Signs of perturbation under the surface, suggestive of some hidden influence at work, were not wanting, as the time passed on. The one thing missing was the prophetic faculty2 that could read those signs aright at Windygates House.
On the very day when Sir Patrick’s dextrous treatment of his sister-in-law had smoothed the way to the hastening of the marriage, an obstacle was raised to the new arrangement by no less a person than Blanche herself. She had sufficiently3 recovered, toward noon, to be able to receive Arnold in her own little sitting-room4. It proved to be a very brief interview. A quarter of an hour later, Arnold appeared before Sir Patrick—while the old gentleman was sunning himself in the garden—with a face of blank despair. Blanche had indignantly declined even to think of such a thing as her marriage, at a time when she was heart-broken by the discovery that Anne had left her forever.
“You gave me leave to mention it, Sir Patrick—didn’t you?” said Arnold.
Sir Patrick shifted round a little, so as to get the sun on his back, and admitted that he had given leave.
“If I had only known, I would rather have cut my tongue out than have said a word about it. What do you think she did? She burst out crying, and ordered me to leave the room.”
It was a lovely morning—a cool breeze tempered the heat of the sun; the birds were singing; the garden wore its brightest look. Sir Patrick was supremely5 comfortable. The little wearisome vexations of this mortal life had retired6 to a respectful distance from him. He positively7 declined to invite them to come any nearer.
“Here is a world,” said the old gentleman, getting the sun a little more broadly on his back, “which a merciful Creator has filled with lovely sights, harmonious8 sounds, delicious scents9; and here are creatures with faculties10 expressly made for enjoyment11 of those sights, sounds, and scents—to say nothing of Love, Dinner, and Sleep, all thrown into the bargain. And these same creatures hate, starve, toss sleepless12 on their pillows, see nothing pleasant, hear nothing pleasant, smell nothing pleasant—cry bitter tears, say hard words, contract painful illnesses; wither13, sink, age, die! What does it mean, Arnold? And how much longer is it all to go on?”
The fine connecting link between the blindness of Blanche to the advantage of being married, and the blindness of humanity to the advantage of being in existence, though sufficiently perceptible no doubt to venerable Philosophy ripening15 in the sun, was absolutely invisible to Arnold. He deliberately16 dropped the vast question opened by Sir Patrick; and, reverting17 to Blanche, asked what was to be done.
“What do you do with a fire, when you can’t extinguish it?” said Sir Patrick. “You let it blaze till it goes out. What do you do with a woman when you can’t pacify18 her? Let her blaze till she goes out.”
Arnold failed to see the wisdom embodied19 in that excellent advice. “I thought you would have helped me to put things right with Blanche,” he said.
“I am helping20 you. Let Blanche alone. Don’t speak of the marriage again, the next time you see her. If she mentions it, beg her pardon, and tell her you won’t press the question any more. I shall see her in an hour or two, and I shall take exactly the same tone myself. You have put the idea into her mind—leave it there to ripen14. Give her distress21 about Miss Silvester nothing to feed on. Don’t stimulate22 it by contradiction; don’t rouse it to defend itself by disparagement23 of her lost friend. Leave Time to edge her gently nearer and nearer to the husband who is waiting for her—and take my word for it, Time will have her ready when the settlements are ready.”
Toward the luncheon24 hour Sir Patrick saw Blanche, and put in practice the principle which he had laid down. She was perfectly25 tranquil26 before her uncle left her. A little later, Arnold was forgiven. A little later still, the old gentleman’s sharp observation noted27 that his niece was unusually thoughtful, and that she looked at Arnold, from time to time, with an interest of a new kind—an interest which shyly hid itself from Arnold’s view. Sir Patrick went up to dress for dinner, with a comfortable inner conviction that the difficulties which had beset28 him were settled at last. Sir Patrick had never been more mistaken in his life.
The business of the toilet was far advanced. Duncan had just placed the glass in a good light; and Duncan’s master was at that turning point in his daily life which consisted in attaining29, or not attaining, absolute perfection in the tying of his white cravat30—when some outer barbarian31, ignorant of the first principles of dressing32 a gentleman’s throat, presumed to knock at the bedroom door. Neither master nor servant moved or breathed until the integrity of the cravat was placed beyond the reach of accident. Then Sir Patrick cast the look of final criticism in the glass, and breathed again when he saw that it was done.
“A little labored33 in style, Duncan. But not bad, considering the interruption?”
“By no means, Sir Patrick.”
“See who it is.”
Duncan went to the door; and returned, to his master, with an excuse for the interruption, in the shape of a telegram!
Sir Patrick started at the sight of that unwelcome message. “Sign the receipt, Duncan,” he said—and opened the envelope. Yes! Exactly as he had anticipated! News of Miss Silvester, on the very day when he had decided34 to abandon all further attempt at discovering her. The telegram ran thus:
“Message received from Falkirk this morning. Lady, as described, left the train at Falkirk last night. Went on, by the first train this morning, to Glasgow. Wait further instructions.”
“Is the messenger to take any thing back, Sir Patrick?”
“No. I must consider what I am to do. If I find it necessary I will send to the station. Here is news of Miss Silvester, Duncan,” continued Sir Patrick, when the messenger had gone. “She has been traced to Glasgow.”
“Glasgow is a large place, Sir Patrick.”
“Yes. Even if they have telegraphed on and had her watched (which doesn’t appear), she may escape us again at Glasgow. I am the last man in the world, I hope, to shrink from accepting my fair share of any responsibility. But I own I would have given something to have kept this telegram out of the house. It raises the most awkward question I have had to decide on for many a long day past. Help me on with my coat. I must think of it! I must think of it!”
Sir Patrick went down to dinner in no agreeable frame of mind. The unexpected recovery of the lost trace of Miss Silvester—there is no disguising it—seriously annoyed him.
The dinner-party that day, assembling punctually at the stroke of the bell, had to wait a quarter of an hour before the hostess came down stairs.
Lady Lundie’s apology, when she entered the library, informed her guests that she had been detained by some neighbors who had called at an unusually late hour. Mr. and Mrs. Julius Delamayn, finding themselves near Windygates, had favored her with a visit, on their way home, and had left cards of invitation for a garden-party at their house.
Lady Lundie was charmed with her new acquaintances. They had included every body who was staying at Windygates in their invitation. They had been as pleasant and easy as old friends. Mrs. Delamayn had brought the kindest message from one of her guests—Mrs. Glenarm—to say that she remembered meeting Lady Lundie in London, in the time of the late Sir Thomas, and was anxious to improve the acquaintance. Mr. Julius Delamayn had given a most amusing account of his brother. Geoffrey had sent to London for a trainer; and the whole household was on the tip-toe of expectation to witness the magnificent spectacle of an athlete preparing himself for a foot-race. The ladies, with Mrs. Glenarm at their head, were hard at work, studying the profound and complicated question of human running—the muscles employed in it, the preparation required for it, the heroes eminent35 in it. The men had been all occupied that morning in assisting Geoffrey to measure a mile, for his exercising-ground, in a remote part of the park—where there was an empty cottage, which was to be fitted with all the necessary appliances for the reception of Geoffrey and his trainer. “You will see the last of my brother,” Julius had said, “at the garden-party. After that he retires into athletic36 privacy, and has but one interest in life—the interest of watching the disappearance37 of his own superfluous38 flesh.” Throughout the dinner Lady Lundie was in oppressively good spirits, singing the praises of her new friends. Sir Patrick, on the other hand, had never been so silent within the memory of mortal man. He talked with an effort; and he listened with a greater effort still. To answer or not to answer the telegram in his pocket? To persist or not to persist in his resolution to leave Miss Silvester to go her own way? Those were the questions which insisted on coming round to him as regularly as the dishes themselves came round in the orderly progression of the dinner.
Blanche—-who had not felt equal to taking her place at the table—appeared in the drawing-room afterward39.
Sir Patrick came in to tea, with the gentlemen, still uncertain as to the right course to take in the matter of the telegram. One look at Blanche’s sad face and Blanche’s altered manner decided him. What would be the result if he roused new hopes by resuming the effort to trace Miss Silvester, and if he lost the trace a second time? He had only to look at his niece and to see. Could any consideration justify40 him in turning her mind back on the memory of the friend who had left her at the moment when it was just beginning to look forward for relief to the prospect41 of her marriage? Nothing could justify him; and nothing should induce him to do it.
Reasoning—soundly enough, from his own point of view—on that basis, Sir Patrick determined42 on sending no further instructions to his friend at Edinburgh. That night he warned Duncan to preserve the strictest silence as to the arrival of the telegram. He burned it, in case of accidents, with his own hand, in his own room.
Rising the next day and looking out of his window, Sir Patrick saw the two young people taking their morning walk at a moment when they happened to cross the open grassy43 space which separated the two shrubberies at Windygates. Arnold’s arm was round Blanche’s waist, and they were talking confidentially44 with their heads close together. “She is coming round already!” thought the old gentleman, as the two disappeared again in the second shrubbery from view. “Thank Heaven! things are running smoothly45 at last!”
Among the ornaments46 of Sir Patrick’s bed room there was a view (taken from above) of one of the Highland47 waterfalls. If he had looked at the picture when he turned away from his window, he might have remarked that a river which is running with its utmost smoothness at one moment may be a river which plunges48 into its most violent agitation49 at another; and he might have remembered, with certain misgivings50, that the progress of a stream of water has been long since likened, with the universal consent of humanity, to the progress of the stream of life.
点击收听单词发音
1 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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2 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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3 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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4 sitting-room | |
n.(BrE)客厅,起居室 | |
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5 supremely | |
adv.无上地,崇高地 | |
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6 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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7 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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8 harmonious | |
adj.和睦的,调和的,和谐的,协调的 | |
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9 scents | |
n.香水( scent的名词复数 );气味;(动物的)臭迹;(尤指狗的)嗅觉 | |
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10 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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11 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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12 sleepless | |
adj.不睡眠的,睡不著的,不休息的 | |
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13 wither | |
vt.使凋谢,使衰退,(用眼神气势等)使畏缩;vi.枯萎,衰退,消亡 | |
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14 ripen | |
vt.使成熟;vi.成熟 | |
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15 ripening | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的现在分词 );熟化;熟成 | |
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16 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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17 reverting | |
恢复( revert的现在分词 ); 重提; 回到…上; 归还 | |
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18 pacify | |
vt.使(某人)平静(或息怒);抚慰 | |
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19 embodied | |
v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 );象征;包括;包含 | |
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20 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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21 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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22 stimulate | |
vt.刺激,使兴奋;激励,使…振奋 | |
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23 disparagement | |
n.轻视,轻蔑 | |
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24 luncheon | |
n.午宴,午餐,便宴 | |
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25 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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26 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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27 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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28 beset | |
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围 | |
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29 attaining | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的现在分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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30 cravat | |
n.领巾,领结;v.使穿有领结的服装,使结领结 | |
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31 barbarian | |
n.野蛮人;adj.野蛮(人)的;未开化的 | |
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32 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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33 labored | |
adj.吃力的,谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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34 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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35 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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36 athletic | |
adj.擅长运动的,强健的;活跃的,体格健壮的 | |
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37 disappearance | |
n.消失,消散,失踪 | |
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38 superfluous | |
adj.过多的,过剩的,多余的 | |
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39 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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40 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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41 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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42 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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43 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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44 confidentially | |
ad.秘密地,悄悄地 | |
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45 smoothly | |
adv.平滑地,顺利地,流利地,流畅地 | |
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46 ornaments | |
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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47 highland | |
n.(pl.)高地,山地 | |
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48 plunges | |
n.跳进,投入vt.使投入,使插入,使陷入vi.投入,跳进,陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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49 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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50 misgivings | |
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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