But Andreas knew that simple loyal nature too well to doubt her relations with anyone?—?except Will Deverill. As he stood there and stared, he saw only that the American had been offering violence?—?personal violence?—?to Linnet. His hot Tyrolese blood boiled at once at that insult. He sprang forward and caught Joaquin Holmes by the throat. “You scoundrel!” he cried through his clenched5 teeth; “what are you doing to my wife? How dare you touch her like that? How dare you lay your blackguard hands upon her?”
The Coloradan freed himself with a jerk, and shook off his assailant, for he was a powerful man, too, though less sturdy than Andreas. He drew back half-a-pace, and faced the infuriated husband. His hand wandered half mechanically to the faithful six-shooter, which after all those years in civilised England old habit still made him carry always in his pocket. But he thought better of it after a moment?—?these Britishers have such a nasty insular6 way of stringing one up for the merest accident!?—?and answered instead, with an ugly smile, “It’s her fault, not mine. She snatched a letter away from me. It’s my own, and I want it back. She won’t give it up to me.”
Andreas Hausberger had his faults; but he had too much sense of dignity to bandy words with an intruder who had insulted his wife?—?above all, to bandy them in his wife’s very presence. It mattered little to him just then what that question about the letter might really import. He stepped forward in his wrath8 once more, and caught the Seer by the shoulders. “You cur!” he cried, pushing him before him. “How dare you answer me like that?” And, with a sudden wrench9, he flung the fellow against the door, bruising10 and hurting him violently.
The Coloradan rushed back on him. There was a short, sharp scuffle. Then Andreas, getting the better, opened the door with a dash, and dragged his opponent after him. At the head of the stairs, he paused, and gave him a sounding kick. The Coloradan writhed11 and squirmed, but, strong as he was, he found himself no match for the gigantic Tyroler. Besides, he was less used than his antagonist12 to these hand-to-hand struggles. Andreas, for his part, was quite in his element. “A Wirth who can’t turn out a noisy or drunken guest, isn’t worth his salt,” he had said one day to Florian long ago in the Zillerthal; he was well used, indeed, of old to such impromptu13 encounters. The Seer on the contrary was more accustomed to the bowie and the six-shooter than to wrestling and scuffling. He yielded after a moment to Andreas’s heavy hand, only stopping to shout back through the open drawing-room door, “Then you owe me fifty pounds, Signora, for that letter!”
Andreas hauled him down the stairs, dragged him, half-resisting, through the hall and vestibule, opened the front door with one free hand, hastily, and kicked his man down the steps with a volley of angry oaths in his native German. Then he slammed the door in the face of the discomfited14 Seer (who had rushed back again to assault him), and went upstairs once more, as outwardly cool as he could, but hot in the face and hotter at heart, to Linnet.
Linnet was really grateful to him. The man had frightened her. For the first time in her life, she admired her husband. The natural admiration15 that all her sex feel for physical strength and prowess in men was exceptionally marked in her, as in most other women of primitive16 communities. “Thank you,” she said simply, as Andreas strolled in, trying to look unconcerned, with his hands in his pockets, and confronted her stonily17. “The man hurt my wrist. If you hadn’t come in, I don’t know what on earth he might ever have done to me.”
Andreas stared at her in silence with close-knit brows for half-a-minute. Then he said in an insolent18 tone, “Now, tell me, what’s all this fuss he was making about some letter?”
His question brought Linnet back to herself with a sudden revulsion of feeling. In the tremulousness of those two scuffles, she had almost forgotten for the moment all about the first cause of them. But now, she looked her husband back straight in the face, and, without flinching19 or hesitating, she answered him in a scarcely audible voice, “He brought me the last letter you wrote to Philippina. The one making an appointment at the usual place for three to-morrow. I don’t know how he got it, but he wanted to sell it to me.”
Andreas never moved a muscle of that impassive face, but his colour came and went, and his breath stopped short, as he stood still and stared at her. “My last letter to Philippina!” he repeated, with a glow of shame. “And that fellow dared to show it to you! I’d have choked him if I’d known! The mean scoundrelly eavesdropper20!”
Linnet folded her hands in front of her where she sat on her low chair. Her air was resigned. She hardly seemed to notice him. “You needn’t be afraid,” she said. “It’s no matter to me. I guessed all that long ago. I didn’t want your letters, or hers either, to prove it to me. I told him as much. To me, at least, it’s no matter.”
“And he offered to sell it you?” Andreas cried, growing in wrath. “He tried to make money of it! What did he want you to buy it for?”
“He said I could get a divorce with it,” Linnet answered simply.
“A divorce!” Andreas shouted, losing control of himself for once. That word went straight home to all the deepest chords in his sordid21 nature. “He wanted to egg you on, then, to try and get a divorce from me! He wanted to cheat me of all I’ve worked and toiled22 for!” He flung himself into a chair, and clenched his fists, and ground his teeth. “The damned rogue23!” he cried once more. “When I get at him, oh, I’ll throttle24 him!”
He sat for a minute or two revolving25 many things angrily in his own burning soul. He had not only Linnet to think of now, but Philippina, too, and her husband. Heaven only knew what harm that man might do him in revenge for his drubbing?—?what scandal he might raise, what devils he might let loose upon him. If Linnet left him now, all the world would say she was amply justified26. And the English law would allow her a divorce! No; not without cruelty! and he had never been cruel to her. There was comfort in that: he consoled himself in part with it. He had spoken harshly to her at times, perhaps, and taken care of her money for her?—?women are so reckless that a man must needs look after them. But cruel! oh no, no; she could never prove that against him!
“Divorce!” he said slowly, knitting his brows, and leaning forward. “He talked to you of divorce, Linnet! That’s all pure gammon. There’s no divorce for a woman, by English law, without cruelty or desertion. I’ve never been cruel to you, and I’m not likely to desert you. You can’t get a divorce, I say. You can’t get a divorce! You surely didn’t promise him fifty pounds for that letter!”
“No; I didn’t,” Linnet answered. “I told him I didn’t want it. Divorce would be no use in the world to me. I’m a Catholic, as you know, and I believe my religion.”
Andreas stared at her hard. He fingered his chin thoughtfully. She had struck the right chord. How foolish of him in his haste not to have thought of that by pure instinct! Divorce, indeed! Why, of course, the Church wouldn’t hear of it. To think that a Tyrolese woman would accept the verdict of a mere7 earthly court to dissolve a holy sacrament! “You’re quite right,” he muttered slowly, nodding his head once or twice; “divorce is pure sacrilege. There’s no such thing known in the Catholic Church; there’s no such thing known in the Austrian Empire.”
He subsided28 for a moment. Then, all at once, with a bound, another emotion got the better of him. He must go out without delay and inquire how all this bother got abroad from Philippina. And yet?—?’twas hard to know how he could govern himself aright. Not for worlds would he let Will Deverill come to the house in his absence now, after all that had happened. Linnet hadn’t seen him yet since her return from Italy. If he came in, as things stood, and found her in her present mood, Andreas felt he himself couldn’t answer for the consequences.
He paused, and reflected. For Philippina’s sake, for his own, nay, even for Linnet’s, he knew he must go out without one minute’s delay, to prevent further mischief29 with Theodore Livingstone. But still?—?it was dangerous to go away from Linnet. Yet he must make up his mind one way or the other; and he made it up quickly. “I’m going out,” he said in his curt30 tone, turning sharply to his wife, without one word of apology or explanation; “but before I go, I’ve a message to give the housemaid.”
“Go when you like,” Linnet answered coldly. Little as she cared for him now, little as she ever cared for him, it hurt her feelings none the less that he shouldn’t even try to explain or to excuse himself. His very silence was insolent. She felt it keenly.
Andreas rang the bell, and then crossed his arms in a sullen31 fashion. That attitude alone seemed to exasperate32 Linnet. The housemaid answered the bell. He looked up at her with a scowl33. “Ellen,” he said, in a very slow and deliberate voice, “If Mr Will Deverill should call while I’m out, will you tell him the Signora’s not at home to-day? She’s never at home to him, you may say, except when I’m present.”
Linnet’s blood was boiling. These perpetual insults before her own servants’ eyes were driving her fast into open rebellion. She answered not a word, but rose with dignity, and went over like a queen to her davenport in the corner. “Stop, Ellen,” she said calmly, restraining herself with an effort. “I’ve a note I want you to post. Stand there, and wait till I’ve written it.” She turned to her husband, whose hand was on the door-handle. “Don’t go, Andreas,” she said in her most authoritative34 voice. “I wish you to read it before I have it posted.”
She sat down and wrote hastily. Then she directed an envelope. She was prepared for a scene; but if a scene arose, she was determined35 it should be before a friendly witness Ellen stood by, demure36, in her cap and apron37. Linnet spoke27 in English, that she might know what happened.
“I’ve written to Mr Deverill,” she said, as calmly as she could manage, though her voice trembled somewhat. “We haven’t seen him yet since we came back to London. And this is what I’ve said: I hope you’ll approve of it:?—?
“?‘My dear Mr Deverill,?—?It will give my husband and myself great pleasure if you’ll lunch with us here at two next Thursday. We want to talk over our Italian experiences.?—?
Yours sincerely,
Linnet Hausberger.’?”
Andreas darted38 at her, livid with rage and jealousy39. “You shall not send that note!” he exclaimed, in German. “I forbid him the house. He shall not come near you.”
Linnet darted aside, for her part, and held the note out to Ellen. The girl, terrified at such a scene, and at her master’s loud voice, drew back, not daring to interpose or to take it. Linnet held it at arm’s-length. Andreas seized her arm and wrenched40 it. “You shan’t send it,” he cried once more, clutching her wrist with his hand till his nails drew blood from it. He tried to seize the note again, but Linnet was strong and resisted him. He flung her violently to the ground; but still she held it out, crying, “Here, post it, Ellen!” Andreas was beside himself now with rage and fury. He struck her several times; he hit her wildly with his fist; he caught her by the hair and shook her angrily like a bulldog. The marks of his hands showed red through her thin dress upon her neck and shoulders. At last he seized the note, and tore it into shreds41, flung the tatters into her face, and struck her again heavily. Linnet bent42 down and let him strike. Her blood was up now. She was angry too. And she also had inherited the hot heart of the Tyrol.
At last, Andreas’s passion cooled down of pure fatigue43, and, with a final oath or two, he turned on his heel and left her. As he quitted the room, he stood for a second with his hand on the door, looking round at the startled and horrified44 maid-servant. “Mind, Ellen,” he said, huskily, “post no letters for your mistress this afternoon; and if the man Deverill calls, she isn’t at home to him.”
But, as the front door closed with a snap behind him, it came back to him all at once, that wise and prudent45 man, that he had played into her rebellious46 hands all unawares; he had given her the one plea she still needed for a divorce?—?the plea of cruelty.
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1
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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insular
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| adj.岛屿的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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8
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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bruising
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| adj.殊死的；十分激烈的v.擦伤(bruise的现在分词形式) | |
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writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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14
discomfited
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| v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词)；使狼狈；使挫折；挫败 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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stonily
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| 石头地，冷酷地 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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flinching
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的现在分词 ) | |
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eavesdropper
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| 偷听者 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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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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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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throttle
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| n.节流阀，节气阀，喉咙；v.扼喉咙，使窒息，压 | |
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revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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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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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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exasperate
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| v.激怒，使（疾病）加剧，使恶化 | |
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scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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40
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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42
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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43
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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44
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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45
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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46
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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