A few days after Christmas, a party of the young men staying at Wodensbourne were bound upon a boating expedition, to decide some bet which bore remotely upon one of the greatest events of the University year—the great match between Oxford and Cambridge. Harry Frankland, who was an Oxford man, though the spires33 of Cambridge might almost have been visible from his father’s park, had there been any eminence34 high enough to afford a view, was deeply interested on the side of his own University; and some unfortunate youths belated at Cambridge during the holidays for want of friends, or money, or some other needful adjunct of festival-keeping, were but too glad to seize the opportunity of a day’s pleasure. Colin never knew how it was that he came to be asked to join the party. Though Harry’s jealousy was gone, for the moment at least, there was not even a pretence35 of friendship between the tutor and the heir. Nor could Colin ever explain how it was that he consented to go, for scores of objections naturally presented themselves at the first proposal. He was sensitive, affronted36, feeling deeply his false position, and ready to receive with suspicion any overtures37 of friendliness38 from any man possessed by a benevolent39 wish to be kind to the tutor. It was, however, his fate to go, and the preliminaries arranged themselves somehow. They started on a frosty bright morning, when the trees of the park were still only emerging from mists tinted40 red by the sunshine, a joyous41, rather noisy party; they were to walk to the river, which was about six miles off, and when their business was decided42, to lunch at a favourite haunt of the Cambridge undergraduates. Lady Frankland, who did not much approve of the expedition, gave them many counsels about the way. “I wish you would drive and get back by daylight,” she said; “otherwise I know you will be taking that path across the fields.{143}”
“What path?” said some one present; “if there is one specially43 objectionable we will be sure to take it.”
“I would not if I were you,” said Miss Matty. “There is a nasty canal in the way; if you pass it after dark, some of you will certainly fall in. It would be a pity to be drowned in such a slimy, shabby way. Much better have all sorts of dog-carts and things, and drive back in time for a cup of tea.”
At which speech there was a general laugh. “Matty would give her soul for a cup of tea,” said her cousin. “What a precious fright you’ll all be in if we’re late for dinner. I ought to know all about the canal by this time. Come along. It’s too cold to think of drowning,” said Harry Frankland, with a filial nod of leave-taking to his mother. As for Matty, she went to the door with them to see them go off, as did some others of the ladies. Matty lifted her pretty cheek sideways and stretched out her hand into the frosty atmosphere as if to feel for rain.
“I thought I saw some drops,” she said; “it would be frightful44 if it came on to rain now, and spoiled our chances of skating. Good morning, and, whatever you do, I beg of you don’t get drowned in the canal. It would be such a shabby way of making an end of one’s self,” said Matty. When she looked up she caught Colin’s eye, who was the last to leave the house. She was in the humour to be kind to him at that moment. “Shall I say good-bye, or farewell?” she said softly, with that confidential45 air which Colin, notwithstanding his new enlightenment, had no heart to resist.
“You shall say what you please,” said Colin, lingering on the step beside her. The young man was in a kind of desperate mood. Perhaps he liked to show his companions that he too could have his turn.
“Good-bye—farewell,” said Matty, “but then that implies shaking hands,” and she gave him her pretty hand with a little laugh, making it appear to the group outside that the clownish tutor had insisted upon that unnecessary ceremony. “But whatever you please to say, I like au revoir best,” said Miss Matty; “it does not even suggest parting.” And she waved her hand as she turned away. “Till we meet again,” said the little enchantress. It might be to him especially, or it might be to all, that she made this little gesture of farewell. Anyhow, Colin followed the others with indescribable sensations. He no longer believed in her, but her presence, her looks, her words, had still mastery over him. Ha had walked half the way before the fumes46 of that leave-taking had gone out of his brain; though{144} most part of the time he was keeping up a conversation about things in general with the stupidest of the party, who kept pertinaciously47 by the tutor’s side.
The day went off with considerable satisfaction to all the party, and, as Colin and Frankland did not come much in contact, there was little opportunity for displaying the spirit of opposition48 and contradiction which existed between them. Fortunately, Colin was not at hand to hear Harry’s strictures upon his method of handling the oars49, nor did Frankland perceive the smile of contemptuous recollection which came upon the tutor’s face as he observed how tenderly the heir of Wodensbourne stepped into the boat, keeping clear of the wet as of old. “That fellow has not a bit of science,” said young Frankland; “he expects mere52 strength to do everything. Look how he holds his oar50. It never occurs to him that he is in anything lighter53 than a Highland54 fishing cobble. What on earth, I wonder, made us bring him here?”
“Science goes a great way,” said the most skilled oarsman of the party, “but I’d like to have the training of Campbell all the same. He talks of going to Balliol, and I shall write to Cox about him. What a chest the fellow has,” said the admiring spectator. Meanwhile Colin had not hesitated to explain his smile.
“I smile because I recollect51 smiling years ago,” said Colin. “See how Frankland steps into the boat. When he was a boy he did the same. I remember it, and it amused me; for wet feet were a new idea to me in those days;” and Colin laughed outright55, and the eyes of the two met. Neither knew what the other had been saying, but the spectators perceived without more words that the young men were not perfectly safe companions for each other, and took precautions, with instinctive56 comprehension of the case.
“Those two don’t get on,” said one of the party, under his breath. “It is hard upon a fellow, you know, to have another fellow stuck up at his side who saved his life, and that sort of thing. I shouldn’t like it myself. Somebody keep an eye on Frankland—and on the Scotch fellow, too,” said the impartial57 peace-maker. Luckily, neither of the two who were thus put under friendly surveillance was at all aware of the fact, and Colin submitted with as good a grace as possible to the constant companionship of the stupidest and best-humoured of the party, who had already bestowed his attentions and society upon the tutor. This state of things, however, did not endure after the luncheon58, at which{145} it was not possible for Colin to remain a merely humble59 spectator and sharer of the young men’s entertainment. He had not been broken in to such duty; and, excited by exercise and the freedom round him, Colin could no more help talking than he could help the subsequent discovery made by his companions that “the Scotch fellow” was very good company. The young men spent—as was to be expected—a much longer time over their lunch than was at all necessary; and the short winter day was just over when they set out on their way home through the evening mists, which soon deepened into darkness, very faintly lighted by a few doubtful stars. Everybody declared, it is true, that there was to be a moon; indeed, it was with the distinct understanding that there was to be a moon that the party had started on foot from Wodensbourne. But the moon showed herself lamentably60 indifferent to the arrangements which depended on her. She gave not the least sign of appearing anywhere in that vast, windy vault61 of sky, which indeed had a little light in itself, but could spare scarcely any to show the wayfarers62 where they were going through the dreary63 wintry road and between the rustling64 leafless hedges. When they got into the fields matters grew rather worse. It was hard to keep the path, harder still to find the stiles and steer65 through gaps and ditches. The high road made a round which would lead them three or four miles out of their way, and Frankland insisted upon his own perfect knowledge of the by-way by which they could reach Wodensbourne in an hour. “Mind the canal we were warned of this morning,” suggested one of the party, as they paused in the dark at the corner of a black field to decide which way they should go. “Oh, confound the canal; as if I didn’t know every step of the way,” said young Frankland. “It’s a settled principle in the female mind that one is bent66 upon walking into canals whenever one has an opportunity. Come along; if you’re afraid, perhaps Campbell will show you the other way.”
“Certainly,” said Colin, without the least hesitation67. “I have no wish to walk into the canal, for my part;” upon which there was a universal protest against parting company. “Come along,” said one, who thrust his arm through Colin’s as he spoke68, but who was no longer the stupid member of the party, “we’ll all take our chance together;” but he kept the tutor as far as possible from the heir of Wodensbourne. “Frankland and you don’t seem to get on,” said Colin’s companion; “yet he’s a very nice fellow when you come to know{146} him. I suppose you most have had some misunderstanding, eh? Wasn’t it you who saved his life?”
“I never saved any one’s life,” said Colin, a little sharply; “and we get on well enough—as well as is necessary. We have no call to see much of each other.” After this they all went on through the dark as well as they could, getting into difficulties now and then, sometimes collecting together in a bewildered group at a stile or turning, and afterwards streaming on in single file—a succession of black figures which it was impossible to identify except by their voices. Certainly they made noise enough. What with shouts from the beginning to the end of the file, what with bursts of song which came occasionally from one or another or were taken up in uproarious chorus, the profound stillness which enveloped69 and surrounded them was compelled to own their human presence to the ear at least. In the natural course of their progress Colin and his immediate70 companion had got nearly to the front, when the laughter and noise was suddenly interrupted. “I don’t quite see where we are going,” said Harry. “Stop a bit; I shouldn’t mind going on myself, but I don’t want to risk you fellows who are frightened for canals. Look here; the road ought to have gone on at this corner, but here’s nothing but a hedge. Keep where you are till I look out. There’s a light over there, but I can’t tell what’s between.”
“Perhaps it’s the canal,” said some one behind.
“Oh, yes, of course it’s the canal,” said Frankland, with irritation71. “You stand back till I try; if I fall in, it’s my own fault, which will be a consolation72 to my friends,” cried the angry guide. He started forward impatiently, not, however, without being closely followed by two or three, among whom was Colin.
“Don’t be foolish, Frankland,” said one voice in the darkness; “let us all go together—let us be cautious. I feel something like gravel73 under my feet. Steady, steady; feel with your foot before you put it down. Oh! good heavens, what is it?” The voice broke off abruptly74; a loud splash and a cry ensued, and the young men behind saw the figures in advance of them suddenly drop and disappear. It was the canal, upon which they had been making unawares. Two out of the four had only stumbled on the bank, and rose up again immediately; and as those behind, afraid to press forward, not knowing what to do, stood watching appalled75, another and another figure scrambled76 up with difficulty, calling for help, out of the water,{147} into which they had not, however, plunged77 deeply enough to peril78 their lives. Then there was a terrible momentary79 pause.
“Are we all here?” said Colin. His voice sounded like a funeral bell pealing80 through the darkness. Hehe knew they were not all there. He, with his keen eyes, rendered keener by opposition and enmity, had seen beyond mistake that the first of all went down and had not risen again. The consciousness made his voice tragic81 as it rang through the darkness. Somebody shouted, “Yes, yes, thank God!” in reply. It was only a second, but years of life rolled up upon Colin in that moment of time—years of sweet troublous existence behind; years of fair life before. Should he let him die? It was not his fault; nobody could blame him. And what right had he to risk his life a second time for Harry Frankland? All that a murderer, all that a martyr82 could feel rushed through Colin’s mind in that instant of horrible indecision. Then somebody said, “Frankland, Frankland! where is Frankland?” That voice was the touch of fate. With a strange shout, of which he was unconscious, Colin plunged into the black invisible stream. By this time the others of the party saw with unspeakable relief lights approaching, and heard through the darkness voices of men coming to their assistance. They were close by one of the locks of the canal; and it was the keeper of it, not unused to such accidents, who came hurrying to give what help was possible. His lantern and some torches which the anxious young men managed to light threw a wild illumination over the muddy, motionless stream, in which two of their number, lately as gay and light-hearted as any, were now struggling for their life. The same light flared83 horribly over the two motionless figures, which, after an interval84 which seemed like years to the bystanders, were at length brought out of the blackness; one of them still retaining strength and consciousness to drag the other with him up the stony85 margin86 before his senses failed. They lay silent both, with pallid87 faces, upon the hard path; one as like death as the other, with a kind of stony, ghostly resemblance in their white insensibility, except that there was blood on the lips of one, who must have struck, the lockman said, upon some part of the lock. They were carried into the cottage, and hurried messengers sent to the nearest doctor and to Wodensbourne. Meanwhile the two lay together, pallid and motionless, nobody knowing which was living and which dead.
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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relinquishment
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| n.放弃；撤回；停止 | |
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4
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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bartered
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| v.作物物交换，以货换货( barter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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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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10
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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11
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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13
expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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deluded
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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observatory
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| n.天文台，气象台，瞭望台，观测台 | |
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refractory
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| adj.倔强的，难驾驭的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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affronted
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| adj.被侮辱的，被冒犯的v.勇敢地面对( affront的过去式和过去分词 )；相遇 | |
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overtures
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| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
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friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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43
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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44
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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45
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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46
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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47
pertinaciously
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| adv.坚持地；固执地；坚决地；执拗地 | |
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48
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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49
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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50
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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51
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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52
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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53
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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54
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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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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56
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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57
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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58
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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59
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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lamentably
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| adv.哀伤地，拙劣地 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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wayfarers
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| n.旅人，（尤指）徒步旅行者( wayfarer的名词复数 ) | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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65
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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68
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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69
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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73
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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74
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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75
appalled
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| 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 | |
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76
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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77
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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78
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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79
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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80
pealing
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的现在分词 ) | |
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81
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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82
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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83
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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84
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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85
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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86
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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87
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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