In the first place, Mrs. Evelegh ordered a Great Manitou. That, however, mattered little to 'the firm,' as I loved to call us (because it shocked dear Elsie so); for, of course, after all her kindness we couldn't accept our commission on her purchase, so that she got her machine cheap for ￡15 from the maker5. But, in the second place—I declare I am beginning to write like a woman of business—she decided6 to run over to England for the summer to see her boy at Portsmouth, being certain now that the discoloration of her bangle depended more on the presence of sulphur in the india-rubber bottle than on the passing state of her astral body. 'Tis an abrupt7 descent from the inner self to a hot-water bottle, I admit; but Mrs. Evelegh took the plunge9 with grace, like a sensible woman. Dr. Fortescue-Langley had been annihilated10 for her at one blow: she returned forthwith to common-sense and England.
'What will you do with the chalet while you're away?'[Pg 116] Lady Georgina asked, when she announced her intention. 'You can't shut it up to take care of itself. Every blessed thing in the place will go to rack and ruin. Shutting up a house means spoiling it for ever. Why, I've got a cottage of my own that I let for the summer in the best part of Surrey—a pretty little place, now vacant, for which, by the way, I want a tenant12, if you happen to know of one: and when it's left empty for a month or two——'
'Perhaps it would do for me?' Mrs. Evelegh suggested, jumping at it. 'I'm looking out for a furnished house for the summer, within easy reach of Portsmouth and London, for myself and Oliver.'
Lady Georgina seized her arm, with a face of blank horror. 'My dear,' she cried. 'For you! I wouldn't dream of letting it to you. A nasty, damp, cold, unwholesome house, on stiff clay soil, with detestable drains, in the deadliest part of the Weald of Surrey,—why, you and your boy would catch your deaths of rheumatism13.'
'Is it the one I saw advertised in the Times this morning, I wonder?' Mrs. Evelegh inquired in a placid14 voice. '"Charming furnished house on Holmesdale Common; six bedrooms, four reception-rooms; splendid views; pure air; picturesque15 surroundings; exceptionally situated16." I thought of writing about it.'
NEVER LEAVE A HOUSE TO THE SERVANTS, MY DEAR! NEVER LEAVE A HOUSE TO THE SERVANTS, MY DEAR!
'That's it!' Lady Georgina exclaimed, with a demonstrative wave of her hand. 'I drew up the advertisement myself. Exceptionally situated! I should just think it was! Why, my dear, I wouldn't let you rent the place for worlds; a horrid17, poky little hole, stuck down in the bottom of a boggy18 hollow, as damp as Devonshire, with the paper peeling off the walls, so that I had to take my choice between giving it up myself ten years ago, or removing to the cemetery19; and I've let it ever since to City men with large families.[Pg 117] Nothing would induce me to allow you and your boy to expose yourself to such risks.' For Lady Georgina had taken quite a fancy to Mrs. Evelegh. 'But what I was just going to say was this: you can't shut your house up; it'll all go mouldy. Houses always go mouldy, shut up in summer. And you can't leave it to your servants; I know the baggages; no conscience—no conscience; they'll ask their entire families to come and stop with them en bloc20, and turn your place into a perfect piggery. Why, when I went away from my house in town one autumn, didn't I leave a policeman and his wife in charge—a most respectable man—only he happened to be an Irishman. And what was the consequence? My dear, I assure you, I came back unexpectedly from poor dear Kynaston's one day—at a moment's notice—having quarrelled with him over Home Rule or Education or something—poor dear Kynaston's what they call a Liberal, I believe—got at by that man Rosebery—and there didn't I find all the O'Flanagans, and O'Flahertys, and O'Flynns in the neighbourhood camping out in my drawing-room; with a strong detachment of O'Donohues, and O'Dohertys, and O'Driscolls lying around loose in possession of the library? Never leave a house to the servants, my dear! It's positively21 suicidal. Put in a responsible caretaker of whom you know something—like Lois here, for instance.'
'Lois!' Mrs. Evelegh echoed. 'Dear me, that's just the very thing. What a capital idea! I never thought of Lois! She and Elsie might stop on here, with Ursula and the gardener.'
I protested that if we did it was our clear duty to pay a small rent; but Mrs. Evelegh brushed that aside. 'You've robbed yourselves over the bicycle,' she insisted, 'and I'm delighted to let you have it. It's I who ought to pay, for you'll keep the house dry for me.'[Pg 118]
I remembered Mr. Hitchcock—'Mutual advantage: benefits you, benefits me'—and made no bones about it. So in the end Mrs. Evelegh set off for England with Cécile, leaving Elsie and me in charge of Ursula, the gardener, and the chalet.
As for Lady Georgina, having by this time completed her 'cure' at Schlangenbad (complexion as usual; no guinea yellower), she telegraphed for Gretchen—'I can't do without the idiot'—and hung round Lucerne, apparently22 for no other purpose but to send people up the Brünig on the hunt for our wonderful new machines, and so put money in our pockets. She was much amused when I told her that Aunt Susan (who lived, you will remember, in respectable indigence23 at Blackheath)[Pg 119] had written to expostulate with me on my 'unladylike' conduct in becoming a bicycle commission agent. 'Unladylike!—the Cantankerous24 Old Lady exclaimed, with warmth. 'What does the woman mean? Has she got no gumption25? It's "ladylike," I suppose, to be a companion, or a governess, or a music-teacher, or something else in the black-thread-glove way, in London; but not to sell bicycles for a good round commission. My dear, between you and me, I don't see it. If you had a brother, now, he might sell cycles, or corner wheat, or rig the share market, or do anything else he pleased, in these days, and nobody'd think the worse of him—as long as he made money; and it's my opinion that what is sauce for the goose can't be far out for the gander—and vice-versa. Besides which, what's the use of trying to be ladylike? You are a lady, child, and you couldn't help being one; why trouble to be like what nature made you? Tell Aunt Susan from me to put that in her pipe and smoke it!'
I did tell Aunt Susan by letter, giving Lady Georgina's authority for the statement; and I really believe it had a consoling effect upon her; for Aunt Susan is one of those innocent-minded people who cherish a profound respect for the opinions and ideas of a Lady of Title. Especially where questions of delicacy26 are concerned. It calmed her to think that though I, an officer's daughter, had declined upon trade, I was mixing at least with the Best People!
We had a lovely time at the chalet—two girls alone, messing just as we pleased in the kitchen, and learning from Ursula how to concoct27 pot-au-feu in the most approved Swiss fashion. We pottered, as we women love to potter, half the day long; the other half we spent in riding our cycles about the eternal hills, and ensnaring the flies whom Lady Georgina dutifully sent up to us. She was our decoy duck: and, in virtue28 of her handle, she decoyed to a marvel29. Indeed, I[Pg 120] sold so many Manitous that I began to entertain a deep respect for my own commercial faculties30. As for Mr. Cyrus W. Hitchcock, he wrote to me from Frankfort: 'The world continues to revolve31 on its axis32, the Manitou, and the machine is booming. Orders romp33 in daily. When you ventilated the suggestion of an agency at Limburg, I concluded at a glance you had the material of a first-class business woman about you; but I reckon I did not know what a traveller meant till you started on the road. I am now enlarging and altering this factory, to meet increased demands. Branch offices at Berlin, Hamburg, Crefeld, and Düsseldorf. Inspect our stock before dealing34 elsewhere. A liberal discount allowed to the trade. Two hundred agents wanted in all towns of Germany. If they were every one of them like you, miss—well, I guess I would hire the town of Frankfort for my business premises35.'
One morning, after we had spent about a week at the chalet by ourselves, I was surprised to see a young man with a knapsack on his back walking up the garden path towards our cottage. 'Quick, quick, Elsie!' I cried, being in a mischievous36 mood. 'Come here with the opera-glass! There's a Man in the offing!'
'A what?' Elsie exclaimed, shocked as usual at my levity37.
'A Man,' I answered, squeezing her arm. 'A Man! A real live Man! A specimen38 of the masculine gender39 in the human being! Man, ahoy! He has come at last—the lodestar of our existence!'
Next minute, I was sorry I spoke40; for as the man drew nearer, I perceived that he was endowed with very long legs and a languidly poetical41 bearing. That supercilious42 smile—that enticing43 moustache! Could it be?—yes, it was—not a doubt of it—Harold Tillington![Pg 121]
I grew grave at once; Harold Tillington and the situation were serious. 'What can he want here?' I exclaimed, drawing back.
'Who is it?' Elsie asked; for, being a woman, she read at once in my altered demeanour the fact that the Man was not unknown to me.
'Lady Georgina's nephew,' I answered, with a tell-tale cheek, I fear. 'You remember I mentioned to you that I had met him at Schlangenbad. But this is really too bad of that wicked old Lady Georgina. She has told him where we lived and sent him up to see us.'
'Perhaps,' Elsie put in, 'he wants to charter a bicycle.'
I glanced at Elsie sideways. I had an uncomfortable suspicion that she said it slyly, like one who knew he wanted nothing of the sort. But at any rate, I brushed the suggestion aside frankly44. 'Nonsense,' I answered. 'He wants me, not a bicycle.'
He came up to us, waving his hat. He did look handsome! 'Well, Miss Cayley,' he cried from afar, 'I have tracked you to your lair45! I have found out where you abide46! What a beautiful spot! And how well you're looking!'
'This is an unexpected——' I paused. He thought I was going to say, 'pleasure,' but I finished it, 'intrusion.' His face fell. 'How did you know we were at Lungern, Mr. Tillington?'
'My respected relative,' he answered, laughing. 'She mentioned—casually—' his eyes met mine—'that you were stopping in a chalet. And as I was on my way back to the diplomatic mill, I thought I might just as well walk over the Grimsel and the Furca, and then on to the Gotthard. The Court is at Monza. So it occurred to me ... that in passing ... I might venture to drop in and say how-do-you-do to you.'[Pg 122]
'Thank you,' I answered, severely47—but my heart spoke otherwise—'I do very well. And you, Mr. Tillington?'
'Badly,' he echoed. 'Badly, since you went away from Schlangenbad.'
I gazed at his dusty feet. 'You are tramping,' I said, cruelly. 'I suppose you will get forward for lunch to Meiringen?'
'I— I did not contemplate48 it.'
'Indeed?'
He grew bolder. 'No; to say the truth, I half hoped I might stop and spend the day here with you.'
'Elsie,' I remarked firmly, 'if Mr. Tillington persists in planting himself upon us like this, one of us must go and investigate the kitchen department.'
Elsie rose like a lamb. I have an impression that she gathered we wanted to be left alone.
I MAY STAY, MAYN'T I? I MAY STAY, MAYN'T I?
He turned to me imploringly49. 'Lois,' he cried, stretching out his arms, with an appealing air, 'I may stay, mayn't I?'
I tried to be stern; but I fear 'twas a feeble pretence50. 'We are two girls, alone in a house,' I answered. 'Lady Georgina, as a matron of experience, ought to have protected us. Merely to give you lunch is almost irregular. (Good diplomatic word, irregular.) Still, in these days, I suppose you may stay, if you leave early in the afternoon. That's the utmost I can do for you.'
'You are not gracious,' he cried, gazing at me with a wistful look.
I did not dare to be gracious. 'Uninvited guests must not quarrel with their welcome,' I answered severely. Then the woman in me broke forth11. 'But indeed, Mr. Tillington, I am glad to see you.'
He leaned forward eagerly. 'So you are not angry with me, Lois? I may call you Lois?'[Pg 123]
I trembled and hesitated. 'I am not angry with you. I— I like you too much to be ever angry with you. And I am glad you came—just this once—to see me.... Yes,—when we are alone—you may call me Lois.'
He tried to seize my hand. I withdrew it. 'Then I may perhaps hope,' he began, 'that some day——'
I shook my head. 'No, no,' I said, regretfully. 'You[Pg 124] misunderstand me. I like you very much; and I like to see you. But as long as you are rich and have prospects52 like yours, I could never marry you. My pride wouldn't let me. Take that as final.'
I looked away. He bent53 forward again. 'But if I were poor?' he put in, eagerly.
I hesitated. Then my heart rose, and I gave way. 'If ever you are poor,' I faltered54,—'penniless, hunted, friendless—come to me, Harold, and I will help and comfort you. But not till then. Not till then, I implore55 you.'
He leant back and clasped his hands. 'You have given me something to live for, dear Lois,' he murmured. 'I will try to be poor—penniless, hunted, friendless. To win you I will try. And when that day arrives, I shall come to claim you.'
We sat for an hour and had a delicious talk—about nothing. But we understood each other. Only that artificial barrier divided us. At the end of the hour, I heard Elsie coming back by judiciously57 slow stages from the kitchen to the living-room, through six feet of passage, discoursing58 audibly to Ursula all the way, with a tardiness59 that did honour to her heart and her understanding. Dear, kind little Elsie! I believe she had never a tiny romance of her own; yet her sympathy for others was sweet to look upon.
We lunched at a small deal table in the veranda60. Around us rose the pinnacles61. The scent8 of pines and moist moss63 was in the air. Elsie had arranged the flowers, and got ready the omelette, and cooked the chicken cutlets, and prepared the junket. 'I never thought I could do it alone without you, Brownie; but I tried, and it all came right by magic, somehow.' We laughed and talked incessantly64. Harold was in excellent cue; and Elsie took to him. A livelier or merrier table there wasn't in the twenty-two[Pg 125] Cantons that day than ours, under the sapphire65 sky, looking out on the sun-smitten snows of the Jungfrau.
After lunch, Harold begged hard to be allowed to stop for tea. I had misgivings66, but I gave way—he was such good company. One may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, says the wisdom of our ancestors: and, after all, Mrs. Grundy was only represented here by Elsie, the gentlest and least censorious of her daughters. So he stopped and chatted till four; when I made tea and insisted on dismissing him. He meant to take the rough mountain path over the screes from Lungern to Meiringen, which ran right behind the chalet. I feared lest he might be belated, and urged him to hurry.
'Thanks, I'm happier here,' he answered.
I was sternness itself. 'You promised me!' I said, in a reproachful voice.
He rose instantly, and bowed. 'Your will is law—even when it pronounces sentence of exile.'
Would we walk a little way with him? No, I faltered; we would not. We would follow him with the opera-glasses and wave him farewell when he reached the Kulm. He shook our hands unwillingly67, and turned up the little path, looking handsomer than ever. It led ascending68 through a fir-wood to the rock-strewn hillside.
Once, a quarter of an hour later, we caught a glimpse of him near a sharp turn in the road; after that we waited in vain, with our eyes fixed69 on the Kulm; not a sign could we discern of him. At last I grew anxious. 'He ought to be there,' I cried, fuming70.
'He ought,' Elsie answered.
I swept the slopes with the opera-glasses. Anxiety and interest in him quickened my senses, I suppose. 'Look here, Elsie,' I burst out at last. 'Just take this glass and[Pg 126] have a glance at those birds, down the crag below the Kulm. Don't they seem to be circling and behaving most oddly?'
Elsie gazed where I bid her. 'They're wheeling round and round,' she answered, after a minute; 'and they certainly do look as if they were screaming.'
'They seem to be frightened,' I suggested.
'It looks like it, Brownie,'
'Then he's fallen over a precipice71!' I cried, rising up; 'and he's lying there on a ledge72 by their nest. Elsie, we must go to him!'
She clasped her hands and looked terrified. 'Oh, Brownie, how dreadful!' she exclaimed. Her face was deadly white. Mine burned like fire.
'Not a moment to lose!' I said, holding my breath. 'Get out the rope and let us run to him!'
'Don't you think,' Elsie suggested, 'we had better hurry down on our cycles to Lungern and call some men from the village to help us? We are two girls, and alone. What can we do to aid him?'
'No,' I answered, promptly73, 'that won't do. It would only lose time—and time may be precious. You and I must go; I'll send Ursula off to bring up guides from the village.'
Fortunately, we had a good long coil of new rope in the house, which Mrs. Evelegh had provided in case of accident. I slipped it on my arm, and set out on foot; for the path was by far too rough for cycles. I was sorry afterwards that I had not taken Ursula, and sent Elsie to Lungern to rouse the men; for she found the climbing hard, and I had difficulty at times in dragging her up the steep and stony74 pathway, almost a watercourse. However, we persisted in the direction of the Kulm, tracking Harold by his footprints; for he wore mountain boots with sharp-headed nails, which[Pg 127] made dints in the moist soil, and scratched the smooth surface of the rock where he trod on it.
We followed him thus for a mile or two, along the regular path; then of a sudden, in an open part, the trail failed us. I turned back, a few yards, and looked close, with my eyes fixed on the spongy soil, as keen as a hound that sniffs75 his way after his quarry76. 'He went off here, Elsie!' I said at last, pulling up short by a spindle bush on the hillside.
'How do you know, Brownie?'
'Why, see, there are the marks of his stick; he had a thick one, you remember, with a square iron spike77. These are its dints; I have been watching them all the way along from the chalet!
'But there are so many such marks!'
'Yes, I know; I can tell his from the older ones made by the spikes78 of alpenstocks because Harold's are fresher and sharper on the edge. They look so much newer. See, here, he slipped on the rock; you can know that scratch is recent by the clean way it's traced, and the little glistening79 crystals still left behind in it. Those other marks have been wind-swept and washed by the rain. There are no broken particles.'
'How on earth did you find that out, Brownie?'
How on earth did I find it out! I wondered myself. But the emergency seemed somehow to teach me something of the instinctive80 lore56 of hunters and savages81. I did not trouble to answer her. 'At this bush, the tracks fail,' I went on; 'and, look, he must have clutched at that branch and crushed the broken leaves as the twigs83 slipped through his fingers. He left the path here, then, and struck off on a short cut of his own along the hillside, lower down. Elsie, we must follow him.'
She shrank from it; but I held her hand. It was a[Pg 128] more difficult task to track him now; for we had no longer the path to guide us. However, I explored the ground on my hands and knees, and soon found marks of footsteps on the boggy patches, with scratches on the rock where he had leapt from point to point, or planted his stick to steady himself. I tried to help Elsie along among the littered boulders85 and the dwarf86 growth of wind-swept daphne: but, poor child, it was too much for her: she sat down after a few minutes upon the flat juniper scrub and began to cry. What was I to do? My anxiety was breathless. I couldn't leave her there alone, and I couldn't forsake87 Harold. Yet I felt every minute might now be critical. We were making among wet whortleberry thicket88 and torn rock towards the spot where I had seen the birds wheel and circle, screaming. The only way left was to encourage Elsie and make her feel the necessity for instant action. 'He is alive still,' I exclaimed, looking up; 'the birds are crying! If he were dead, they would return to their nest— Elsie, we must get to him!'
She rose, bewildered, and followed me. I held her hand tight, and coaxed89 her to scramble90 over the rocks where the scratches showed the way, or to clamber at times over fallen trunks of huge fir-trees. Yet it was hard work climbing; even Harold's sure feet had slipped often on the wet and slimy boulders, though, like most of Queen Margherita's set, he was an expert mountaineer. Then, at times, I lost the faint track, so that I had to diverge91 and look close to find it. These delays fretted92 me. 'See, a stone loosed from its bed—he must have passed by here.... That twig84 is newly snapped; no doubt he caught at it.... Ha, the moss there has been crushed; a foot has gone by. And the ants on that ant-hill, with their eggs in their mouths—a man's tread has frightened them.' So, by some instinctive sense, as if the spirit of my savage82 ancestors revived within me, I[Pg 129] managed to recover the spoor again and again by a miracle, till at last, round a corner by a defiant93 cliff—with a terrible foreboding, my heart stood still within me.
We had come to an end. A great projecting buttress94 of crag rose sheer in front. Above lay loose boulders. Below was a shrub-hung precipice. The birds we had seen from home were still circling and screaming.
They were a pair of peregrine hawks95. Their nest seemed to lie far below the broken scar, some sixty or seventy feet beneath us.[Pg 130]
'He is not dead!' I cried once more, with my heart in my mouth. 'If he were, they would have returned. He has fallen, and is lying, alive, below there!'
I ADVANCED ON MY HANDS AND KNEES TO THE EDGE OF THE PRECIPICE. I ADVANCED ON MY HANDS AND KNEES TO THE EDGE OF THE PRECIPICE.
Elsie shrank back against the wall of rock. I advanced on my hands and knees to the edge of the precipice. It was not quite sheer, but it dropped like a sea-cliff, with broken ledges96.
I could see where Harold had slipped. He had tried to climb round the crag that blocked the road, and the ground at the edge of the precipice had given way with him; it showed a recent founder97 of a few inches. Then he clutched at a branch of broom as he fell; but it slipped through his fingers, cutting them; for there was blood on the wiry stem. I knelt by the side of the cliff and craned my head over. I scarcely dared to look. In spite of the birds, my heart misgave98 me.
There, on a ledge deep below, he lay in a mass, half raised on one arm. But not dead, I believed. 'Harold!' I cried. 'Harold!'
He turned his face up and saw me; his eyes lighted with joy. He shouted back something, but I could not hear it.
I turned to Elsie. 'I must go down to him!'
Her tears rose again. 'Oh, Brownie!'
I unwound the coil of rope. The first thing was to fasten it. I could not trust Elsie to hold it; she was too weak and too frightened to bear my weight: even if I wound it round her body, I feared my mere51 mass might drag her over. I peered about at the surroundings. No tree grew near; no rock had a pinnacle62 sufficiently99 safe to depend upon. But I found a plan soon. In the crag behind me was a cleft100, narrowing wedge-shape as it descended101. I tied the end of the rope round a stone, a[Pg 131] good big water-worn stone, rudely girdled with a groove103 near the middle, which prevented it from slipping; then I dropped it down the fissure104 till it jammed; after which, I tried it to see if it would bear. It was firm as the rock itself. I let the rope down by it, and waited a moment to discover whether Harold could climb. He shook his head, and took a notebook with evident pain from his pocket. Then he scribbled105 a few words, and pinned them to the rope. I hauled it up. 'Can't move. Either severely bruised106 and sprained107, or else legs broken.'
There was no help for it, then. I must go to him.
My first idea was merely to glide108 down the rope with my gloved hands, for I chanced to have my dog-skin bicycling gloves in my pocket. Fortunately, however, I did not carry out this crude idea too hastily; for next instant it occurred to me that I could not swarm109 up again. I have had no practice in rope-climbing. Here was a problem. But the moment suggested its own solution. I began making knots, or rather nooses110 or loops, in the rope, at intervals112 of about eighteen inches. 'What are they for?' Elsie asked, looking on in wonder.
'Footholds, to climb up by.'
'But the ones above will pull out with your weight.'
'I don't think so. Still, to make sure, I shall tie them with this string. I must get down to him.'
I threaded a sufficient number of loops, trying the length over the edge. Then I said to Elsie, who sat cowering113, propped114 against the crag, 'You must come and look over, and do as I wave to you. Mind, dear, you must! Two lives depend upon it.'
'Brownie, I daren't? I shall turn giddy and fall over!'
I smoothed her golden hair. 'Elsie, dear,' I said gently, gazing into her blue eyes, 'you are a woman. A woman[Pg 132] can always be brave, where those she loves are concerned; and I believe you love me.' I led her, coaxingly115, to the edge. 'Sit there,' I said, in my quietest voice, so as not to alarm her. 'You can lie at full length, if you like, and only just peep over. But when I wave my hand, remember, you must pull the rope up.'
She obeyed me like a child. I knew she loved me.
I GRIPPED THE ROPE AND LET MYSELF DOWN. I GRIPPED THE ROPE AND LET MYSELF DOWN.
I gripped the rope and let myself down, not using the loops to descend102, but just sliding with hands and knees, and allowing the knots to slacken my pace. Half-way down, I will confess, the eerie116 feeling of physical suspense117 was horrible. One hung so in mid-air! The hawks flapped their wings. But Harold was below; and a woman can always be brave where those she[Pg 133] loves—well, just that moment, catching118 my breath, I knew I loved Harold.
I glided119 down swiftly. The air whizzed. At last, on a narrow shelf of rock, I leant over him. He seized my hand. 'I knew you would come!' he cried. 'I felt sure you would find out. Though, how you found out, Heaven only knows, you clever, brave little woman!'
'Are you terribly hurt?' I asked, bending close. His clothes were torn.
'I hardly know. I can't move. It may only be bruises120.'
'Can you climb by these nooses with my help?'
He shook his head. 'Oh, no. I couldn't climb at all. I must be lifted, somehow. You had better go back to Lungern and bring men to help you.'
'And leave you here alone! Never, Harold; never!'
'Then what can we do?'
I reflected a moment. 'Lend me your pencil,' I said. He pulled it out—his arms were almost unhurt, fortunately. I scribbled a line to Elsie. 'Tie my plaid to the rope and let it down.' Then I waved to her to pull up again.
I was half surprised to find she obeyed the signal, for she crouched121 there, white-faced and open-mouthed, watching; but I have often observed that women are almost always brave in the great emergencies. She pinned on the plaid and let it down with commendable122 quickness. I doubled it, and tied firm knots in the four corners, so as to make it into a sort of basket; then I fastened it at each corner with a piece of the rope, crossed in the middle, till it looked like one of the cages they use in mills for letting down sacks with. As soon as it was finished, I said, 'Now, just try to crawl into it.'
He raised himself on his arms and crawled in with[Pg 134] difficulty. His legs dragged after him. I could see he was in great pain. But still, he managed it.
I planted my foot in the first noose111. 'You must sit still,' I said, breathless. 'I am going back to haul you up.'
'Are you strong enough, Lois?'
'With Elsie to help me, yes. I often stroked a four at Girton.'
'I can trust you,' he answered. It thrilled me that he said so.
I began my hazardous123 journey; I mounted the rope by the nooses—one, two, three, four, counting them as I mounted. I did not dare to look up or down as I did so, lest I should grow giddy and fall, but kept my eyes fixed firmly always on the one noose in front of me. My brain swam: the rope swayed and creaked. Twenty, thirty, forty! Foot after foot, I slipped them in mechanically, taking up with me the longer coil whose ends were attached to the cage and Harold. My hands trembled; it was ghastly, swinging there between earth and heaven. Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven— I knew there were forty-eight of them. At last, after some weeks, as it seemed, I reached the summit. Tremulous and half dead, I prised myself over the edge with my hands, and knelt once more on the hill beside Elsie.
She was white, but attentive124. 'What next, Brownie?' Her voice quivered.
I looked about me. I was too faint and shaky after my perilous125 ascent126 to be fit for work, but there was no help for it. What could I use as a pulley? Not a tree grew near; but the stone jammed in the fissure might once more serve my purpose. I tried it again. It had borne my weight; was it strong enough to bear the precious weight of Harold? I tugged127 at it, and thought so. I passed the[Pg 135] rope round it like a pulley, and then tied it about my own waist. I had a happy thought: I could use myself as a windlass. I turned on my feet for a pivot128. Elsie helped me to pull. 'Up you go!' I cried, cheerily. We wound slowly, for fear of shaking him. Bit by bit, I could feel the cage rise gradually from the ground; its weight, taken so, with living capstan and stone axle, was less than I should have expected. But the pulley helped us, and Elsie, spurred by need, put forth more reserve of nervous strength than I could easily have believed lay in that tiny body. I twisted myself round and round, close to the edge, so as to look over from time to time, but not at all quickly, for fear of dizziness. The rope strained and gave. It was a deadly ten minutes of suspense and anxiety. Twice or thrice as I looked down I saw a spasm129 of pain break over Harold's face; but when I paused and glanced inquiringly, he motioned me to go on with my venturesome task. There was no turning back now. We had almost got him up when the rope at the edge began to creak ominously130.
It was straining at the point where it grated against the brink131 of the precipice. My heart gave a leap. If the rope broke, all was over.
With a sudden dart132 forward, I seized it with my hands, below the part that gave; then—one fierce little run back—and I brought him level with the edge. He clutched at Elsie's hand. I turned thrice round, to wind the slack about my body. The taut133 rope cut deep into my flesh; but nothing mattered now, except to save him. 'Catch the cloak, Elsie!' I cried; 'catch it: pull him gently in!' Elsie caught it and pulled him in, with wonderful pluck and calmness. We hauled him over the edge. He lay safe on the bank. Then we all three broke down and cried like children together. I took his hand in mine and held it in silence.[Pg 136]
When we found words again I drew a deep breath, and said, simply, 'How did you manage to do it?'
I ROLLED AND SLID DOWN. I ROLLED AND SLID DOWN.
'I tried to clamber past the wall that barred the way there by sheer force of stride—you know, my legs are long—and I somehow overbalanced myself. But I didn't exactly fall—if I had fallen, I must have been killed; I rolled and slid down, clutching at the weeds in the crannies as I slipped, and stumbling over the projections134, without quite losing my foothold on the ledges, till I found myself brought up short with a bump at the end of it.'
'And you think no bones are broken?'
'I can't feel sure. It hurts me horribly to move. I fancy just at first I must[Pg 137] have fainted. But I'm inclined to guess I'm only sprained and bruised and sore all over. Why, you're as bad as me, I believe. See, your dear hands are all torn and bleeding!'
'How are we ever to get him back again, Brownie?' Elsie put in. She was paler than ever now, and prostrate135 with the after-effects of her unwonted effort.
'You are a practical woman, Elsie,' I answered. 'Stop with him here a minute or two. I'll climb up the hillside and halloo for Ursula and the men from Lungern.'
I climbed and hallooed. In a few minutes, worn out as I was, I had reached the path above and attracted their attention. They hurried down to where Harold lay, and, using my cage for a litter, slung136 on a young fir-trunk, carried him back between them across their shoulders to the village. He pleaded hard to be allowed to remain at the chalet, and Elsie joined her prayers to his; but, there, I was adamant137. It was not so much what people might say that I minded, but a deeper difficulty. For if once I nursed him through this trouble, how could I or any woman in my place any longer refuse him? So I passed him ruthlessly on to Lungern (though my heart ached for it), and telegraphed at once to his nearest relative, Lady Georgina, to come up and take care of him.
He recovered rapidly. Though sore and shaken, his worst hurts, it turned out, were sprains138; and in three or four days he was ready to go on again. I called to see him before he left. I dreaded139 the interview; for one's own heart is a hard enemy to fight so long: but how could I let him go without one word of farewell to him?
'After this, Lois,' he said, taking my hand in his—and I was weak enough, for a moment, to let it lie there—'you cannot say No to me!'
Oh, how I longed to fling myself upon him and cry out,[Pg 138] 'No, Harold, I cannot! I love you too dearly!' But his future and Marmaduke Ashurst's half million restrained me: for his sake and for my own I held myself in courageously140. Though, indeed, it needed some courage and self-control. I withdrew my hand slowly. 'Do you remember,' I said, 'you asked me that first day at Schlangenbad'—it was an epoch141 to me now, that first day—'whether I was medi?val or modern? And I answered, "Modern, I hope." And you said, "That's well!"— You see, I don't forget the least things you say to me. Well, because I am modern—'my lips trembled and belied142 me—'I can answer you No. I can even now refuse you. The old-fashioned girl, the medi?val girl, would have held that because she saved your life (if I did save your life, which is a matter of opinion) she was bound to marry you. But I am modern, and I see things differently. If there were reasons at Schlangenbad which made it impracticable for me to accept you—though my heart pleaded hard—I do not deny it—those reasons cannot have disappeared merely because you have chosen to fall over a precipice, and I have pulled you up again. My decision was founded, you see, not on passing accidents of situation, but on permanent considerations. Nothing has happened in the last three days to affect those considerations. We are still ourselves: you, rich; I, a penniless adventuress. I could not accept you when you asked me at Schlangenbad. On just the same grounds, I cannot accept you now. I do not see how the unessential fact that I made myself into a winch to pull you up the cliff, and that I am still smarting for it——'
He looked me all over comically. 'How severe we are!' he cried, in a bantering143 tone. 'And how extremely Girtony! A System of Logic144, Ratiocinative and Inductive, by Lois Cayley! What a pity we didn't take a professor's chair.[Pg 139] My child that isn't you! It's not yourself at all! It's an attempt to be unnaturally145 and unfemininely reasonable.'
Logic fled. I broke down utterly146. 'Harold,' I cried, rising, 'I love you! I admit I love you! But I will never marry you—while you have those thousands.'
'I haven't got them yet!'
'Or the chance of inheriting them.'
He smothered147 my hand with kisses—for I withdrew my face. 'If you admit you love me,' he cried, quite joyously148, 'then all is well. When once a woman admits that, the rest is but a matter of time—and, Lois, I can wait a thousand years for you.'
'Not in my case,' I answered through my tears. 'Not in my case, Harold! I am a modern woman, and what I say I mean. I will renew my promise. If ever you are poor and friendless, come to me; I am yours. Till then, don't harrow me by asking me the impossible!'[Pg 140]
I tore myself away. At the hall door, Lady Georgina intercepted149 me. She glanced at my red eyes. 'Then you have taken him?' she cried, seizing my hand.
I shook my head firmly. I could hardly speak. 'No, Lady Georgina,' I answered, in a choking voice. 'I have refused him again. I will not stand in his way. I will not ruin his prospects.'
She drew back and let her chin drop. 'Well, of all the hard-hearted, cruel, obdurate150 young women I ever saw in my born days, if you're not the very hardest——'
I half ran from the house. I hurried home to the chalet. There, I dashed into my own room, locked the door behind me, flung myself wildly on my bed, and, burying my face in my hands, had a good, long, hard-hearted, cruel, obdurate cry—exactly like any other medi?val woman. It's all very well being modern; but my experience is that, when it comes to a man one loves—well, the Middle Ages are still horribly strong within us.
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1
evaporation
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| n.蒸发，消失 | |
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amalgamated
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| v.（使）（金属）汞齐化( amalgamate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）合并；联合；结合 | |
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versatile
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| adj.通用的，万用的；多才多艺的，多方面的 | |
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entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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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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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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boggy
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| adj.沼泽多的 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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bloc
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| n.集团；联盟 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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indigence
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| n.贫穷 | |
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cantankerous
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| adj.爱争吵的，脾气不好的 | |
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gumption
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| n.才干 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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concoct
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| v.调合，制造 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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29
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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31
revolve
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| vi.(使)旋转；循环出现 | |
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32
axis
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| n.轴，轴线，中心线；坐标轴，基准线 | |
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33
romp
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| n.欢闹；v.嬉闹玩笑 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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gender
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| n.（生理上的）性，（名词、代词等的）性 | |
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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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poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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enticing
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| adj.迷人的；诱人的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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46
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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imploringly
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| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
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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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51
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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53
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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54
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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55
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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56
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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57
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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58
discoursing
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| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
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59
tardiness
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| n.缓慢；迟延；拖拉 | |
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60
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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61
pinnacles
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| 顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 )； 顶点； 尖顶； 小尖塔 | |
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pinnacle
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| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
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63
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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64
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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65
sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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66
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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71
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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72
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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73
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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74
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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75
sniffs
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的第三人称单数 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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76
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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77
spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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78
spikes
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| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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79
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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80
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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81
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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82
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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83
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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84
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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85
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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86
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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87
forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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88
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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89
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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90
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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91
diverge
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| v.分叉，分歧，离题，使...岔开，使转向 | |
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92
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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buttress
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| n.支撑物；v.支持 | |
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95
hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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97
Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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98
misgave
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| v.使（某人的情绪、精神等）疑虑，担忧，害怕( misgive的过去式 ) | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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100
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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101
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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102
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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103
groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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104
fissure
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| n.裂缝；裂伤 | |
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105
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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106
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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107
sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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108
glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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109
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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110
nooses
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| n.绞索，套索( noose的名词复数 ) | |
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111
noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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112
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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113
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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114
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
coaxingly
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| adv. 以巧言诱哄，以甘言哄骗 | |
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116
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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117
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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118
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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119
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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121
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
commendable
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| adj.值得称赞的 | |
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123
hazardous
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| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
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124
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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126
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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127
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
pivot
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| v.在枢轴上转动；装枢轴，枢轴；adj.枢轴的 | |
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129
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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130
ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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131
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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132
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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133
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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134
projections
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| 预测( projection的名词复数 )； 投影； 投掷； 突起物 | |
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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136
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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137
adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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138
sprains
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| 扭伤( sprain的名词复数 ) | |
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139
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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140
courageously
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| ad.勇敢地，无畏地 | |
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141
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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142
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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143
bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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144
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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145
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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146
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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147
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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148
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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149
intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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150
obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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