How it was that I escaped being gored3 to death before I had finished my picture is more than I can explain to this day. “Thunder and Lightning” resented the very sight of me and my color-box, as if he viewed the taking of his likeness1 in the light of a personal insult. It required two men to coax4 him, while a third held him by a ring in his nostrils5, before I could venture on beginning to work. Even then he always lashed6 his tail, and jerked his huge head, and rolled his fiery7 eyes with a devouring8 anxiety to have me on his horns for daring to sit down quietly and look at him. Never, I can honestly say, did I feel more heartily9 grateful for the blessings10 of soundness of limb and wholeness of skin, than when I had completed the picture of the bull!
One morning, when I had but little more than half done my unwelcome task, my friend and I were met on our way to the bull’s stable by the farm bailiff, who informed us gravely that “Thunder and Lightning” was just then in such an especially surly state of temper as to render it quite unsafe for me to think of painting him. I looked inquiringly at Mr. Garthwaite, who smiled with an air of comic resignation, and said, “Very well, then, we have nothing for it but to wait till to-morrow. What do you say to a morning’s fishing, Mr. Kerby, now that my bull’s bad temper has given us a holiday?”
I replied, with perfect truth, that I knew nothing about fishing. But Mr. Garthwaite, who was as ardent11 an angler in his way as Izaak Walton himself, was not to be appeased12 even by the best of excuses. “It is never too late to learn,” cried he. “I will make a fisherman of you in no time, if you will only attend to my directions.” It was impossible for me to make any more apologies, without the risk of appealing discourteous13. So I thanked my host for his friendly intentions, and, with some secret misgivings15, accepted the first fishing-rod that he put into my hands.
“We shall soon get there,” said Mr. Garthwaite. “I am taking you to the best mill-stream in the neighborhood.” It was all one to me whether we got there soon or late and whether the stream was good or bad. However, I did my best to conceal16 my unsportsman-like apathy17; and tried to look quite happy and very impatient to begin, as we drew near to the mill, and heard louder and louder the gushing18 of many waters all round it.
Leading the way immediately to a place beneath the falling stream, where there was a deep, eddying19 pool, Mr. Garthwaite baited and threw in his line before I had fixed20 the joints21 of my fishing-rod. This first difficulty overcome, I involuntarily plunged22 into some excellent, but rather embarrassing, sport with my line and hook. I caught every one of my garments, from head to foot; I angled for my own clothes with the dexterity23 and success of Izaak Walton himself. I caught my hat, my jacket, my waistcoat, my trousers, my fingers, and my thumbs—some devil possessed24 my hook; some more than eel-like vitality25 twirled and twisted in every inch of my line. By the time my host arrived to assist me, I had attached myself to my fishing-rod, apparently26 for life. All difficulties yielded, however, to his patience and skill; my hook was baited for me, and thrown in; my rod was put into my hand; my friend went back to his place; and we began at last to angle in earnest.
We certainly caught a few fish (in my case, I mean, of course, that the fish caught themselves); but they were scanty27 in number and light in weight. Whether it was the presence of the miller’s foreman—a gloomy personage, who stood staring disastrously28 upon us from a little flower-garden on the opposite bank—that cast adverse29 influence over our sport; or whether my want of faith and earnestness as an angler acted retributively on my companion as well as myself, I know not; but it is certain that he got almost as little reward for his skill as I got for my patience. After nearly two hours of intense expectation on my part, and intense angling on his, Mr. Garthwaite jerked his line out of the water in a rage, and bade me follow him to another place, declaring that the stream must have been netted by poachers in the night, who had taken all the large fish away with them, and had thrown in the small ones to grow until their next visit. We moved away, further down the bank, leaving the imperturbable31 foreman still in the flower-garden, staring at us speechlessly on our departure, exactly as he had already stared at us on our approach.
“Stop a minute,” said Mr. Garthwaite suddenly, after we had walked some distance in silence by the side of the stream, “I have an idea. Now we are out for a day’s angling, we won’t be balked32. Instead of trying the water here again, we will go where I know, by experience, that the fishing is excellent. And what is more, you shall be introduced to a lady whose appearance is sure to interest you, and whose history, I can tell you beforehand, is a very remarkable33 one.”
“Indeed,” I said. “May I ask in what way?”
“She is connected,” answered Mr. Garthwaite, “with an extraordinary story, which relates to a family once settled in an old house in this neighborhood. Her name is Miss Welwyn; but she is less formally known an among the poor people about here, who love her dearly, and honor her almost superstitiously34, as the Lady of Glenwith Grange. Wait till you have seen her before you ask me to say anything more. She lives in the strictest retirement35; I am almost the only visitor who is admitted. Don’t say you had rather not go in. Any friend of mine will be welcome at the Grange (the scene of the story, remember), for my sake—the more especially because I have never abused my privilege of introduction. The place is not above two miles from here, and the stream (which we call, in our county dialect, Glenwith Beck) runs through the ground.”
As we walked on, Mr. Garthwaite’s manner altered. He became unusually silent and thoughtful. The mention of Miss Welwyn’s name had evidently called up some recollections which were not in harmony with his every-day mood. Feeling that to talk to him on any indifferent subject would be only to interrupt his thoughts to no purpose, I walked by his side in perfect silence, looking out already with some curiosity and impatience36 for a first view of Glenwith Grange. We stopped at last close by an old church, standing37 on the outskirts38 of a pretty village. The low wall of the churchyard was bounded on one side by a plantation39, and was joined by a park paling, in which I noticed a small wicket-gate. Mr. Garthwaite opened it, and led me along a shrubbery path, which conducted us circuitously40 to the dwelling-house.
We had evidently entered by a private way, for we approached the building by the back. I looked up at it curiously41, and saw standing at one of the windows on the lower floor a little girl watching us as we advanced. She seemed to be about nine or ten years old. I could not help stopping a moment to look up at her, her clear complexion42 and her long dark hair were so beautiful. And yet there was something in her expression—a dimness and vacancy43 in her large eyes—a changeless, unmeaning smile on her parted lips—which seemed to jar with all that was naturally attractive in her face; which perplexed44, disappointed, and even shocked me, though I hardy45 knew why. Mr. Garthwaite, who had been walking along thoughtfully, with his eyes on the ground, turned back when he found me lingering behind him; looked up where I was looking; started a little, I thought; then took my arm, whispered rather impatiently, “Don’t say anything about having seen that poor child when you are introduced to Miss Welwyn; I’ll tell you why afterward46,” and led me round hastily to the front of the building.
It was a very dreary47 old house, with a lawn in front thickly sprinkled with flower-beds, and creepers of all sorts climbing in profusion48 about the heavy stone porch and the mullions of the lower windows. In spite of these prettiest of all ornaments49 clustering brightly round the building—in spite of the perfect repair in which it was kept from top to bottom—there was something repellent to me in the aspect of the whole place: a deathly stillness hung over it, which fell oppressively on my spirits. When my companion rang the loud, deep-toned bell, the sound startled me as if we had been committing a crime in disturbing the silence. And when the door was opened by an old female servant (while the hollow echo of the bell was still vibrating in the air), I could hardly imagine it possible that we should be let in. We were admitted, however, without the slightest demur51. I remarked that there was the same atmosphere of dreary repose52 inside the house which I had already observed, or rather felt, outside it. No dogs barked at our approach—no doors banged in the servants’ offices—no heads peeped over the banisters—not one of the ordinary domestic consequences of an unexpected visit in the country met either eye or ear. The large shadowy apartment, half library, half breakfast-room, into which we were ushered53, was as solitary54 as the hall of entrance; unless I except such drowsy55 evidences of life as were here presented to us in the shape of an Angola cat and a gray parrot—the first lying asleep in a chair, the second sitting ancient, solemn, and voiceless, in a large cage.
Mr. Garthwaite walked to the window when we entered, without saying a word. Determining to let his taciturn humor have its way, I asked him no questions, but looked around the room to see what information it would give me (and rooms often do give such information) about the character and habits of the owner of the house.
Two tables covered with books were the first objects that attracted me. On approaching them, I was surprised to find that the all-influencing periodical literature of the present day—whose sphere is already almost without limit; whose readers, even in our time, may be numbered by millions—was entirely56 unrepresented on Miss Welwyn’s table. Nothing modern, nothing contemporary, in the world of books, presented itself. Of all the volumes beneath my hand, not one bore the badge of the circulating library, or wore the flaring57 modern livery of gilt58 cloth. Every work that I took up had been written at least fifteen or twenty years since. The prints hanging round the walls (toward which I next looked) were all engraved59 from devotional subjects by the old masters; the music-stand contained no music of later date than the compositions of Haydn and Mozart. Whatever I examined besides, told me, with the same consistency60, the same strange tale. The owner of these possessions lived in the by-gone time; lived among old recollections and old associations—a voluntary recluse61 from all that was connected with the passing day. In Miss Welwyn’s house, the stir, the tumult62, the “idle business” of the world evidently appealed in vain to sympathies which grew no longer with the growing hour.
As these thoughts were passing through my mind, the door opened and the lady herself appeared.
She looked certainly past the prime of life; longer past it, as I afterward discovered, than she really was. But I never remember, in any other face, to have seen so much of the better part of the beauty of early womanhood still remaining, as I saw in hers. Sorrow had evidently passed over the fair, calm countenance63 before me, but had left resignation there as its only trace. Her expression was still youthful—youthful in its kindness and its candor64 especially. It was only when I looked at her hair, that was now growing gray—at her wan30, thin hands—at the faint lines marked round her mouth—at the sad serenity65 of her eyes, that I fairly detected the mark of age; and, more than that, the token of some great grief, which had been conquered, but not banished66. Even from her voice alone—from the peculiar67 uncertainty68 of its low, calm tones when she spoke—it was easy to conjecture69 that she must have passed through sufferings, at some time of her life, which had tried to the quick the noble nature that they could not subdue70.
Mr. Garthwaite and she met each other almost like brother and sister; it was plain that the friendly intimacy71 between them had been of very long duration. Our visit was a short one. The conversation never advanced beyond the commonplace topics suited to the occasion. It was, therefore, from what I saw, and not from what I heard, that I was enabled to form my judgment72 of Miss Welwyn. Deeply as she had interested me—far more deeply than I at all know how to explain in fitting words—I cannot say that I was unwilling73 to depart when we rose to take leave. Though nothing could be more courteous14 and more kind than her manner toward me during the whole interview, I could still perceive that it cost her some effort to repress in my presence the shades of sadness and reserve which seemed often ready to steal over her. And I must confess that when I once or twice heard the half-sigh stifled74, and saw the momentary75 relapse into thoughtfulness suddenly restrained, I felt an indefinable awkwardness in my position which made me ill at ease; which set me doubting whether, as a perfect stranger, I had done right in suffering myself to be introduced where no new faces could awaken76 either interest or curiosity; where no new sympathies could ever be felt, no new friendships ever be formed.
As soon as we had taken leave of Miss Welwyn, and were on our way to the stream in her grounds, I more than satisfied Mr. Garthwaite that the impression the lady had produced on me was of no transitory kind, by overwhelming him with questions about her—not omitting one or two incidental inquiries77 on the subject of the little girl whom I had seen at the back window. He only rejoined that his story would answer all my questions; and that he would begin to tell it as soon as we had arrived at Glenwith Beck, and were comfortably settled to fishing.
Five minutes more of walking brought us to the bank of the stream, and showed us the water running smoothly78 and slowly, tinged79 with the softest green luster50 from the reflections of trees which almost entirely arched it over. Leaving me to admire the view at my ease, Mr. Garthwaite occupied himself with the necessary preparations for angling, baiting my hook as well as his own. Then, desiring me to sit near him on the bank, he at last satisfied my curiosity by beginning his story. I shall relate it in his own manner, and, as nearly as possible, in his own words.
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1
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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truculent
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| adj.野蛮的，粗野的 | |
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gored
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| v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破( gore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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coax
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| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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6
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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8
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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12
appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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13
discourteous
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| adj.不恭的，不敬的 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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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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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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18
gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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eddying
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| 涡流，涡流的形成 | |
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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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joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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disastrously
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| ad.灾难性地 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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superstitiously
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| 被邪教所支配 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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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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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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circuitously
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| 曲折地 | |
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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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42
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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43
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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44
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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45
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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46
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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47
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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48
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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49
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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50
luster
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| n.光辉；光泽，光亮；荣誉 | |
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51
demur
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| v．表示异议，反对 | |
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52
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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53
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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55
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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56
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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57
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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58
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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59
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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60
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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candor
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| n.坦白，率真 | |
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65
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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66
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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70
subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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71
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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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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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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74
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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76
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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77
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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78
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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79
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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