In all this, Granville neither acquiesced3 nor dissented4. He signed mechanically whatever documents his father presented to him, and he stood by his bargain with a certain sullen5, undeviating, hard-featured loyalty6; but he never forgot those few angry words in which his father had half let out his long-guarded life secret.
Thinking the matter over continually with himself, however, he came in the end to the natural conclusion that one explanation alone would fit all the facts. He was not his father’s eldest7 son at all. Colonel Kelmscott must have been married to some one else before his marriage with Lady Emily. That some one else’s son was the real heir of Tilgate. And it was to him that his father, in his passionate8 penitence9, proposed, after many years, to do one-sided justice. Now Granville Kelmscott, though a haughty10 and somewhat head-strong fellow, after the fashion of his race, was a young man of principle and of honour. The moment this hideous11 doubt occurred to his mind, he couldn’t rest in his bed till he had cleared it all up and settled it for ever, one way or the other. If Tilgate wasn’t his, by law and right, he wanted none of it. If his father was trying to buy off the real heir to the estate with a pitiful pittance12, in order to preserve the ill-gotten remainder for Lady Emily’s son, why, Granville for his part would be no active party to such a miserable13 compromise. If some other man was the Colonel’s lawful14 heir, let that other man take the property and enjoy it; but he, Granville Kelmscott, would go forth15 upon the world, an honest adventurer, to seek his fortune with his own right hand wherever he might find it.
Still, he could take no active step, on the other hand, to hunt up the truth about the Colonel’s real or supposed first marriage. For here an awful dilemma16 blocked the way before him. If the Colonel had married before, and if by that former marriage he had a son or sons—how could Granville be sure the supposed first wife was dead before the second was married? And supposing, for a moment, she was not dead—supposing his father had been even more criminal and more unjust than he at first imagined—how could he take the initiative himself in showing that his own mother, Lady Emily Kelmscott, was no wife at all in the sight of the law? that some other woman was his father’s lawful consort17? The bare possibility of such an issue was too horrible for any son on earth to face undismayed. So, tortured and distracted by his divided duty, Granville Kelmscott shrank alike from action or inaction.
In the midst of such doubts and difficulties, however, one duty shone out clear as day before him. Till the mystery was cleared up, till the problem was solved, he must see no more of Gwendoline Gildersleeve. He had engaged himself to her as the heir of Tilgate. She had accepted him under that guise18, and looked forward to an early and happy marriage. Now, all was changed. He was, or might be, a beggar and an outcast. To be sure, he knew Gwendoline loved him for himself; but how could he marry her if he didn’t even know he had anything of his own in the world to marry upon? The park and fallow deer had been a part of himself; without them, he felt he was hardly even a Kelmscott. It was his plain duty, now, for Gwendoline’s sake, to release her from her promise to a man who might perhaps be penniless, and who couldn’t even feel sure he was the lawful son of his own father. And yet—for Lady Emily’s sake—he mustn’t hint, even to Gwendoline, the real reason which moved him to offer her this release. He must throw himself upon her mercy, without cause assigned, and ask her for the time being to have faith in him and to believe him.
So, a day or two after the interview with his father in the library, the self-disinherited heir of Tilgate took the path through the glade19 that led into the dell beyond the boundary fence—that dell which had once been accounted a component20 part of Tilgate Park, but which Gilbert Gildersleeve had proved, in his cold-blooded documentary legal way, to belong in reality to the grounds of Woodlands. It was in the dell that Granville sometimes ran up against Gwendoline. He sat down on the broken ledge21 of ironstone that overhung the little brook22. It was eleven o’clock gone. By eleven o’clock, three mornings in the week, chance—pure chance—the patron god of lovers, brought Gwendoline into the dell to meet him.
Presently, a light footfall rang soft upon the path, and next moment a tall and beautiful girl, with a wealth of auburn hair, and a bright colour in her cheeks, tripped lightly down the slope, as if strolling through the wood in maiden23 meditation24, fancy free, unexpecting any one.
“What, you here, Mr. Kelmscott?” she exclaimed, as she saw him, her pink cheek deepening as she spoke25 to a still profounder crimson26.
“Yes, I’m here, Gwendoline,” Granville Kelmscott answered, with a smile of recognition at her maidenly27 pretence28 of an undesigned coincidence. “And I’m here, to say the truth, because I quite expected this morning to meet you.”
He took her hand gravely. Gwendoline let her eyes fall modestly on the ground, as if some warmer greeting were more often bestowed29 between them. The young man blushed with a certain manly30 shame. “No, not to-day, dear,” he said, with an effort, as she held her cheek aside, half courting and half deprecating the expected kiss. “Oh, Gwendoline, I don’t know how to begin. I don’t know how to say it. But I’ve got very sad news for you—news that I can’t bear to break—that I can’t venture to explain—that I don’t even properly understand myself. I must throw myself upon your faith. I must just ask you to trust me.”
Gwendoline let him seat her, unresisting, upon the ledge by his side, and her cheek grew suddenly ashy pale, as she answered with a gasp31, forgetting the “Mr. Kelmscott” at this sudden leap into the stern realities of life, “Why, Granville, what do you mean? You know I can trust you. You know, whatever it may be, I believe you implicitly32.”
The young man took her hand in his with a tender pressure. It was a terrible message to have to deliver. He bungled33 and blundered on, with many twists and turns, through some inarticulate attempt at an indefinite explanation. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her—oh, devotedly34, eternally, she must know that well; she never could doubt it. It wasn’t that any shadow had arisen between him and her, it wasn’t anything he could speak about, or anything she must say to any soul on earth—oh, for his mother’s sake, he hoped and trusted she would religiously keep his secret inviolate35! But something had happened to him within the last few days—something unspeakable, indefinite, uncertain, vague, yet very full of the most dreadful possibilities; something that might make him unable to support a wife; something that at least must delay or postpone36 for an unknown time the long-hoped-for prospect37 of his claiming her and marrying her. Some day, perhaps—he broke off suddenly, and looked with a wistful look into her deep grey eyes. His resolution failed him. “One kiss,” he said, “Gwendoline!” His voice was choking. The beautiful girl, turning towards him with a wild sob38, fell, yielding herself on his breast, and cried hot tears of joy at that evident sign that, in spite of all he said, he still really loved her.
They sat there long, hand in hand, and eye on eye, talking it all over, as lovers will, with infinite delays, yet getting no nearer towards a solution either way. Gwendoline, for her part, didn’t care, of course—what true woman does?—whether Granville was the heir of Tilgate or not; she would marry him all the more, she said, if he were a penniless nobody. All she wanted was to love him and be near him. Let him marry her now, marry her to-day, and then go where he would in the world to seek his livelihood39. But Granville, poor fellow, alarmed at the bare suggestion—for his mother’s sake—that Tilgate might really not be his, checked her at once in her outburst with a grave, silent look; he was still, he said calmly, the inheritor of Tilgate. It wasn’t that. At least, not as she took it. He didn’t know precisely40 what it was himself. She must have faith in him and trust him. She must wait and see. In the end, he hoped, he would come back and marry her.
And Gwendoline made answer, with many tears, that she knew it was so, and that she loved him and trusted him. So, after sitting there long, hand locked in hand, and heart intent on heart, the two young people rose at last to go, protesting and vowing41 their mutual42 love on either side, as happy and as miserable in their divided lives as two young people in all England that moment. Over and over again they kissed and said good-bye; then they stood with one another’s fingers clasped hard in their own, unwilling43 to part, and unable to loose them. After that, they kissed again, and declared once more they were broken-hearted, and could never leave one another. But still, Granville added, half aside, he must make up his mind not to see Gwendoline again—honour demanded that sacrifice—till he could come at last a rich man to claim her. Meanwhile, she was free; and he—he was ever hers, devotedly, whole-souledly. But they were no longer engaged. He was hers in heart only. Let her try to forget him. He could never forget her.
And Gwendoline, sobbing44 and tearful, but believing him implicitly, retreated with slow steps, looking back at each turn of the zigzag45 path, and sending the ghosts of dead kisses from her finger-tips to greet him.
Below in the dell Granville stood still, and watched her depart in breathless silence. Then, in an agony of despair, he flung himself down on the ground and burst into tears, and sobbed46 like a child over his broken daydream47.
Gwendoline, coming back to make sure, saw him lying and sobbing so; and, woman-like, felt compelled to step down just one minute to comfort him. Granville in turn refused her proffered48 comfort—it was better so—he mustn’t listen to her any more; he must steel himself to say No; he must remember it was dishonourable of him to drag a delicately nurtured49 girl into a penniless marriage. Then they kissed once more and made it all up again; and they sobbed and wept as before, and broke it off for ever; and they said good-bye for the very last time; and they decided50 they must never meet till Granville came back; and they hoped they would sometimes catch just a glimpse of one another in the outer world, and whatever the other one said or did, they would each in their hearts be always true to their first great love; and they were more miserable still, and they were happier than they had ever been in their lives before; and they parted at last, with a desperate effort, each perfectly51 sure of the other’s love, and each vowing in soul they would never, never see one another again, but each, for all that, perfectly certain that some day or other they would be husband and wife, though Tilgate and the wretched little fallow deer should sink, unwept, to the bottom of the ocean.
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1
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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entail
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| vt.使承担，使成为必要，需要 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dissented
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| 不同意，持异议( dissent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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9
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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pittance
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| n.微薄的薪水，少量 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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component
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| n.组成部分，成分，元件；adj.组成的，合成的 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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25
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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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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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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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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32
implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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33
bungled
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| v.搞糟，完不成( bungle的过去式和过去分词 )；笨手笨脚地做；失败；完不成 | |
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devotedly
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| 专心地； 恩爱地； 忠实地； 一心一意地 | |
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inviolate
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| adj.未亵渎的，未受侵犯的 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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41
vowing
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的现在分词形式） | |
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42
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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43
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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44
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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45
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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46
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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47
daydream
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| v.做白日梦，幻想 | |
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48
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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50
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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51
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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