Sir Patrick and Arnold held more than one private consultation1, during the interval2, on the delicate and difficult subject of admitting Blanche to a knowledge of what had happened. The wise elder advised and the inexperienced junior listened. “Think of it,” said Sir Patrick; “and do it.” And Arnold thought of it—and left it undone3.
Let those who feel inclined to blame him remember that he had only been married a fortnight. It is hard, surely, after but two weeks’ possession of your wife, to appear before her in the character of an offender4 on trial—and to find that an angel of retribution has been thrown into the bargain by the liberal destiny which bestowed5 on you the woman whom you adore!
They were all three at home on the Wednesday afternoon, looking out for the postman.
The correspondence delivered included (exactly as Sir Patrick had foreseen) a letter from Lady Lundie. Further investigation6, on the far more interesting subject of the expected news from Glasgow, revealed—nothing. The lawyer had not answered Sir Patrick’s inquiry7 by return of post.
“Is that a bad sign?” asked Blanche.
“It is a sign that something has happened,” answered her uncle. “Mr. Crum is possibly expecting to receive some special information, and is waiting on the chance of being able to communicate it. We must hope, my dear, in to-morrow’s post.”
“Open Lady Lundie’s letter in the mean time,” said Blanche. “Are you sure it is for you—and not for me?”
There was no doubt about it. Her ladyship’s reply was ominously8 addressed to her ladyship’s brother-in-law. “I know what that means.” said Blanche, eying her uncle eagerly while he was reading the letter. “If you mention Anne’s name you insult my step-mother. I have mentioned it freely. Lady Lundie is mortally offended with me.”
Rash judgment9 of youth! A lady who takes a dignified10 attitude, in a family emergency, is never mortally offended—she is only deeply grieved. Lady Lundie took a dignified attitude. “I well know,” wrote this estimable and Christian11 woman, “that I have been all along regarded in the light of an intruder by the family connections of my late beloved husband. But I was hardly prepared to find myself entirely13 shut out from all domestic confidence, at a time when some serious domestic catastrophe14 has but too evidently taken place. I have no desire, dear Sir Patrick, to intrude12. Feeling it, however, to be quite inconsistent with a due regard for my own position—after what has happened—to correspond with Blanche, I address myself to the head of the family, purely15 in the interests of propriety16. Permit me to ask whether—under circumstances which appear to be serious enough to require the recall of my step-daughter and her husband from their wedding tour—you think it DECENT to keep the widow of the late Sir Thomas Lundie entirely in the dark? Pray consider this—not at all out of regard for Me!—but out of regard for your own position with Society. Curiosity is, as you know, foreign to my nature. But when this dreadful scandal (whatever it may be) comes out—which, dear Sir Patrick, it can not fail to do—what will the world think, when it asks for Lady Lundie’s, opinion, and hears that Lady Lundie knew nothing about it? Whichever way you may decide I shall take no offense17. I may possibly be wounded—but that won’t matter. My little round of duties will find me still earnest, still cheerful. And even if you shut me out, my best wishes will find their way, nevertheless, to Ham Farm. May I add—without encountering a sneer—that the prayers of a lonely woman are offered for the welfare of all?”
“Well?” said Blanche.
Sir Patrick folded up the letter, and put it in his pocket.
“You have your step-mother’s best wishes, my dear.” Having answered in those terms, he bowed to his niece with his best grace, and walked out of the room.
“Do I think it decent,” he repeated to himself, as he closed the door, “to leave the widow of the late Sir Thomas Lundie in the dark? When a lady’s temper is a little ruffled18, I think it more than decent, I think it absolutely desirable, to let that lady have the last word.” He went into the library, and dropped his sister-in-law’s remonstrance19 into a box, labeled “Unanswered Letters.” Having got rid of it in that way, he hummed his favorite little Scotch20 air—and put on his hat, and went out to sun himself in the garden.
Meanwhile, Blanche was not quite satisfied with Sir Patrick’s reply. She appealed to her husband. “There is something wrong,” she said—“and my uncle is hiding it from me.”
Arnold could have desired no better opportunity than she had offered to him, in those words, for making the long-deferred disclosure to her of the truth. He lifted his eyes to Blanche’s face. By an unhappy fatality21 she was looking charmingly that morning. How would she look if he told her the story of the hiding at the inn? Arnold was still in love with her—and Arnold said nothing.
The next day’s post brought not only the anticipated letter from Mr. Crum, but an unexpected Glasgow newspaper as well.
This time Blanche had no reason to complain that her uncle kept his correspondence a secret from her. After reading the lawyer’s letter, with an interest and agitation22 which showed that the contents had taken him by surprise, he handed it to Arnold and his niece. “Bad news there,” he said. “We must share it together.”
After acknowledging the receipt of Sir Patrick’s letter of inquiry, Mr. Crum began by stating all that he knew of Miss Silvester’s movements—dating from the time when she had left the Sheep’s Head Hotel. About a fortnight since he had received a letter from her informing him that she had found a suitable place of residence in a village near Glasgow. Feeling a strong interest in Miss Silvester, Mr. Crum had visited her some few days afterward23. He had satisfied himself that she was lodging24 with respectable people, and was as comfortably situated25 as circumstances would permit. For a week more he had heard nothing from the lady. At the expiration26 of that time he had received a letter from her, telling him that she had read something in a Glasgow newspaper, of that day’s date, which seriously concerned herself, and which would oblige her to travel northward27 immediately as fast as her strength would permit. At a later period, when she would be more certain of her own movements, she engaged to write again, and let Mr. Crum know where he might communicate with her if necessary. In the mean time, she could only thank him for his kindness, and beg him to take care of any letters or messages which might be left for her. Since the receipt of this communication the lawyer had heard nothing further. He had waited for the morning’s post in the hope of being able to report that he had received some further intelligence. The hope had not been realized. He had now stated all that he knew himself thus far—and he had forwarded a copy of the newspaper alluded28 to by Miss Silvester, on the chance that an examination of it by Sir Patrick might possibly lead to further discoveries. In conclusion, he pledged himself to write again the moment he had any information to send.
Blanche snatched up the newspaper, and opened it. “Let me look!” she said. “I can find what Anne saw here if any body can!”
She ran her eye eagerly over column after column and page after page—and dropped the newspaper on her lap with a gesture of despair.
“Nothing!” she exclaimed. “Nothing any where, that I can see, to interest Anne. Nothing to interest any body—except Lady Lundie,” she went on, brushing the newspaper off her lap. “It turns out to be all true, Arnold, at Swanhaven. Geoffrey Delamayn is going to marry Mrs. Glenarm.”
“What!” cried Arnold; the idea instantly flashing on him that this was the news which Anne had seen.
Sir Patrick gave him a warning look, and picked up the newspaper from the floor.
“I may as well run through it, Blanche, and make quite sure that you have missed nothing,” he said.
The report to which Blanche had referred was among the paragraphs arranged under the heading of “Fashionable News.” “A matrimonial alliance” (the Glasgow journal announced) “was in prospect29 between the Honorable Geoffrey Delamayn and the lovely and accomplished30 relict of the late Mathew Glenarm, Esq., formerly31 Miss Newenden.” The marriage would, in all probability, “be solemnized in Scotland, before the end of the present autumn;” and the wedding breakfast, it was whispered, “would collect a large and fashionable party at Swanhaven Lodge32.”
Sir Patrick handed the newspaper silently to Arnold. It was plain to any one who knew Anne Silvester’s story that those were the words which had found their fatal way to her in her place of rest. The inference that followed seemed to be hardly less clear. But one intelligible33 object, in the opinion of Sir Patrick, could be at the end of her journey to the north. The deserted34 woman had rallied the last relics35 of her old energy—and had devoted36 herself to the desperate purpose of stopping the marriage of Mrs. Glenarm.
Blanche was the first to break the silence.
“It seems like a fatality,” she said. “Perpetual failure! Perpetual disappointment! Are Anne and I doomed37 never to meet again?”
She looked at her uncle. Sir Patrick showed none of his customary cheerfulness in the face of disaster.
“She has promised to write to Mr. Crum,” he said. “And Mr. Crum has promised to let us know when he hears from her. That is the only prospect before us. We must accept it as resignedly as we can.”
Blanche wandered out listlessly among the flowers in the conservatory38. Sir Patrick made no secret of the impression produced upon him by Mr. Crum’s letter, when he and Arnold were left alone.
“There is no denying,” he said, “that matters have taken a very serious turn. My plans and calculations are all thrown out. It is impossible to foresee what new mischief39 may not come of it, if those two women meet; or what desperate act Delamayn may not commit, if he finds himself driven to the wall. As things are, I own frankly40 I don’t know what to do next. A great light of the Presbyterian Church,” he added, with a momentary41 outbreak of his whimsical humor, “once declared, in my hearing, that the invention of printing was nothing more or less than a proof of the intellectual activity of the Devil. Upon my honor, I feel for the first time in my life inclined to agree with him.”
He mechanically took up the Glasgow journal, which Arnold had laid aside, while he spoke42.
“What’s this!” he exclaimed, as a name caught his eye in the first line of the newspaper at which he happened to look. “Mrs. Glenarm again! Are they turning the iron-master’s widow into a public character?”
There the name of the widow was, unquestionably; figuring for the second time in type, in a letter of the gossiping sort, supplied by an “Occasional Correspondent,” and distinguished43 by the title of “Sayings and Doings in the North.” After tattling pleasantly of the prospects44 of the shooting season, of the fashions from Paris, of an accident to a tourist, and of a scandal in the Scottish Kirk, the writer proceeded to the narrative45 of a case of interest, relating to a marriage in the sphere known (in the language of footmen) as the sphere of “high life.”
Considerable sensation (the correspondent announced) had been caused in Perth and its neighborhood, by the exposure of an anonymous46 attempt at extortion, of which a lady of distinction had lately been made the object. As her name had already been publicly mentioned in an application to the magistrates47, there could be no impropriety in stating that the lady in question was Mrs. Glenarm—whose approaching union with the Honorable Geoffrey Delamayn was alluded to in another column of the journal.
Mrs. Glenarm had, it appeared, received an anonymous letter, on the first day of her arrival as guest at the house of a friend, residing in the neighborhood of Perth. The letter warned her that there was an obstacle, of which she was herself probably not aware, in the way of her projected marriage with Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn. That gentleman had seriously compromised himself with another lady; and the lady would oppose his marriage to Mrs. Glenarm, with proof in writing to produce in support of her claim. The proof was contained in two letters exchanged between the parties, and signed by their names; and the correspondence was placed at Mrs. Glenarm’s disposal, on two conditions, as follows:
First, that she should offer a sufficiently48 liberal price to induce the present possessor of the letters to part with them. Secondly49, that she should consent to adopt such a method of paying the money as should satisfy the person that he was in no danger of finding himself brought within reach of the law. The answer to these two proposals was directed to be made through the medium of an advertisement in the local newspaper—distinguished by this address, “To a Friend in the Dark.”
Certain turns of expression, and one or two mistakes in spelling, pointed50 to this insolent51 letter as being, in all probability, the production of a Scotchman, in the lower ranks of life. Mrs. Glenarm had at once shown it to her nearest relative, Captain Newenden. The captain had sought legal advice in Perth. It had been decided52, after due consideration, to insert the advertisement demanded, and to take measures to entrap53 the writer of the letter into revealing himself—without, it is needless to add, allowing the fellow really to profit by his attempted act of extortion.
The cunning of the “Friend in the Dark” (whoever he might be) had, on trying the proposed experiment, proved to be more than a match for the lawyers. He had successfully eluded54 not only the snare55 first set for him, but others subsequently laid. A second, and a third, anonymous letter, one more impudent56 than the other had been received by Mrs. Glenarm, assuring that lady and the friends who were acting57 for her that they were only wasting time and raising the price which would be asked for the correspondence, by the course they were taking. Captain Newenden had thereupon, in default of knowing what other course to pursue, appealed publicly to the city magistrates, and a reward had been offered, under the sanction of the municipal authorities, for the discovery of the man. This proceeding58 also having proved quite fruitless, it was understood that the captain had arranged, with the concurrence59 of his English solicitors60, to place the matter in the hands of an experienced officer of the London police.
Here, so far as the newspaper correspondent was aware, the affair rested for the present.
It was only necessary to add, that Mrs. Glenarm had left the neighborhood of Perth, in order to escape further annoyance61; and had placed herself under the protection of friends in another part of the county. Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn, whose fair fame had been assailed62 (it was needless, the correspondent added in parenthesis63, to say how groundlessly), was understood to have expressed, not only the indignation natural under the circumstances but also his extreme regret at not finding himself in a position to aid Captain Newenden’s efforts to bring the anonymous slanderer64 to justice. The honorable gentleman was, as the sporting public were well aware, then in course of strict training for his forthcoming appearance at the Fulham Foot-Race. So important was it considered that his mind should not be harassed65 by annoyances66, in his present responsible position, that his trainer and his principal backers had thought it desirable to hasten his removal to the neighborhood of Fulham—where the exercises which were to prepare him for the race were now being continued on the spot.
“The mystery seems to thicken,” said Arnold.
“Quite the contrary,” returned Sir Patrick, briskly. “The mystery is clearing fast—thanks to the Glasgow newspaper. I shall be spared the trouble of dealing67 with Bishopriggs for the stolen letter. Miss Silvester has gone to Perth, to recover her correspondence with Geoffrey Delamayn.”
“Do you think she would recognize it,” said Arnold, pointing to the newspaper, “in the account given of it here?”
“Certainly! And she could hardly fail, in my opinion, to get a step farther than that. Unless I am entirely mistaken, the authorship of the anonymous letters has not mystified her.”
“How could she guess at that?”
“In this way, as I think. Whatever she may have previously68 thought, she must suspect, by this time, that the missing correspondence has been stolen, and not lost. Now, there are only two persons whom she can think of, as probably guilty of the theft—Mrs. Inchbare or Bishopriggs. The newspaper description of the style of the anonymous letters declares it to be the style of a Scotchman in the lower ranks of life—in other words, points plainly to Bishopriggs. You see that? Very well. Now suppose she recovers the stolen property. What is likely to happen then? She will be more or less than woman if she doesn’t make her way next, provided with her proofs in writing, to Mrs. Glenarm. She may innocently help, or she may innocently frustrate69, the end we have in view—either way, our course is clear before us again. Our interest in communicating with Miss Silvester remains70 precisely71 the same interest that it was before we received the Glasgow newspaper. I propose to wait till Sunday, on the chance that Mr. Crum may write again. If we don’t hear from him, I shall start for Scotland on Monday morning, and take my chance of finding my way to Miss Silvester, through Mrs. Glenarm.”
“Leaving me behind?”
“Leaving you behind. Somebody must stay with Blanche. After having only been a fortnight married, must I remind you of that?”
“Don’t you think Mr. Crum will write before Monday?”
“It will be such a fortunate circumstance for us, if he does write, that I don’t venture to anticipate it.”
“You are down on our luck, Sir.”
“I detest72 slang, Arnold. But slang, I own, expresses my state of mind, in this instance, with an accuracy which almost reconciles me to the use of it—for once in a way.”
“Every body’s luck turns sooner or later,” persisted Arnold. “I can’t help thinking our luck is on the turn at last. Would you mind taking a bet, Sir Patrick?”
“Apply at the stables. I leave betting, as I leave cleaning the horses, to my groom73.”
With that crabbed74 answer he closed the conversation for the day.
The hours passed, and time brought the post again in due course—and the post decided in Arnold’s favor! Sir Patrick’s want of confidence in the favoring patronage75 of Fortune was practically rebuked76 by the arrival of a second letter from the Glasgow lawyer on the next day.
“I have the pleasure of announcing” (Mr. Crum wrote) “that I have heard from Miss Silvester, by the next postal77 delivery ensuing, after I had dispatched my letter to Ham Farm. She writes, very briefly78, to inform me that she has decided on establishing her next place of residence in London. The reason assigned for taking this step—which she certainly did not contemplate79 when I last saw her—is that she finds herself approaching the end of her pecuniary80 resources. Having already decided on adopting, as a means of living, the calling of a concert-singer, she has arranged to place her interests in the hands of an old friend of her late mother (who appears to have belonged also to the musical profession): a dramatic and musical agent long established in the metropolis81, and well known to her as a trustworthy and respectable man. She sends me the name and address of this person—a copy of which you will find on the inclosed slip of paper—in the event of my having occasion to write to her, before she is settled in London. This is the whole substance of her letter. I have only to add, that it does not contain the slightest allusion82 to the nature of the errand on which she left Glasgow.”
Sir Patrick happened to be alone when he opened Mr. Crum’s letter.
His first proceeding, after reading it, was to consult the railway time-table hanging in the hall. Having done this, he returned to the library—wrote a short note of inquiry, addressed to the musical agent—and rang the bell.
“Miss Silvester is expected in London, Duncan. I want a discreet83 person to communicate with her. You are the person.”
Duncan bowed. Sir Pa trick handed him the note.
“If you start at once you will be in time to catch the train. Go to that address, and inquire for Miss Silvester. If she has arrived, give her my compliments, and say I will have the honor of calling on her (on Mr. Brinkworth’s behalf) at the earliest date which she may find it convenient to appoint. Be quick about it—and you will have time to get back before the last train. Have Mr. and Mrs. Brinkworth returned from their drive?”
“No, Sir Patrick.”
Pending84 the return of Arnold and Blanche, Sir Patrick looked at Mr. Crum’s letter for the second time.
He was not quite satisfied that the pecuniary motive85 was really the motive at the bottom of Anne’s journey south. Remembering that Geoffrey’s trainers had removed him to the neighborhood of London, he was inclined to doubt whether some serious quarrel had not taken place between Anne and Mrs. Glenarm—and whether some direct appeal to Geoffrey himself might not be in contemplation as the result. In that event, Sir Patrick’s advice and assistance would be placed, without scruple86, at Miss Silvester’s disposal. By asserting her claim, in opposition87 to the claim of Mrs. Glenarm, she was also asserting herself to be an unmarried woman, and was thus serving Blanche’s interests as well as her own. “I owe it to Blanche to help her,” thought Sir Patrick. “And I owe it to myself to bring Geoffrey Delamayn to a day of reckoning if I can.”
The barking of the dogs in the yard announced the return of the carriage. Sir Patrick went out to meet Arnold and Blanche at the gate, and tell them the news.
Punctual to the time at which he was expected, the discreet Duncan reappeared with a note from the musical agent.
Miss Silvester had not yet reached London; but she was expected to arrive not later than Tuesday in the ensuing week. The agent had already been favored with her instructions to pay the strictest attention to any commands received from Sir Patrick Lundie. He would take care that Sir Patrick’s message should be given to Miss Silvester as soon as she arrived.
At last, then, there was news to be relied on! At last there was a prospect of seeing her! Blanche was radiant with happiness, Arnold was in high spirits for the first time since his return from Baden.
Sir Patrick tried hard to catch the infection of gayety from his young friends; but, to his own surprise, not less than to theirs, the effort proved fruitless. With the tide of events turning decidedly in his favor—relieved of the necessity of taking a doubtful journey to Scotland; assured of obtaining his interview with Anne in a few days’ time—he was out of spirits all through the evening.
“Still down on our luck!” exclaimed Arnold, as he and his host finished their last game of billiards88, and parted for the night. “Surely, we couldn’t wish for a more promising89 prospect than our prospect next week?”
Sir Patrick laid his hand on Arnold’s shoulder.
“Let us look indulgently together,” he said, in his whimsically grave way, “at the humiliating spectacle of an old man’s folly90. I feel, at this moment, Arnold, as if I would give every thing that I possess in the world to have passed over next week, and to be landed safely in the time beyond it.”
“But why?”
“There is the folly! I can’t tell why. With every reason to be in better spirits than usual, I am unaccountably, irrationally91, invincibly92 depressed93. What are we to conclude from that? Am I the object of a supernatural warning of misfortune to come? Or am I the object of a temporary derangement94 of the functions of the liver? There is the question. Who is to decide it? How contemptible95 is humanity, Arnold, rightly understood! Give me my candle, and let’s hope it’s the liver.”
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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bestowed
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investigation
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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judgment
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dignified
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Christian
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intrude
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entirely
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catastrophe
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purely
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propriety
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offense
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ruffled
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remonstrance
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scotch
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fatality
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agitation
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afterward
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lodging
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situated
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expiration
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northward
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alluded
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prospect
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accomplished
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formerly
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lodge
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intelligible
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deserted
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relics
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devoted
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doomed
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conservatory
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mischief
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frankly
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momentary
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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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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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47
magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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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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entrap
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| v.以网或陷阱捕捉，使陷入圈套 | |
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eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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concurrence
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| n.同意；并发 | |
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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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parenthesis
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| n.圆括号，插入语，插曲，间歇，停歇 | |
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slanderer
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| 造谣中伤者 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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annoyances
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| n.恼怒( annoyance的名词复数 )；烦恼；打扰；使人烦恼的事 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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frustrate
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| v.使失望；使沮丧；使厌烦 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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crabbed
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| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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postal
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| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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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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pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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83
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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88
billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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89
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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90
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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irrationally
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| ad.不理性地 | |
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invincibly
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| adv.难战胜地，无敌地 | |
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93
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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derangement
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| n.精神错乱 | |
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contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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