Engineering, however, is an overstocked profession. In that particular it closely resembles most other callings.
The holidays passed away, and Walter Tyrrel recovered, and the Trevennacks returned to town for the head of the house to take up his new position in the Admiralty service; but Eustace Le Neve heard of no opening anywhere for an energetic young man with South American experience. Those three years he had passed out of England, indeed, had made him lose touch with other members of his craft. People shrugged5 their shoulders when they heard of him, and opined, with a chilly6 smile, he was the sort of young man who ought to go to the colonies. That’s the easiest way of shelving all similar questions. The colonies are popularly regarded in England as the predestined dumping-ground for all the fools and failures of the mother-country. So Eustace settled down in lodgings7 in London, not far from the Trevennacks, and spent more of his time, it must be confessed, in going round to see Cleer than in perfecting himself in the knowledge of his chosen art. Not that he failed to try every chance that lay open to him—he had far too much energy to sit idle in his chair and let the stream of promotion8 flow by unattempted; but chances were few and applicants9 were many, and month after month passed away to his chagrin10 without the clever young engineer finding an appointment anywhere. Meanwhile, his little nest-egg of South-American savings11 was rapidly disappearing; and though Tyrrel, who had influence with railway men, exerted himself to the utmost on his friend’s behalf—partly for Cleer’s sake, and partly for Eustace’s own—Le Neve saw his balance growing daily smaller, and began to be seriously alarmed at last, not merely for his future prospects12 of employment and marriage, but even for his immediate13 chance of a modest livelihood14.
Nor was Mrs. Trevennack, for her part, entirely15 free from sundry16 qualms17 of conscience as to her husband’s condition and the rightfulness of concealing18 it altogether from Cleer’s accepted lover. Trevennack himself was so perfectly19 sane20 in every ordinary relation of life, so able a business head, so dignified21 and courtly an English gentleman, that Eustace never even for a moment suspected any undercurrent of madness in that sound practical intelligence. Indeed, no man could talk with more absolute common sense about his daughter’s future, or the duties and functions of an Admiralty official, than Michael Trevennack. It was only to his wife in his most confidential22 moments that he ever admitted the truth as to his archangelic character; to all others whom he met he was simply a distinguished23 English civil servant of blameless life and very solid judgment24. The heads of his department placed the most implicit25 trust in Trevennack’s opinion; there was no man about the place who could decide a knotty26 point of detail off-hand like Michael Trevennack. What was his poor wife to do, then? Was it her place to warn Eustace that Cleer’s father might at any moment unexpectedly develop symptoms of dangerous insanity27? Was she bound thus to wreck28 her own daughter’s happiness? Was she bound to speak out the very secret of her heart which she had spent her whole life in inducing Trevennack himself to bottle up with ceaseless care in his distracted bosom29?
And yet ... she saw the other point of view as well—alas, all too plainly. She was a martyr30 to conscience, like Walter Tyrrel himself; was it right of her, then, to tie Eustace for life to a girl who was really a madman’s daughter? This hateful question was up before her often in the dead dark night, as she lay awake on her bed, tossing and turning feverishly31; it tortured her in addition to her one lifelong trouble. For the silver-haired lady had borne the burden of that unknown sorrow locked up in her own bosom for fifteen years; and it had left on her face such a beauty of holiness as a great trouble often leaves indelibly stamped on women of the same brave, loving temperament32.
One day, about three months later, in their drawing-room at Bayswater, Eustace Le Neve happened to let drop a casual remark which cut poor Mrs. Trevennack to the quick, like a knife at her heart. He was talking of some friend of his who had lately got engaged. “It’s a terrible thing,” he said, seriously. “There’s insanity in the family. I wouldn’t marry into such a family as that—no, not if I loved a girl to distraction33, Mrs. Trevennack. The father’s in a mad-house, you know; and the girl’s very nice now, but one never can tell when the tendency may break out. And then—just think! what an inheritance to hand on to one’s innocent children!”
Trevennack took no open notice of what he said. But Mrs. Trevennack winced34, grew suddenly pale, and stammered35 out some conventional none-committing platitude36. His words entered her very soul. They stung and galled37 her. That night she lay awake and thought more bitterly to herself about the matter than ever. Next morning early, as soon as Trevennack had set off to catch the fast train from Waterloo to Portsmouth direct (he was frequently down there on Admiralty business), she put on her cloak and bonnet38, without a word to Cleer, and set out in a hansom all alone to Harley Street.
The house to which she drove was serious-looking and professional—in point of fact, it was Dr. Yate-Westbury’s, the well-known specialist on mental diseases. She sent up no card and gave no name. On the contrary, she kept her veil down—and it was a very thick one. But Dr. Yate-Westbury made no comment on this reticence39; it was a familiar occurrence with him—people are often ashamed to have it known they consult a mad-doctor.
“I want to ask you about my husband’s case,” Mrs. Trevennack began, trembling. And the great specialist, all attention, leaned forward and listened to her.
Mrs. Trevennack summoned up courage, and started from the very beginning. She described how her husband, who was a government servant, had been walking below a cliff on the seashore with their only son, some fifteen years earlier, and how a shower of stones from the top had fallen on their heads and killed their poor boy, whose injuries were the more serious. She could mention it all now with comparatively little emotion; great sorrows since had half obliterated40 that first and greatest one. But she laid stress upon the point that her husband had been struck, too, and was very gravely hurt—so gravely, indeed, that it was weeks before he recovered physically41.
“On what part of the head?” Yate-Westbury asked, with quick medical insight.
And Mrs. Trevennack answered, “Here,” laying her small gloved hand on the center of the left temple.
The great specialist nodded. “Go on,” he said, quietly. “Fourth frontal convolution! And it was a month or two, I have no doubt, before you noticed any serious symptoms supervening?”
“Exactly so,” Mrs. Trevennack made answer, very much relieved. “It was all of a month or two. But from that day forth—from the very beginning, I mean—he had a natural horror of going BENEATH a cliff, and he liked to get as high up as he could, so as to be perfectly sure there was nobody at all anywhere above to hurt him.” And then she went on to describe in short but graphic42 phrase how he loved to return to the place of his son’s accident, and to stand for hours on lonely sites overlooking the spot, and especially on a crag which was dedicated43 to St. Michael.
The specialist caught at what was coming with the quickness, she thought, of long experience. “Till he fancied himself the archangel?” he said, promptly44 and curiously45.
Mrs. Trevennack drew a deep breath of satisfaction and relief. “Yes,” she answered, flushing hot. “Till he fancied himself the archangel. There—there were extenuating46 circumstances, you see. His own name’s Michael; and his family—well, his family have a special connection with St. Michael’s Mount; their crest’s a castled crag with ‘Stand fast, St. Michael’s!’ and he knew he had to fight against this mad impulse of his own—which he felt was like a devil within him—for his daughter’s sake; and he was always standing47 alone on these rocky high places, dedicated to St. Michael, till the fancy took full hold upon him; and now, though he knows in a sort of a way he’s mad, he believes quite firmly he’s St. Michael the Archangel.”
Yate-Westbury nodded once more. “Precisely the development I should expect to occur,” he said, “after such an accident.”
Mrs. Trevennack almost bounded from her seat in her relief. “Then you attribute it to the accident first of all?” she asked, eagerly.
“Not a doubt about it,” the specialist answered. “The region you indicate is just the one where similar illusory ideas are apt to arise from external injuries. The bruise48 gave the cause, and circumstances the form. Besides, the case is normal—quite normal altogether. Does he have frequent outbreaks?”
Mrs. Trevennack explained that he never had any. Except to herself, and that but seldom, he never alluded49 to the subject in any way.
Yate-Westbury bit his lip. “He must have great self-control,” he answered, less confidently. “In a case like that, I’m bound to admit, my prognosis—for the final result—would be most unfavorable. The longer he bottles it up the more terrible is the outburst likely to be when it arrives. You must expect that some day he will break out irrepressibly.”
Mrs. Trevennack bowed her head with the solemn placidity50 of despair. “I’m quite prepared for that,” she said, quietly; “though I try hard to delay it, for a specific reason. That wasn’t the question I came to consult you about to-day. I feel sure my poor husband’s case is perfectly hopeless, as far as any possibility of cure is concerned; what I want to know is about another aspect of the case.” She leaned forward appealingly. “Oh, doctor,” she cried, clasping her hands, “I have a dear daughter at home—the one thing yet left me. She’s engaged to be married to a young man whom she loves—a young man who loves her. Am I bound to tell him she’s a madman’s child? Is there any chance of its affecting her? Is the taint51 hereditary52?”
She spoke2 with deep earnestness. She rushed out with it without reserve. Yate-Westbury gazed at her compassionately53. He was a kind-hearted man. “No; certainly not,” he answered, with emphasis. “Not the very slightest reason in any way to fear it. The sanest54 man, coming from the very sanest and healthiest stock on earth, would almost certainly be subject to delusions56 under such circumstances. This is accident, not disease—circumstance, not temperament. The injury to the brain is the result of a special blow. Grief for the loss of his son, and brooding over the event, no doubt contributed to the particular shape the delusion55 has assumed. But the injury’s the main thing. I don’t doubt there’s a clot57 of blood formed just here on the brain, obstructing58 its functions in part, and disturbing its due relations. In every other way, you say, he’s a good man of business. The very apparent rationality of the delusion—the way it’s been led up to by his habit of standing on cliffs, his name, his associations, his family, everything—is itself a good sign that the partial insanity is due to a local and purely59 accidental cause. It simulates reason as closely as possible. Dismiss the question altogether from your mind, as far as your daughter’s future is concerned. Its no more likely to be inherited than a broken leg or an amputated arm is.”
Mrs. Trevennack burst into a flood of joyous60 tears. “Then all I have to do,” she sobbed61 out, “is to keep him from an outbreak until after my daughter’s married.”
Dr. Yate-Westbury nodded. “That’s all you have to do,” he answered, sympathetically. “And I’m sure Mrs. Trevennack—-” he paused with a start and checked himself.
“Why, how do you know my name?” the astonished mother cried, drawing back with a little shudder62 of half superstitious63 alarm at such surprising prescience.
Dr. Yate-Westbury made a clean breast of it. “Well, to tell the truth,” he said, “Mr. Trevennack himself called round here yesterday, in the afternoon, and stated the whole case to me from his own point of view, giving his name in full—as a man would naturally do—but never describing to me the nature of his delusion. He said it was too sacred a thing for him to so much as touch upon; that he knew he wasn’t mad, but that the world would think him so; and he wanted to know, from something he’d heard said, whether madness caused by an injury of the sort would or would not be considered by medical men as inheritable. And I told him at once, as I’ve told you to-day, there was not the faintest danger of it. But I never made such a slip in my life before as blurting64 out the name. I could only have done it to you. Trust me, your secret is safe in my keeping. I have hundreds in my head.” He took her hand in his own as he spoke. “Dear madam,” he said, gently, “I understand; I feel for you.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Trevennack answered low, with tears standing in her eyes. “I’m—I’m so glad you’ve SEEN him. It makes your opinion so much more valuable to me. But you thought his delusion wholly due to the accident, then?”
“Wholly due to the accident, dear lady. Yes, wholly, wholly due to it. You may go home quite relieved. Your doubts and fears are groundless. Miss Trevennack may marry with a clear conscience.”
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1
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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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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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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usurpation
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| n.篡位；霸占 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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applicants
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| 申请人，求职人( applicant的名词复数 ) | |
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chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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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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livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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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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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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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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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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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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martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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platitude
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| n.老生常谈，陈词滥调 | |
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galled
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| v.使…擦痛( gall的过去式和过去分词 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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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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46
extenuating
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| adj.使减轻的，情有可原的v.（用偏袒的辩解或借口）减轻( extenuate的现在分词 )；低估，藐视 | |
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47
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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48
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
placidity
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| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
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51
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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52
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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53
compassionately
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| adv.表示怜悯地，有同情心地 | |
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54
sanest
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| adj.心智健全的( sane的最高级 )；神志正常的；明智的；稳健的 | |
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55
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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delusions
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| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
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57
clot
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| n.凝块；v.使凝成块 | |
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58
obstructing
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| 阻塞( obstruct的现在分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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59
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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60
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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61
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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62
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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63
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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blurting
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的现在分词 ) | |
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