coat and sou’-wester. He had said this would not last long, and he had stopped for a second cup of coffee before leaving the table. All the same, Blythe would not have ventured to accost20 him now, even if he had passed her way.
Presently she returned under shelter of the awning21 and let Gustav tuck her up in her chair to dry off. And Mr. DeWitt came and sat down beside her and instructed her in the delectable22 game of “Buried Cities,” in which she became speedily so proficient23 that, taking her cue from the lettering on one of the lifeboats, she discovered the city of Bremen lying “buried” in “the sombre menace of the sea!”
After a while, Gustav appeared before them, bearing a huge tray of bouillon and sandwiches, with which he was striking the most eccentric angles; and Blythe 28 discovered that she was preposterously24 hungry. And while her nose was still buried in her cup, she espied25 over its rim26 a pair of legs planted well apart, in the cause of equilibrium27, and the big, pleasant voice of Mr. Grey made itself heard above wind and sea, saying, “Guess where I’ve been.”
“In the smoking-room,” was the prompt reply.
“Guess again.”
“On the bridge,—only you wouldn’t dare!”
“Once more.”
“Oh, I know,” Blythe cried, setting her thick cup down on the deck, and tumbling off her chair in a snarl28 of steamer-rugs; “You’ve been down in the steerage finding out about the little Signorina!”
“Who told you?”
“You did! You looked so pleased with yourself! Oh, do tell me all about her!”
“Well, I’ve had a long talk with the woman. Shall we walk up and down?”
And off they went, with that absence of ceremony which characterises life on 29 shipboard, leaving Mr. DeWitt to bury his cities all unaided and unapplauded. Then, as the two walked up and down,—literally up and down, for the ship was pitching a bit, and sometimes they were labouring up-hill, and sometimes they were running down a steep incline,—as they walked up and down Mr. Grey told his story.
The woman, Giuditta, had confided29 to him all she knew, and he had surmised30 more. Giuditta had known the family only since the time, three years ago, when she had been called in to take care of the little Cecilia during the illness of the Signora. The father had been a handsome good-for-nothing, who had got shot in a street row in that quarter of New York known as “Little Italy.” He was nothing,—niente, niente;—but the Signora! Oh, if the gentleman could but have known the Signora, so beautiful, so patient, so sad! Giuditta had stayed with her and shared her fortunes, which were all, alas31! misfortunes,—and had nursed her through a long decline. But never 30 a word had she told of her own origin,—the beautiful Signora,—nor had her father’s name ever passed her lips. Had she known that she was dying, perhaps then, for the child’s sake, she might have forgotten her pride. But she was always thinking she should get well,—and then, one day, she died!
There was very little left,—only a few dollars; but among the squalid properties of the pitiful little stage where the poor young thing had enacted32 the last act of her tragedy, was one picture, a Madonna, with the painter’s name, G. Bellini, just decipherable. It was a little picture, twelve inches by sixteen, in a dingy33 old frame, and not a pretty picture at that. But a kind man, a dealer34 in antiquities35, had given Giuditta one hundred dollars for it. “Think of that, Signore! One hundred dollars for an ugly little black picture no bigger than that!”
“I suppose,” Mr. Grey remarked, as they stood balancing themselves at an angle of many degrees,—“I suppose that the picture was genuine,—else the man 31 would hardly have paid one hundred dollars for it.”
“And would it be worth more than that?”
“A trifle,” he replied, rather grimly. “Somewhere among the thousands.”
“But why should they have kept such a picture when they were so poor? Why didn’t they sell it?”
“That would hardly have occurred to them. It was evidently a family heirloom that the girl had taken with her because she loved it. I doubt if she guessed its value. A Bellini! A Giovanni Bellini, in a New York tenement36 house! Think of it! And now I suppose some millionaire has got it. Likely enough somebody who doesn’t know enough to buy his own pictures! Horrible idea! Horrible!” and Mr. Grey strode along, all but snorting with rage at the thought.
“But tell me more about the little girl,” Blythe entreated37, wishing the wind wouldn’t blow her words out of her mouth so rudely. “Her name is Cecilia, you say?” 32
“Yes; Cecilia. Dopo is the name they went by, but the nurse doesn’t think it genuine. Her idea is that her Signora was the daughter of some great family, and got herself disowned by marrying an opera singer who subsequently made a fiasco and dropped his name with his fame. She doesn’t think Dopo ever was a family name. It means ‘after,’ you know, and they may have adopted it for its ironical38 significance.”
“And the poor lady died and never told!” Blythe panted, as they toiled39 painfully up-hill with the rain beating in their faces.
“Yes, and—look out! hold tight!” for suddenly the slant40 of the deck was reversed, and they came coasting down to an impromptu41 seat on a bench.
“It seems,” Mr. Grey went on, when they had resumed their somewhat arduous42 promenade7,—“it seems the woman, Giuditta, is quite alone in the world and has been longing43 to get back to Italy. So she easily persuaded herself that she could find the child’s family and establish her in 33 high life. Giuditta has an uncommonly44 high idea of high life,” he added. “I think she imagines that somebody in a court train and a coronet will come to meet her Signorina at the pier45 in Genoa. Poor things! There’ll be a rude awakening46!”
“But we won’t let it be rude!” Blythe protested. “We must do something about it. Can’t you think of anything to do?”
They were standing47 now, clinging to the friendly rope stretched across the deck, shoulder high.
“Giuditta’s plan,” Mr. Grey replied, “is the na?ve one of appealing to the Queen about it. And, seriously, I think it may be worth while to ask the American Minister to make inquiries48. For there is, of course, a bare chance that the family may be known at Court. In the meantime––”
“In the meantime,” Blythe interposed, “we’ve got to get her out of the steerage!”
“But how?”
“Oh, Mamma will arrange that. We’ll just make a cabin passenger of her, and I 34 can take her in with me in my stateroom. Oh! how happy she will be, lying in my steamer chair, with that dear Gustav to wait on her! I must go down at once and get Mamma to say yes!”
“And you think she will?”
“I know she will! She is always doing nice things. If you really knew her you wouldn’t doubt it!” And with that the young optimist49 vanished in her accustomed whirl of golf-cape.
If faith can move mountains, it is perhaps no wonder that the implicit50 and energetic faith of which Blythe Halliday was possessed51 proved equal to the removal of a small child from one quarter to another of the big ship. The three persons concerned in bringing about the change were easily won over; for Mrs. Halliday was quite of Blythe’s mind in the matter, Mr. Grey had little difficulty in bringing the Captain to their point of view, while, as for Giuditta, she hailed the event as the first step in the transformation52 of her small Signorina into the little “great lady” she was born to be. 35
Accordingly, close upon luncheon53 time, when the sun was just breaking through the clouds, and the sea, true to the Captain’s prediction, was already beginning to subside54, the tiny Signorina was carried, in the strong arms of Gustav, up the steep gangway by the wheel-house, where Blythe and her mother, Mr. DeWitt and the poet, to say nothing of Captain Seemann himself, formed an impromptu reception committee for her little ladyship.
As the child was set on her feet at the head of the gangway, she turned to throw a kiss down upon her faithful Giuditta, and then, without the slightest hesitation55, she placed her hand in Blythe’s, and walked away with her.
That evening there was a dance on board the Lorelei; for it had been but the fringe of a storm which they had crossed, and the sea was again taking on its long, easy swell56.
The deck presented a festal appearance for the occasion. Rows of Japanese lanterns were strung from side to side against the white background of awning and deckhouse, 36 and the flags of many nations lent their gay colours to the pretty scene. The ship’s orchestra was in its element, playing with a “go” and rhythm which seemed caught from the pulsing movement of the ship itself.
As Blythe, with Mr. DeWitt, who had been a famous dancer in his day, led off the Virginia Reel, she wondered how it would strike the sailors of a passing brig,—this gay apparition57 of light and music, riding the great, dark, solemn sea.
The dance itself was rather a staid, middle-aged58 affair, for Blythe was the only young girl on board, and none but the youngest or the surest-footed could put much spirit into a dance where the law of gravitation was apparently59 changing base from moment to moment. Blythe and her partner, however, took little account of the moving floor beneath their feet, or the hesitating demeanour of their companions. One after another, even the most reluctant and self-distrustful of the revellers found themselves caught up into active participation60 in the figure. 37
In a quiet corner of the deck sat Mrs. Halliday, with little Cecilia beside her, snugly61 stowed away in a nest of steamer-rugs; for they could not bear to take her below, out of the fresh, invigorating air. Their little guest spoke62 hardly any English, but, although Mrs. Halliday was under the impression that she herself spoke Italian, the child seemed more conversable in Blythe’s company than in that of any one else, not excepting Mr. Grey, about whose linguistic63 accomplishments64 there could be no question.
Accordingly when, the Virginia Reel being finished, Blythe came and sat on the foot of the little girl’s chair, they fell into an animated65 conversation, each in her own tongue. And presently, during a pause in the music, the Italian Count chanced to pass their way, and, stopping in his solitary66 promenade, appeared to give ear to their talk.
Suddenly he stooped, and, looking into the animated face of the child, inquired in his own tongue; “What is thy name, little one?” 38
But when the pure, liquid, childish voice answered “Cecilia Dopo,” he merely lifted his hat and, bowing ceremoniously, passed on.
Mr. Grey, who had watched the little scene from a distance, joined the group a moment later and, taking a vacant chair beside Mrs. Halliday, remarked:
“I think we shall have to cultivate the old gentleman. He might be induced to lend a hand in behalf of this young person. They are both Florentines,” he added, thoughtfully, “and Florentine society is not large.”
“Then you really believe the nurse is right about the child?” Mrs. Halliday asked.
“Oh, I shouldn’t dare say that the mother was a great lady,” he returned; “but there is certainly something high-bred about the little thing.”
“They often have that air,” Mrs. Halliday demurred,—“even the beggar children.”
“Yes; to our eyes. But, do you know, I rather think the Italians themselves can 39 tell the difference. I would rather trust Giuditta’s judgment67 than my own. Besides,” he added, after a long pause, during which he had been watching the expressive68 face of the child. “Besides,—there’s that Giovanni Bellini. That sort of thing doesn’t often stray into low society.”
At this juncture69 the tall Italian moved again into their neighbourhood, and stood, at a point where the awning had been drawn70 back, gazing, with a preoccupied71 air, out to sea.
Rising from his seat, Mr. Grey approached him, remarking abruptly72, and with a jerk of the head toward Cecilia, “Florentine, is she not?”
“Sicuro,” was the grave reply; upon which the Count moved away, to be seen no more that evening.
As the Englishman rejoined them after this laconic73 interview, Blythe greeted him with a new theory.
“Do you know,” she said, “I used to think the Count was haughty74 and disagreeable, but I have changed my mind.” 40
“That only shows how susceptible75 you good Republicans are to any sign of attention from the nobility,” was the teasing reply.
“Perhaps you are right,” Blythe returned, with the fair-mindedness which distinguished76 her. “You know I never saw a titled person before, excepting one red-headed English Lord, who hadn’t any manners. I’ve often thought I should like, of all things, to know a King or Queen really well!”
“You don’t say so!” Mr. Grey laughed. “And what’s your opinion now, of the old gentleman, since he deigned77 to interrupt your conversation?”
“I believe he is unhappy.”
“What makes you think so?”
“There’s an unhappy look away back in his eyes. I never looked in before,—and then––”
“And then––?”
“There’s something about his voice.”
“Yes; Tuscan, you know.”
“Oh, is that it? Well, any way, I like him!” 41
“If that’s the case, perhaps you could make better headway with him than I.”
“But I don’t speak Italian.”
“Perhaps you speak French.”
“I know my conjugations,” was the modest admission.
“And I’m sure he would be enchanted78 to hear them,” Mr. Grey laughed, as the orchestra struck into the familiar music of the Lancers, causing him to beat a retreat into the smoking-room.
And while Blythe danced gaily79 and heartily80 with a boy somewhat younger than herself, and not quite as tall, her little protégée fell into a deep sleep. And presently, the dance being over, the faithful Gustav carried her down to Blythe’s stateroom, where she was snugly tucked away in the gently rocking cradle of the lower berth81.
As for Blythe, thus relegated82 to the upper berth, she entered promptly83 into an agreeable dreamland, where she found herself speaking Italian fluently, and where she discovered, to her extreme satisfaction, that the Queen of Italy was her bosom84 friend!
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1
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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drizzling
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| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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lookouts
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| n.寻找（ 某人/某物）( lookout的名词复数 )；是某人（自己）的问题；警戒；瞭望台 | |
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erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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accost
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| v.向人搭话，打招呼 | |
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awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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proficient
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| adj.熟练的，精通的；n.能手，专家 | |
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preposterously
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espied
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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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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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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dealer
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antiquities
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| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
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tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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impromptu
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arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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standing
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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optimist
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| n.乐观的人，乐观主义者 | |
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implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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54
subside
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| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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participation
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| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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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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linguistic
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| adj.语言的，语言学的 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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70
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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preoccupied
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| 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) | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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deigned
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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81
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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relegated
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| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
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83
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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84
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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