‘That’s all right. We’ve done with her. It was better to pay the cab for her, else she might have scrupled2 about taking one, and we should have been obliged to go home with her in a beastly tram. Come along. I’m staying at the Gresham. It’s always as well to go to a decent place if you have any money. You come with me, and we’ll have a drink and a talk.’
There were two priests and a Bishop3 in earnest conference round the fire in the hall of the hotel when they entered. When he discovered that their talk was of the iniquities4 of the National Board of Education, and therefore likely to last beyond midnight, Captain Quinn led the way into the smoking-room, which was unoccupied. A sufficient supply of whisky and a syphon of soda-water were set before them. The Captain stretched himself in a comfortable chair, and lit his pipe.
‘A fine woman, Miss Goold,’ he said meditatively5. Hyacinth murmured an assent6.
‘A very fine woman, and apparently7 pretty comfortably off. I wonder why on earth she does it.’
He looked at Hyacinth as if he expected some sort of explanation to be forthcoming.
‘Does what?’ asked Hyacinth at length.
‘Oh, all this revolutionary business: the Croppy, seditious speeches, and now this rot about helping8 the Boers. What does she stand to gain by it? I don’t suppose there’s any money in the business, and a woman like that might get all the notoriety she wants in her own proper set, without stumping9 the country and talking rot.’
This way of looking at Augusta Goold’s patriotism10 was new to Hyacinth, and he resented it.
‘I suppose she believes in the principles she professes,’ he said.
The Captain looked at him curiously11, and then took a drink of his whisky-and-soda.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘let’s suppose she does. After all, her motives13 are nothing to us, and she’s a damned fine woman, whatever she does it for.’
He drank again.
‘It would have been very pleasant, now, if she would have spent the next few weeks with me in Paris. You won’t mind my saying that I’d rather have had her than you, Conneally, as a companion in a little burst. However, I saw at once that it wouldn’t do. Anyone with an eye in his head could tell at a glance that she wasn’t that sort.’
He sighed. Hyacinth was not quite sure that he understood. The suggestion was so calmly made and reasoned on that it seemed impossible that it could be as iniquitous14 as it appeared.
‘There’s no one such an utter fool about women,’ went on the Captain, ‘as your respectable married man, who never does anything wrong himself. I’d heard of Miss Goold, as everybody has, and listened to discussions about her character. You know just as well as I do the sort of things they say about her.’
Hyacinth did know very well, and flared15 up in defence of his patroness.
‘They are vile16 lies.’
‘That’s just what I’m saying. Those respectable people who tell the lies are such fools. They think that every woman who doesn’t mew about at afternoon parties must be a bad one. Now, anyone with a little experience would know at once that Miss Goold—what’s this the other one called her? Oh yes, Finola—that Finola may be a fool, but she’s not that.’
He pulled himself together as he spoke17. Evidently he plumed18 himself, on his experience and the faculty19 for judging it had brought him.
‘Now, I’d just as soon have asked my sister-in-law to come to Paris with me for a fortnight as Finola. You don’t know Mrs. James Quinn, I think. That’s a pity. She’s the most domesticated20 and virtuous21 haus-frau in the world.’
He paused, and then asked Hyacinth, ‘Why are you doing it?’
Again Hyacinth was reduced by sheer surprise to a futility22.
‘Doing what?’
‘Oh, going out to fight for the Boers. Now, don’t, like a good fellow, say you’re acting23 on principle. It’s all well enough to give Finola credit for that kind of thing. She is, as we agreed, a splendid woman. But you mustn’t ask me to believe in the whole corps24 in the same way.’
Hyacinth meditated25 a reply. It was clearly impossible to assert that he wanted to fight for liberty, to give his life to the cause of an oppressed nationality. It would be utterly26 absurd to tell the story of his father’s vision, and say that he looked on the South African War as a skirmish preliminary to the Armageddon. Sitting opposite to this cynical27 man of the world and listening to his talk, Hyacinth came himself to disbelieve in principle. He felt that there must be some baser motive12 at the bottom of his desire to fight, only, for the life of him, he could not remember what it was. He could not even imagine a good reason—good in the estimation of his companion—why anyone should do so foolish a thing as go out to the Transvaal. The Captain was not at all impatient. He sat smoking quietly, until there seemed no prospect28 of Hyacinth answering; then he said:
‘Well, if you don’t want to tell me, I don’t mind. Only I think you’re foolish. You see, little accidents happen in these affairs. There are such things as bullets, and one of them might hit you somewhere that would matter. Then it would be my duty to send home your last words to your sorrowing relatives, and it would be easier to do that if I knew exactly what you had done. The death-bed repentance29 of the prodigal30 is always most consoling to the elder brother—much more consoling, in fact, than the prodigal’s return. Now, how the deuce am I to make up a plausible31 repentance for you, if I don’t know what you’ve done?’
‘But I’ve not done anything,’ said Hyacinth ineffectively.
The Captain ignored him.
‘Come, now, it can’t be anything very bad at your age. Have you got into a mess with a girl? Or’—he brightened up at the guess—‘are you hopelessly enamoured of the beautiful Finola? That would be most suitable. The bold, bad woman sends the minstrel boy to his death, with his wild harp32 slung33 behind him. I could draw tears from the stoniest-hearted elder brother over that.’
If he could have thought of a crime at the moment, Hyacinth would probably have confessed it; but he was bewildered, and could hit on nothing better than:
‘I have no elder brother—in fact, no relation of any sort.’
‘Lucky man! Now, I have a perfect specimen34 of a brother—James Quinn, Esquire, of Ballymoy. He’s a churchwarden. Think of that! If it should be your melancholy35 duty to send the message home to him—in case that bullet hits me, I mean—tell him——— Oh, there’s no false pride about me. Fill your glass again. I don’t in the least mind your knowing that I wouldn’t go a step to fight for Boer or Briton either if it wasn’t for a little affair connected with some horses and a cheque. You see, the War Office people sent down a perfect idiot to buy remounts for the cavalry36 in Galway and Mayo. He was the sort of idiot that would tempt37 an Archbishop to swindle him. I rather overdid38 it, I’m afraid, and now the matter is likely to come out.’
For all his boasted powers of observation, Captain Quinn failed to notice the disgust and alarm on Hyacinth’s face.
‘I stuck the fool,’ he went on, ‘with every old screw in the country. I got broken-winded mares from the ploughs. I collected a regular hospital of spavined, knock-kneed beasts, and he took them from me without a word at thirty pounds apiece. It would have been all right if I had gone no further. But, hang it all! I got to the end of my tether. I declare to you I don’t believe there was another screw left in the whole county of Mayo, and unless I took to selling him the asses39 I couldn’t go on. Then I heard of this plan of your friend Finola’s, and I determined40 to make a little coup41 and clear. I altered a cheque. The idiot was on his way to an out-of-the-way corner of Connemara looking for mounted infantry42 cobs. I knew he wouldn’t see his bank-book for at least a week, so I chanced it. That’s the reason why I am so uncommonly43 anxious to get clear at once. If I once get off, it will be next door to impossible to get me back again. General Joubert will hardly give me up. I’m not the least afraid of those ridiculous policemen who walk about after Finola. But I am very much afraid of being tapped on the shoulder for reasons quite non-political. I can tell you I’ve been on the jump ever since yesterday, when I cashed the cheque, and I shan’t feel easy till I’ve left France behind me. I fancy I’m safe for the present. The idiot is sure to try fifty ways of getting his accounts straight before he lights on my little cheque; and when he does, I’ve covered my tracks pretty well. My dear brother hasn’t the slightest notion what’s become of me. I dare say he’ll stop making inquiries44 as soon as the police begin. Poor old chap! He’ll feel it about the family name, and so on.’
He smiled at his own reflection in the mirror over the chimneypiece. He was evidently well satisfied with the performance he had narrated45. Then at last Hyacinth found himself able to speak. Again, as when he had defeated Dr. Spenser in the college lecture-room, his own coolness surprised him.
‘You’re an infernal blackguard!’ he said.
Captain Quinn looked at him with a surprise that was perfectly46 genuine. He doubted if he could have heard correctly.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said,’ repeated Hyacinth, ‘you are an infernal blackguard!’
‘Did you really suppose that I would be going on this fool of an expedition if I wasn’t?’
‘I shall tell Miss Goold the story you have just told me. I shall tell her to-morrow morning before the boat sails.’
‘Very well,’ said the Captain; ‘but don’t suppose for a moment that you’ll shock Finola. She doesn’t know this particular story about me, but I expect she knows another every bit as bad, and I dare say she will regard the whole thing as a justifiable47 spoiling of the Egyptians. By the way ‘—there was a note of anxiety in his voice—‘I hope you won’t find it necessary to repeat anything I’ve said about the lady herself. That might irritate her.’
‘Is it likely,’ said Hyacinth, ‘that I would repeat that kind of talk to any woman?’
‘Quite so. I admire your attitude. Such things are entirely48 unfit for repetition. But seriously, now, what on earth do you expect to happen when you tell her? I’m perfectly certain that every single volunteer she’s got is just as great a blackguard—your word, my dear fellow—as I am, and Finola knows it perfectly well.’
Hyacinth hesitated. The phrase in Miss Goold’s letter in which she had originally described her men as blackguards recurred49 to his mind. He remembered the story of Doherty. His anger began to give way to a sick feeling of disgust.
‘Think, now,’ said the Captain: ‘is it likely that you could enlist50 a corps of Sunday-school teachers for this kind of work? I’ll give you credit for the highest motives, though I’m blest if I understand them; but how can you suppose that there is anyone else in the whole world that feels the way you feel or wants to act as you are doing?’
‘I dare say you are right,’ said Hyacinth feebly.
‘Of course I’m right—perfectly right.’
Hyacinth tried to lift his glass of whisky-and-water to his lips, but his hand trembled, and he was obliged to put it down. Captain Quinn watched him wipe the spilt liquid off his hand, and then settle down in his chair with his head bowed and his eyes half shut.
‘Sit up, man,’ he said. ‘It’s all right. You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of, at all events. But look here, you ought not to come with us at all. It’s no job for a man like you. You back out of it. Don’t turn up to-morrow morning. I’ll explain to Finola if she’s there, and if not I’ll write her a letter that will set you straight with her. I’m really sorry for you, Conneally.’
Hyacinth looked up at him.
‘I’m sorry I called you a blackguard,’ he said. ‘You’re not any worse than everyone else in the world.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Captain Quinn. ‘Don’t take it like that. From your point of view you were quite right to call me a blackguard. And, mind you, there are plenty of people in the world who aren’t blackguards. There’s my brother, for instance. He’s a bit of a prig—in fact, he’s as priggish as he well can be—but he’s never done anything but run straight. I don’t suppose he could go crooked51 if he tried.’
Hyacinth got up.
‘Good-night,’ he said, ‘and good-bye. I shan’t go with you.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Captain Quinn. ‘I think I’ve done you one good turn to-night in stopping you going to South Africa. Now I’ll do you another, and one at the same time to that brother of mine. I left him in a hurry. I told you that, but I don’t think I mentioned that I was in his employment. He runs a woollen factory down in Mayo. I owned a share in the business once, but that went long ago, and the whole thing belongs to James now. I was a sort of clerk and general agent. I wasn’t really the least use, for I never did any work. James was for ever complaining, but I’m bound to say he stuck to me. I’ll give you a letter to him, and I dare say you may get the job that I’ve chucked. It’s not much of a thing, but it may suit you for a while. Sit down till I write my letter.’
Hyacinth obeyed. Since his anger evaporated a sort of numbness52 had crept over his mind. He scarcely understood what was said to him. He had a vague feeling of gratitude53 towards Captain Quinn, and at the same time a great desire to get away and be alone. He felt that he required to adjust his mind to the new thoughts which had been crowded into it. When he received the letter he put it into his pocket, and rose again to go. The Captain saw him to the door.
‘Good-bye.’ Hyacinth heard him, but his voice seemed far off, and his words meaningless. ‘Take my advice and run down to Ballymoy at once. Don’t hang about Finola any more. She’s a splendid woman, but she’s not for you. If you married her you’d be perfectly miserable54. Not that I think she’d ever marry you. Still, she might. Women do such odd things. If by any chance she does, you’ll have to be very careful. Give her her head, and take her easy up to the jumps. Don’t try to hustle55 her, and for God’s sake don’t begin sawing at her mouth. I’d very much like to be here to see you in the character of Mr. Augusta Goold.’ He sighed. ‘But, of course, I can’t. The British Isles56 will be too hot for me for a while. However, who can tell what might happen if I win a good medal from old Kruger, and capture a few British Generals? I might act best man for you yet, if you’ll wait a year or two.’
When Hyacinth got home to his lodgings57 the first object that met his eye was Grealy’s ancient rifle. He tied a label round its barrel addressed to the owner. Then he packed his few belongings59 carefully and strapped60 his bag. So far he was sure of himself. He had no doubt whatever that he must leave Dublin at once. He felt that he could not endure an interview with Augusta Goold. She might blame him or might pity him. Either would be intolerable. She might even justify61 herself to him, might beat him into submission62 by sheer force of her beauty and her passion, as she had done once before. He would run no such risk. He felt that he could not sacrifice his sense of right and wrong, could not allow himself to be dragged into the moral chaos63 in which, it seemed to him now, Miss Goold lived. He was unconscious of any Divine leading, or even of any direct reliance on the obligations of honour. He could not himself have told why he clung with such desperate terror to his plan of escaping from his surroundings. Simply he could not do certain things or associate as a friend with people who did them. To get away from Dublin was the first necessity. For a moment it occurred to him that he might go to Dr. Henry, tell him the whole story, and ask for advice and help. But that was impossible. How could he confess the degradation64 of his ideal? How could he resist the inevitable65 reminder that he had been warned beforehand? Besides, not even now, after all that he had seen, could he accept Dr. Henry’s point of view. He still believed in Ireland, still hoped to serve her, still looked for the coming of his father’s captain to lead the saints to the final victory. Miss Goold had failed him, but he was not yet ready to enrol66 himself a citizen of England.
No, he must leave Dublin. But where to go? His lamp burnt dim and expired as he sat thinking. His fire had long ago gone out. He shivered with cold and misery67, while the faint light of the dawn stole into his room. He heard the first twitter of the birds in the convent garden behind his lodging58. Then came the noise of the earliest traffic, the unnaturally68 loud rattle69 of the dust-carts on their rounds. A steamer hooted70 far away down the river, and an early bell rang the neighbouring nuns71 to prayer. Hyacinth grew desperate. Could he go home, back to the fishing-boats and simple people of Carrowkeel? A great desire for the old scenes seized upon him. He fought against it with all his might. He had rejected the offer of the home life once. Now, no doubt, it would be closed against him. The boat that might have been his was sold long ago. He would not go back to confess himself a fool and a failure.
Gradually his mind worked back over the conversation in the hotel with Captain Quinn. The recollection of the latter part of it, which had meant nothing at the time, grew clear. He felt for the letter in his pocket, and drew it out. After all, why should he not offer himself to James Quinn? Ballymoy was remote enough to be a hiding-place. It was in County Mayo, the Captain had said. He had never heard of the place, and it seemed likely that no one else, except its inhabitants, knew of it either. At least, there was no reason that he could see why he should not go there. His brain refused to work any longer, either at planning or remembering. His lips formed the word Ballymoy. He repeated it again and again. He seemed to go on repeating it in the troubled sleep which came to him.
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1
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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scrupled
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| v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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iniquities
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| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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8
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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stumping
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| 僵直地行走，跺步行走( stump的现在分词 )； 把（某人）难住； 使为难； （选举前）在某一地区作政治性巡回演说 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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iniquitous
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| adj.不公正的；邪恶的；高得出奇的 | |
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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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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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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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plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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domesticated
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| adj.喜欢家庭生活的；（指动物）被驯养了的v.驯化( domesticate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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futility
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| n.无用 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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overdid
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| v.做得过分( overdo的过去式 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
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asses
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| n. 驴，愚蠢的人，臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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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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45
narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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justifiable
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| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
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48
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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49
recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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50
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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51
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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52
numbness
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| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
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53
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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54
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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55
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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56
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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58
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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59
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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60
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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61
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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63
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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66
enrol
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| v.（使）注册入学，（使）入学，（使）入会 | |
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67
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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68
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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69
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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