Earlier in the day--before breakfast, indeed--they had told each other sadly and for the last time, as if their courage needed stimulating3 by reiterated4 assurances, that a certain revelation must no longer be delayed. It had been Matthew's--their dead brother's--wish that Ethel should be told on her nineteenth birthday, and with them his wishes had always been law. And yet it was a grievous thing to have to do. It seemed to them that after to-day "the child," as they still continued to call Ethel between themselves, could never regard them with quite the same eyes as heretofore. Very downcast they looked as they sat there on the ottoman, side by side, waiting for the timepiece to chime the hour of noon.
They were tall fair women, thin without being in the least degree angular; with blue eyes, rather long straight noses, and a slight droop5 at the corners of the mouth, which, when they were not engaged in conversation, lent them an habitually6 pensive7 air, although, in reality, they could be sprightly8 enough on occasion. When younger they had been noted9 for their lovely pink-and-white complexions10, and their cheeks still retained the delicate ivory clearness of an arum lily. If one had been asked to sum up in the fewest possible words the predominant expression of the twin sisters--so strangely alike and yet not without discernible points of difference--one would have said that it was a mixture in equal parts of sweetness and goodness, and, in so saying, one would not have been far wrong. How it had come to pass that two such women--or neither of them--had never married, was one of those delicate problems which no mere11 bystander is justified12 in trying to solve. That they themselves could have told the reason why, had they chosen to do so, is scarcely to be doubted.
On the centre table stood a quaintly13 carved ebony casket, clamped with silver and having a silver plate let into the lid, on which, in Old English characters, was engraved14 the monogram15, "M. T." Tamsin had brought it in and placed it there a few minutes before the entrance of the sisters.
Scarcely had the timepiece chimed the last stroke of twelve when the door opened and Ethel entered the room. Miss Matilda rose and, crossing to her, embraced her tenderly, an example which was at once followed by Miss Jane. This ceremonious greeting, taken in conjunction with her aunts' "robes of state," and the presence of the ebony casket, which she had never seen opened, but which, as long as she could remember, had been known to her as the depository of Uncle Matthew's papers, all sufficed to convince the girl that some momentous16 occasion was at hand. Her cheeks paled perceptibly and her limbs began to tremble. Then she drew in her breath, called herself a coward, and asked herself what she had to fear. A moment or two she stood, and then she seated herself in the pretty fancy-chair which she called her own. It had been her Aunt Jane's gift on her sixteenth birthday.
"My dear child," began Miss Matilda--and then she was compelled to pause for a few seconds before she could continue--"My dear child," she repeated, "your Aunt Jane and I have asked you to meet us in order that we may reveal to you certain circumstances connected with your early history of which you have heretofore been kept purposely in ignorance, but which it was the desire of our dear brother should be made known to you on your nineteenth birthday. That day has now arrived, and we are here in order to carry out our brother's wishes."
Miss Matilda paused again, and glanced at her sister, who responded by an encouraging nod, as much as to say, "Very nicely put, indeed." Miss Matilda resumed:
"My dear Ethel, you have been brought up to call my sister and me by the title of Aunt--and very sweet, as coming from your lips, it has sounded in our ears--and to the world at large you have passed as our niece. But the time has now come when the truth must no longer be withheld17 from you. My child, you are not our niece, nor any relative whatsoever18. It grieves me to the heart to have to tell you this."
Here the spinster's voice quavered and broke; she turned away her face. Miss Jane was biting her underlip in an effort to keep down her emotion; one of her hands stole out and clasped a hand of her sister.
A low, inarticulate cry broke from Ethel. It was the cry of one not merely wounded, but stunned19. She half rose from her chair and then sat down again and stared from one to the other, her eyes saying for her that which her lips were powerless to utter. Then all in a moment her tongue was loosened as if a cord had been cut. An instant later she was on her knees in front of the sisters, pressing a hand of each "Then, if you are not my aunts, whose child am I?" she cried aloud.
It was a quarter of an hour later. The sisters had mingled20 their tears with Ethel's. They had petted and made much of her till some measure of composure had come back to her. She knew that she had not yet been told all there was to tell; there was more to follow; but no second shock could equal the first. The worst was known to her; it could matter little---or so just then it seemed to her--what still remained to be told.
Presently Miss Matilda resumed her interrupted narrative21.
"Many years ago--between nineteen and twenty, in point of fact--my brother Matthew, by the death of a half-cousin who had made his home in the United States, came in for a considerable legacy22 in the shape of landed property in that country. As a consequence, Matthew deemed it necessary that he should go out there in order to look after his interests, and he kindly23 offered to take my sister and me with him for a holiday. To this day Jane and I look back to that journey as the one great event of our lives. We remained in the States about three months, during which time we saw much, both of the country and the people. In the hope that the longer sea voyage would prove beneficial to my brother's health, we came back by a sailing vessel24 named The Pandora, instead of by steamer, as on our outward journey. It was in the course of our return voyage that certain events happened in connection with you, my dear child, having an important bearing on your future; an account of which, later on, and when he felt that his time in this world was growing short, my brother embodied25 in the form of a written statement, which was placed by him in his ebony casket and the same given into the custody26 of myself and sister a few hours before he breathed his last. It is that statement which I shall now proceed to place in your hands and which it has become your duty to open and read."
As she finished speaking, Miss Matilda rose and having selected one of the keys which hung from her chatelaine, proceeded to unlock and open the casket, which proved to be full of legal-looking documents--deeds, securities and what not. From underneath27 these she presently drew forth28 an oblong envelope which she handed to Ethel. It was fastened on one side with a large red seal and on the other was endorsed29, "To my adopted Niece. To be opened by her on her nineteenth birthday, or sooner should my sisters deem it advisable.--M. T."
Ethel's hands trembled in spite of her. She looked at Miss Matilda with a pitiful smile. "Will not you open it and read it for me, dear aunt--if"--with a little sigh--"I may still be allowed to call you by that name?"
"My child, it is your place, nay30, your duty, to open it and read what you will find written therein;" adding, with a touch of that old-fashioned phraseology which became her so well: "And I have never yet found my Ethel unresponsive to the call of duty."
Ethel said no more, but at once broke the seal and drew forth the enclosure, which consisted of a double sheet of letter paper closely covered with writing in a bold, masculine hand. The sisters, sitting bolt upright, one mittened31 hand laid across the other, looked on in silence. Having laid aside the envelope and straightened out the enclosure, Ethel said to Miss Matilda: "Do you wish me to read it aloud?"
"My dear, that is entirely32 a matter for your own judgment33. My sister and I are already cognisant of the contents, our brother having permitted us to peruse34 the paper previously36 to sealing it up."
"Still, I think I should prefer to read it aloud."
"As you please, my love."
A faint wintry smile lighted up the faces of the sisters. It was perhaps because they were so sad at heart that they smiled. It is a way their sex sometimes have.
Without further preface Ethel began to read:--
"My Dear Child,--When these lines meet your eye the hand that penned them will be dust.
"Having reason to feel assured that my remaining span of life will be a brief one, I have deemed it best, in your interests, and with a view to any contingencies37 which may arise in the future, to draw up a clear and succinct38 statement of the circumstances which first served to bring you under the notice of my sisters and myself, and led to our taking charge of you, temporarily, as we thought at the time, and ultimately to your adoption39 by us.
"In the autumn of the year 18-- my sisters and I, after a brief sojourn40 in the United States, took passage on our return voyage from New York to London by the clipper ship Pandora. There were not more than a score of passengers in addition to ourselves, but among them was a certain Mrs. Montmorenci-Vane, with her child, a baby about six months old. Her nursemaid, according to her account, having deserted41 her within an hour or two of her coming on board, she engaged a young woman from among the steerage passengers to look after her child during the voyage. Unfortunately, when the voyage was about half accomplished42, Mrs. Montmorenci-Vane fell overboard one dark night and was lost. There was no one on the Pandora who knew anything about her; she was a complete stranger to every one. In this state of affairs, my sisters, who had their maid Tamsin with them, took upon themselves the care of the drowned woman's babe for the rest of the voyage, in the expectation that some one would meet the ship on its arrival--some relative or friend--into whose hands they could transfer it.
"In point of fact, when the Pandora reached the London Dock it was met by a thin, shabbily-dressed, consumptive-looking man, who had come to inquire for his sister, one Martha Griggs. There was no such person on board, but, by means of a photograph, he recognised his sister in the Mrs. Montmorenci-Vane, who had fallen overboard. Never did I see a man more utterly43 dumfounded than he. His sister had been unmarried. Only a few months before she had gone out to the States as maid to a wealthy lady, who, a little later, had died there. She had written to her brother that she was coming home by the Pandora, and had asked him to meet the ship. But as to why she had chosen to call herself Mrs. Montmorenci-Vane, why she had gone to the extravagance of paying for a cabin passage, and whence she had obtained the child she passed off on board as her own, he professed44 himself as being utterly unable to comprehend. That the man's wonder and amazement45 were genuine it was impossible to doubt.
"He was a poor man, he averred46, with a family of his own, and he would have nothing to do with his sister's child, which, according to his account, was not hers at all. For anything he cared, it might go to the workhouse. He went away like a dazed man, with a promise that he would call on me the next morning; but he failed to do so, and I have never set eyes on him from that day to this.
"That the child thus strangely thrown on our hands should be committed to the tender mercies of the workhouse was not to be thought of. For the time being it was put out to nurse, where my sisters were satisfied that it would be well cared for. When, a couple of years later, they went to reside permanently47 at St. Oswyth's, they took the child with them, they having decided48 to adopt it; and, in order that the tongue of idle rumour49 and scandal might have no cause to wag, at my persuasion50 they consented to the innocent ruse35 of passing the girl off to the world as their niece.
"I need scarcely add that you, my dear Ethel, are the child in question.
"In these few lines are summed up the whole of the facts bearing upon your early history which are known to my sisters and myself. I may, however, be allowed to record my firm belief that the person who called herself Mrs. Montmorenci-Vane was not your mother. That, after this length of time, the mystery of your birth and parentage will ever be cleared up, seems to me exceedingly doubtful; but even should such prove to be the case, who shall venture to say that the knowledge has not been withheld from you for some wise purpose. That, should you be spared, you will grow up to be a comfort and a blessing51 to those who have made their home your home, and that you will return them love for love, I feel fully52 assured.
"Matthew Thursby."
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1
enacting
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的现在分词 ) | |
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2
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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4
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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5
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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6
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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7
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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8
sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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9
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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10
complexions
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| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
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11
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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12
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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13
quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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14
engraved
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| 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） | |
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15
monogram
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| n.字母组合 | |
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16
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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17
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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18
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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19
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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20
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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21
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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22
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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23
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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24
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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25
embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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26
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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27
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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28
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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29
endorsed
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| vt.& vi.endorse的过去式或过去分词形式v.赞同( endorse的过去式和过去分词 )；在（尤指支票的）背面签字；在（文件的）背面写评论；在广告上说本人使用并赞同某产品 | |
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30
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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31
mittened
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| v.（使）变得潮湿，变得湿润( moisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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33
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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34
peruse
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| v.细读，精读 | |
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35
ruse
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| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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36
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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37
contingencies
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| n.偶然发生的事故，意外事故( contingency的名词复数 )；以备万一 | |
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38
succinct
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| adj.简明的，简洁的 | |
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39
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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40
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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41
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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42
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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43
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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44
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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45
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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46
averred
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| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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47
permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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48
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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49
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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50
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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51
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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52
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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