As he ascended3 the stairs first, the care-worn widow whispered, piteously, to Magdalen, “I hope you’ll pay me, miss. Your uncle doesn’t.”
The captain threw open the door of the front room on the first floor, and disclosed a female figure, arrayed in a gown of tarnished4 amber5-colored satin, seated solitary6 on a small chair, with dingy7 old gloves on its hands, with a tattered8 old book on its knees, and with one little bedroom candle by its side. The figure terminated at its upper extremity9 in a large, smooth, white round face—like a moon—encircled by a cap and green ribbons, and dimly irradiated by eyes of mild and faded blue, which looked straightforward10 into vacancy11, and took not the smallest notice of Magdalen’s appearance, on the opening of the door.
“Mrs. Wragge!” cried the captain, shouting at her as if she was fast asleep. “Mrs. Wragge!”
The lady of the faded blue eyes slowly rose to an apparently12 interminable height. When she had at last attained13 an upright position, she towered to a stature14 of two or three inches over six feet. Giants of both sexes are, by a wise dispensation of Providence15, created, for the most part, gentle. If Mrs. Wragge and a lamb had been placed side by side, comparison, under those circumstances, would have exposed the lamb as a rank impostor.
“Tea, captain?” inquired Mrs. Wragge, looking submissively down at her husband, whose head, when he stood on tiptoe, barely reached her shoulder.
“Miss Vanstone, the younger,” said the captain, presenting Magdalen. “Our fair relative, whom I have met by fortunate accident. Our guest for the night. Our guest!” reiterated16 the captain, shouting once more as if the tall lady was still fast asleep, in spite of the plain testimony17 of her own eyes to the contrary.
A smile expressed itself (in faint outline) on the large vacant space of Mrs. Wragge’s countenance18. “Oh?” she said, interrogatively. “Oh, indeed? Please, miss, will you sit down? I’m sorry—no, I don’t mean I’m sorry; I mean I’m glad—” she stopped, and consulted her husband by a helpless look.
“Glad, of course!” shouted the captain.
“Glad, of course,” echoed the giantess of the amber satin, more meekly20 than ever.
“Mrs. Wragge is not deaf,” explained the captain. “She’s only a little slow. Constitutionally torpid—if I may use the expression. I am merely loud with her (and I beg you will honor me by being loud, too) as a necessary stimulant22 to her ideas. Shout at her—and her mind comes up to time. Speak to her—and she drifts miles away from you directly. Mrs. Wragge!”
Mrs. Wragge instantly acknowledged the stimulant. “Tea, captain?” she inquired, for the second time.
“Put your cap straight!” shouted her husband. “I beg ten thousand pardons,” he resumed, again addressing himself to Magdalen. “The sad truth is, I am a martyr23 to my own sense of order. All untidiness, all want of system and regularity24, cause me the acutest irritation25. My attention is distracted, my composure is upset; I can’t rest till things are set straight again. Externally speaking, Mrs. Wragge is, to my infinite regret, the crookedest woman I ever met with. More to the right!” shouted the captain, as Mrs. Wragge, like a well-trained child, presented herself with her revised head-dress for her husband’s inspection27.
Mrs. Wragge immediately pulled the cap to the left. Magdalen rose, and set it right for her. The moon-face of the giantess brightened for the first time. She looked admiringly at Magdalen’s cloak and bonnet28. “Do you like dress, miss?” she asked, suddenly, in a confidential29 whisper. “I do.”
“Show Miss Vanstone her room,” said the captain, looking as if the whole house belonged to him. “The spare-room, the landlady30’s spare-room, on the third floor front. Offer Miss Vanstone all articles connected with the toilet of which she may stand in need. She has no luggage with her. Supply the deficiency, and then come back and make tea.”
Mrs. Wragge acknowledged the receipt of these lofty directions by a look of placid31 bewilderment, and led the way out of the room; Magdalen following her, with a candle presented by the attentive32 captain. As soon as they were alone on the landing outside, Mrs. Wragge raised the tattered old book which she had been reading when Magdalen was first presented to her, and which she had never let out of her hand since, and slowly tapped herself on the forehead with it. “Oh, my poor head!” said the tall lady, in meek19 soliloquy; “it’s Buzzing again worse than ever!”
“Buzzing?” repeated Magdalen, in the utmost astonishment33.
Mrs. Wragge ascended the stairs, without offering any explanation, stopped at one of the rooms on the second floor, and led the way in.
“This is not the third floor,” said Magdalen. “This is not my room, surely?”
“Wait a bit,” pleaded Mrs. Wragge. “Wait a bit, miss, before we go up any higher. I’ve got the Buzzing in my head worse than ever. Please wait for me till I’m a little better again.”
“Shall I ask for help?” inquired Magdalen. “Shall I call the landlady?”
“Help?” echoed Mrs. Wragge. “Bless you, I don’t want help! I’m used to it. I’ve had the Buzzing in my head, off and on—how many years?” She stopped, reflected, lost herself, and suddenly tried a question in despair. “Have you ever been at Darch’s Dining-rooms in London?” she asked, with an appearance of the deepest interest.
“No,” replied Magdalen, wondering at the strange inquiry34.
“That’s where the Buzzing in my head first began,” said Mrs. Wragge, following the new clew with the deepest attention and anxiety. “I was employed to wait on the gentlemen at Darch’s Dining-rooms—I was. The gentlemen all came together; the gentlemen were all hungry together; the gentlemen all gave their orders together—” She stopped, and tapped her head again, despondently35, with the tattered old book.
“And you had to keep all their orders in your memory, separate one from the other?” suggested Magdalen, helping36 her out. “And the trying to do that confused you?”
“That’s it!” said Mrs. Wragge, becoming violently excited in a moment. “Boiled pork and greens and pease-pudding, for Number One. Stewed37 beef and carrots and gooseberry tart38, for Number Two. Cut of mutton, and quick about it, well done, and plenty of fat, for Number Three. Codfish and parsnips, two chops to follow, hot-and-hot, or I’ll be the death of you, for Number Four. Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Carrots and gooseberry tart—pease-pudding and plenty of fat—pork and beef and mutton, and cut ‘em all, and quick about it—stout for one, and ale for t’other—and stale bread here, and new bread there—and this gentleman likes cheese, and that gentleman doesn’t—Matilda, Tilda, Tilda, Tilda, fifty times over, till I didn’t know my own name again—oh lord! oh lord!! oh lord!!! all together, all at the same time, all out of temper, all buzzing in my poor head like forty thousand million bees—don’t tell the captain! don’t tell the captain!” The unfortunate creature dropped the tattered old book, and beat both her hands on her head, with a look of blank terror fixed39 on the door.
“Hush40! hush!” said Magdalen. “The captain hasn’t heard you. I know what is the matter with your head now. Let me cool it.”
She dipped a towel in water, and pressed it on the hot and helpless head which Mrs. Wragge submitted to her with the docility41 of a sick child.
“What a pretty hand you’ve got!” said the poor creature, feeling the relief of the coolness and taking Magdalen’s hand, admiringly, in her own. “How soft and white it is! I try to be a lady; I always keep my gloves on—but I can’t get my hands like yours. I’m nicely dressed, though, ain’t I? I like dress; it’s a comfort to me. I’m always happy when I’m looking at my things. I say—you won’t be angry with me?—I should so like to try your bonnet on.”
Magdalen humored her, with the ready compassion42 of the young. She stood smiling and nodding at herself in the glass, with the bonnet perched on the top of her head. “I had one as pretty as this, once,” she said—“only it was white, not black. I wore it when the captain married me.”
“Where did you meet with him?” asked Magdalen, putting the question as a chance means of increasing her scanty43 stock of information on the subject of Captain Wragge.
“At the Dining-rooms,” said Mrs. Wragge. “He was the hungriest and the loudest to wait upon of the lot of ‘em. I made more mistakes with him than I did with all the rest of them put together. He used to swear—oh, didn’t he use to swear! When he left off swearing at me he married me. There was others wanted me besides him. Bless you, I had my pick. Why not? When you have a trifle of money left you that you didn’t expect, if that don’t make a lady of you, what does? Isn’t a lady to have her pick? I had my trifle of money, and I had my pick, and I picked the captain—I did. He was the smartest and the shortest of them all. He took care of me and my money. I’m here, the money’s gone. Don’t you put that towel down on the table—he won’t have that! Don’t move his razors—don’t, please, or I shall forget which is which. I’ve got to remember which is which to-morrow morning. Bless you, the captain don’t shave himself! He had me taught. I shave him. I do his hair, and cut his nails—he’s awfully44 particular about his nails. So he is about his trousers. And his shoes. And his newspaper in the morning. And his breakfasts, and lunches, and dinners, and teas—” She stopped, struck by a sudden recollection, looked about her, observed the tattered old book on the floor, and clasped her hands in despair. “I’ve lost the place!” she exclaimed helplessly. “Oh, mercy, what will become of me! I’ve lost the place.”
“Never mind,” said Magdalen; “I’ll soon find the place for you again.”
She picked up the book, looked into the pages, and found that the object of Mrs. Wragge’s anxiety was nothing more important than an old-fashioned Treatise45 on the Art of Cookery, reduced under the usual heads of Fish, Flesh, and Fowl46, and containing the customary series of recipes. Turning over the leaves, Magdalen came to one particular page, thickly studded with little drops of moisture half dry. “Curious!” she said. “If this was anything but a cookery-book, I should say somebody had been crying over it.”
“Somebody?” echoed Mrs. Wragge, with a stare of amazement47. “It isn’t somebody—it’s Me. Thank you kindly, that’s the place, sure enough. Bless you, I’m used to crying over it. You’d cry, too, if you had to get the captain’s dinners out of it. As sure as ever I sit down to this book the Buzzing in my head begins again. Who’s to make it out? Sometimes I think I’ve got it, and it all goes away from me. Sometimes I think I haven’t got it, and it all comes back in a heap. Look here! Here’s what he’s ordered for his breakfast to-morrow: ‘Omelette with Herbs. Beat up two eggs with a little water or milk, salt, pepper, chives, and parsley. Mince48 small.’—There! mince small! How am I to mince small when it’s all mixed up and running? ‘Put a piece of butter the size of your thumb into the frying-pan.’—Look at my thumb, and look at yours! whose size does she mean? ‘Boil, but not brown.’—If it mustn’t be brown, what color must it be? She won’t tell me; she expects me to know, and I don’t. ‘Pour in the omelette.’—There! I can do that. ‘Allow it to set, raise it round the edge; when done, turn it over to double it.’—Oh, the number of times I turned it over and doubled it in my head, before you came in to-night! ‘Keep it soft; put the dish on the frying-pan, and turn it over.’ Which am I to turn over—oh, mercy, try the cold towel again, and tell me which—the dish or the frying-pan?”
“Put the dish on the frying-pan,” said Magdalen; “and then turn the frying-pan over. That is what it means, I think.”
“Thank you kindly,” said Mrs. Wragge, “I want to get it into my head; please say it again.”
Magdalen said it again.
“And then turn the frying-pan over,” repeated Mrs. Wragge, with a sudden burst of energy. “I’ve got it now! Oh, the lots of omelettes all frying together in my head; and all frying wrong! Much obliged, I’m sure. You’ve put me all right again: I’m only a little tired with talking. And then turn the frying-pan, then turn the frying-pan, then turn the frying-pan over. It sounds like poetry, don’t it?”
Her voice sank, and she drowsily49 closed her eyes. At the same moment the door of the room below opened, and the captain’s mellifluous50 bass51 notes floated upstairs, charged with the customary stimulant to his wife’s faculties52.
“Mrs. Wragge!” cried the captain. “Mrs. Wragge!”
She started to her feet at that terrible summons. “Oh, what did he tell me to do?” she asked, distractedly. “Lots of things, and I’ve forgotten them all!”
“Say you have done them when he asks you,” suggested Magdalen. “They were things for me—things I don’t want. I remember all that is necessary. My room is the front room on the third floor. Go downstairs and say I am coming directly.”
She took up the candle and pushed Mrs. Wragge out on the landing. “Say I am coming directly,” she whispered again—and went upstairs by herself to the third story.
The room was small, close, and very poorly furnished. In former days Miss Garth would have hesitated to offer such a room to one of the servants at Combe-Raven. But it was quiet; it gave her a few minutes alone; and it was endurable, even welcome, on that account. She locked herself in and walked mechanically, with a woman’s first impulse in a strange bedroom, to the rickety little table and the dingy little looking-glass. She waited there for a moment, and then turned away with weary contempt. “What does it matter how pale I am?” she thought to herself. “Frank can’t see me—what does it matter now!”
She laid aside her cloak and bonnet, and sat down to collect herself. But the events of the day had worn her out. The past, when she tried to remember it, only made her heart ache. The future, when she tried to penetrate53 it, was a black void. She rose again, and stood by the uncurtained window—stood looking out, as if there was some hidden sympathy for her own desolation in the desolate54 night.
“Norah!” she said to herself, tenderly; “I wonder if Norah is thinking of me? Oh, if I could be as patient as she is! If I could only forget the debt we owe to Michael Vanstone!”
Her face darkened with a vindictive55 despair, and she paced the little cage of a room backward and forward, softly. “No: never till the debt is paid!” Her thoughts veered56 back again to Frank. “Still at sea, poor fellow; further and further away from me; sailing through the day, sailing through the night. Oh, Frank, love me!”
Her eyes filled with tears. She dashed them away, made for the door, and laughed with a desperate levity57, as she unlocked it again.
“Any company is better than my own thoughts,” she burst out, recklessly, as she left the room. “I’m forgetting my ready-made relations—my half-witted aunt, and my uncle the rogue58.” She descended59 the stairs to the landing on the first floor, and paused there in momentary60 hesitation61. “How will it end?” she asked herself. “Where is my blindfolded62 journey taking me to now? Who knows, and who cares?”
She entered the room.
Captain Wragge was presiding at the tea-tray with the air of a prince in his own banqueting-hall. At one side of the table sat Mrs. Wragge, watching her husband’s eye like an animal waiting to be fed. At the other side was an empty chair, toward which the captain waved his persuasive63 hand when Magdalen came in. “How do you like your room?” he inquired; “I trust Mrs. Wragge has made herself useful? You take milk and sugar? Try the local bread, honor the York butter, test the freshness of a new and neighboring egg. I offer my little all. A pauper64’s meal, my dear girl—seasoned with a gentleman’s welcome.”
“Seasoned with salt, pepper, chives and parsley,” murmured Mrs. Wragge, catching65 instantly at a word in connection with cookery, and harnessing her head to the omelette for the rest of the evening.
“Sit straight at the table!” shouted the captain. “More to the left, more still—that will do. During your absence upstairs,” he continued, addressing himself to Magdalen, “my mind has not been unemployed66. I have been considering your position with a view exclusively to your own benefit. If you decide on being guided to-morrow by the light of my experience, that light is unreservedly at your service. You may naturally say: ‘I know but little of you, captain, and that little is unfavorable.’ Granted, on one condition—that you permit me to make myself and my character quite familiar to you when tea is over. False shame is foreign to my nature. You see my wife, my house, my bread, my butter, and my eggs, all exactly as they are. See me, too, my dear girl, while you are about it.”
When tea was over, Mrs. Wragge, at a signal from her husband, retired67 to a corner of the room, with the eternal cookery-book still in her hand. “Mince small,” she whispered, confidentially68, as she passed Magdalen. “That’s a teaser, isn’t it?”
“Down at heel again!” shouted the captain, pointing to his wife’s heavy flat feet as they shuffled69 across the room. “The right shoe. Pull it up at heel, Mrs. Wragge—pull it up at heel! Pray allow me,” he continued, offering his arm to Magdalen, and escorting her to a dirty little horse-hair sofa. “You want repose70—after your long journey, you really want repose.” He drew his chair to the sofa, and surveyed her with a bland71 look of investigation—as if he had been her medical attendant, with a diagnosis72 on his mind.
“Very pleasant! very pleasant!” said the captain, when he had seen his guest comfortable on the sofa. “I feel quite in the bosom73 of my family. Shall we return to our subject—the subject of my rascally74 self? No! no! No apologies, no protestations, pray. Don’t mince the matter on your side—and depend on me not to mince it on mine. Now come to facts; pray come to facts. Who, and what am I? Carry your mind back to our conversation on the Walls of this interesting City, and let us start once more from your point of view. I am a Rogue; and, in that capacity (as I have already pointed75 out), the most useful man you possibly could have met with. Now observe! There are many varieties of Rogue; let me tell you my variety, to begin with. I am a Swindler.”
His entire shamelessness was really super-human. Not the vestige76 of a blush varied77 the sallow monotony of his complexion78; the smile wreathed his curly lips as pleasantly as ever his party-colored eyes twinkled at Magdalen with the self-enjoying frankness of a naturally harmless man. Had his wife heard him? Magdalen looked over his shoulder to the corner of the room in which she was sitting behind him. No the self-taught student of cookery was absorbed in her subject. She had advanced her imaginary omelette to the critical stage at which the butter was to be thrown in—that vaguely-measured morsel79 of butter, the size of your thumb. Mrs. Wragge sat lost in contemplation of one of her own thumbs, and shook her head over it, as if it failed to satisfy her.
“Don’t be shocked,” proceeded the captain; “don’t be astonished. Swindler is nothing but a word of two syllables80. S, W, I, N, D—swind; L, E, R—ler; Swindler. Definition: A moral agriculturist; a man who cultivates the field of human sympathy. I am that moral agriculturist, that cultivating man. Narrow-minded mediocrity, envious81 of my success in my profession, calls me a Swindler. What of that? The same low tone of mind assails82 men in other professions in a similar manner—calls great writers scribblers—great generals, butchers—and so on. It entirely83 depends on the point of view. Adopting your point, I announce myself intelligibly84 as a Swindler. Now return the obligation, and adopt mine. Hear what I have to say for myself, in the exercise of my profession.—Shall I continue to put it frankly85?”
“Yes,” said Magdalen; “and I’ll tell you frankly afterward86 what I think of it.”
The captain cleared his throat; mentally assembled his entire army of words—horse, foot, artillery87, and reserves; put himself at the head; and dashed into action, to carry the moral intrenchments of Society by a general charge.
“Now observe,” he began. “Here am I, a needy88 object. Very good. Without complicating89 the question by asking how I come to be in that condition, I will merely inquire whether it is, or is not, the duty of a Christian90 community to help the needy. If you say No, you simply shock me; and there is an end of it; if you say Yes, then I beg to ask, Why am I to blame for making a Christian community do its duty? You may say, Is a careful man who has saved money bound to spend it again on a careless stranger who has saved none? Why of course he is! And on what ground, pray? Good heavens! on the ground that he has got the money, to be sure. All the world over, the man who has not got the thing, obtains it, on one pretense91 or another, of the man who has—and, in nine cases out of ten, the pretense is a false one. What! your pockets are full, and my pockets are empty; and you refuse to help me? Sordid92 wretch93! do you think I will allow you to violate the sacred obligations of charity in my person? I won’t allow you—I say, distinctly, I won’t allow you. Those are my principles as a moral agriculturist. Principles which admit of trickery? Certainly. Am I to blame if the field of human sympathy can’t be cultivated in any other way? Consult my brother agriculturists in the mere21 farming line—do they get their crops for the asking? No! they must circumvent94 arid95 Nature exactly as I circumvent sordid Man. They must plow96, and sow, and top-dress, and bottom-dress, and deep-drain, and surface-drain, and all the rest of it. Why am I to be checked in the vast occupation of deep-draining mankind? Why am I to be persecuted97 for habitually98 exciting the noblest feelings of our common nature? Infamous99!—I can characterize it by no other word—infamous! If I hadn’t confidence in the future, I should despair of humanity—but I have confidence in the future. Yes! one of these days (when I am dead and gone), as ideas enlarge and enlightenment progresses, the abstract merits of the profession now called swindling will be recognized. When that day comes, don’t drag me out of my grave and give me a public funeral; don’t take advantage of my having no voice to raise in my own defense100, and insult me by a national statue. No! do me justice on my tombstone; dash me off, in one masterly sentence, on my epitaph. Here lies Wragge, embalmed101 in the tardy102 recognition of his species: he plowed103, sowed, and reaped his fellow-creatures; and enlightened posterity104 congratulates him on the uniform excellence105 of his crops.”
He stopped; not from want of confidence, not from want of words—purely from want of breath. “I put it frankly, with a dash of humor,” he said, pleasantly. “I don’t shock you—do I?” Weary and heart-sick as she was—suspicious of others, doubtful of herself—the extravagant106 impudence107 of Captain Wragge’s defense of swindling touched Magdalen’s natural sense of humor, and forced a smile to her lips. “Is the Yorkshire crop a particularly rich one just at present?” she inquired, meeting him, in her neatly108 feminine way, with his own weapons.
“A hit—a palpable hit,” said the captain, jocosely109 exhibiting the tails of his threadbare shooting jacket, as a practical commentary on Magdalen’s remark. “My dear girl, here or elsewhere, the crop never fails—but one man can’t always gather it in. The assistance of intelligent co-operation is, I regret to say, denied me. I have nothing in common with the clumsy rank and file of my profession, who convict themselves, before recorders and magistrates110, of the worst of all offenses—incurable stupidity in the exercise of their own vocation111. Such as you see me, I stand entirely alone. After years of successful self-dependence, the penalties of celebrity112 are beginning to attach to me. On my way from the North, I pause at this interesting city for the third time; I consult my Books for the customary references to past local experience; I find under the heading, ‘Personal position in York,’ the initials, T. W. K., signifying Too Well Known. I refer to my Index, and turn to the surrounding neighborhood. The same brief marks meet my eye. ‘Leeds. T. W. K.—Scarborough. T. W. K.—Harrowgate. T. W. K.’—and so on. What is the inevitable113 consequence? I suspend my proceedings114; my resources evaporate; and my fair relative finds me the pauper gentleman whom she now sees before her.”
“Your books?” said Magdalen. “What books do you mean?”
“You shall see,” replied the captain. “Trust me, or not, as you like—I trust you implicitly115. You shall see.”
With those words he retired into the back room. While he was gone, Magdalen stole another look at Mrs. Wragge. Was she still self-isolated from her husband’s deluge116 of words? Perfectly117 self-isolated. She had advanced the imaginary omelette to the last stage of culinary progress; and she was now rehearsing the final operation of turning it over—with the palm of her hand to represent the dish, and the cookery-book to impersonate the frying-pan. “I’ve got it,” said Mrs. Wragge, nodding across the room at Magdalen. “First put the frying-pan on the dish, and then tumble both of them over.”
Captain Wragge returned, carrying a neat black dispatch-box, adorned118 with a bright brass119 lock. He produced from the box five or six plump little books, bound in commercial calf120 and vellum, and each fitted comfortably with its own little lock.
“Mind!” said the moral agriculturist, “I take no credit to myself for this: it is my nature to be orderly, and orderly I am. I must have everything down in black and white, or I should go mad! Here is my commercial library: Daybook, Ledger121, Book of Districts, Book of Letters, Book of Remarks, and so on. Kindly throw your eye over any one of them. I flatter myself there is no such thing as a blot122, or a careless entry in it, from the first page to the last. Look at this room—is there a chair out of place? Not if I know it! Look at me. Am I dusty? am I dirty? am I half shaved? Am I, in brief, a speckless123 pauper, or am I not? Mind! I take no credit to myself; the nature of the man, my dear girl—the nature of the man!”
He opened one of the books. Magdalen was no judge of the admirable correctness with which the accounts inside were all kept; but she could estimate the neatness of the handwriting, the regularity in the rows of figures, the mathematical exactness of the ruled lines in red and black ink, the cleanly absence of blots124, stains, or erasures. Although Captain Wragge’s inborn125 sense of order was in him—as it is in others—a sense too inveterately126 mechanical to exercise any elevating moral influence over his actions, it had produced its legitimate127 effect on his habits, and had reduced his rogueries as strictly128 to method and system as if they had been the commercial transactions of an honest man.
“In appearance, my system looks complicated?” pursued the captain. “In reality, it is simplicity129 itself. I merely avoid the errors of inferior practitioners131. That is to say, I never plead for myself; and I never apply to rich people—both fatal mistakes which the inferior practitioner130 perpetually commits. People with small means sometimes have generous impulses in connection with money—rich people, never. My lord, with forty thousand a year; Sir John, with property in half a dozen counties—those are the men who never forgive the genteel beggar for swindling them out of a sovereign; those are the men who send for the mendicity officers; those are the men who take care of their money. Who are the people who lose shillings and sixpences by sheer thoughtlessness? Servants and small clerks, to whom shillings and sixpences are of consequence. Did you ever hear of Rothschild or Baring dropping a fourpenny-piece down a gutter-hole? Fourpence in Rothschild’s pocket is safer than fourpence in the pocket of that woman who is crying stale shrimps132 in Skeldergate at this moment. Fortified133 by these sound principles, enlightened by the stores of written information in my commercial library, I have ranged through the population for years past, and have raised my charitable crops with the most cheering success. Here, in book Number One, are all my Districts mapped out, with the prevalent public feeling to appeal to in each: Military District, Clerical District, Agricultural District; et cetera, et cetera. Here, in Number Two, are my cases that I plead: Family of an officer who fell at Waterloo; Wife of a poor curate stricken down by nervous debility; Widow of a grazier in difficulties gored134 to death by a mad bull; et cetera, et cetera. Here, in Number Three, are the people who have heard of the officer’s family, the curate’s wife, the grazier’s widow, and the people who haven’t; the people who have said Yes, and the people who have said No; the people to try again, the people who want a fresh case to stir them up, the people who are doubtful, the people to beware of; et cetera, et cetera. Here, in Number Four, are my Adopted Handwritings of public characters; my testimonials to my own worth and integrity; my Heartrending Statements of the officer’s family, the curate’s wife, and the grazier’s widow, stained with tears, blotted135 with emotion; et cetera, et cetera. Here, in Numbers Five and Six, are my own personal subscriptions136 to local charities, actually paid in remunerative137 neighborhoods, on the principle of throwing a sprat to catch a herring; also, my diary of each day’s proceedings, my personal reflections and remarks, my statement of existing difficulties (such as the difficulty of finding myself T. W. K. in this interesting city); my outgivings and incomings; wind and weather; politics and public events; fluctuations138 in my own health; fluctuations in Mrs. Wragge’s head; fluctuations in our means and meals, our payments, prospects139, and principles; et cetera, et cetera. So, my dear girl, the Swindler’s Mill goes. So you see me exactly as I am. You knew, before I met you, that I lived on my wits. Well! have I, or have I not, shown you that I have wits to live on?”
“I have no doubt you have done yourself full justice,” said Magdalen, quietly.
“I am not at all exhausted,” continued the captain. “I can go on, if necessary, for the rest of the evening.—However, if I have done myself full justice, perhaps I may leave the remaining points in my character to develop themselves at future opportunities. For the present, I withdraw myself from notice. Exit Wragge. And now to business! Permit me to inquire what effect I have produced on your own mind? Do you still believe that the Rogue who has trusted you with all his secrets is a Rogue who is bent140 on taking a mean advantage of a fair relative?”
“I will wait a little,” Magdalen rejoined, “before I answer that question. When I came down to tea, you told me you had been employing your mind for my benefit. May I ask how?”
“By all means,” said Captain Wragge. “You shall have the net result of the whole mental process. Said process ranges over the present and future proceedings of your disconsolate141 friends, and of the lawyers who are helping them to find you. Their present proceedings are, in all probability, assuming the following form: the lawyer’s clerk has given you up at Mr. Huxtable’s, and has also, by this time, given you up, after careful inquiry, at all the hotels. His last chance is that you may send for your box to the cloak-room—you don’t send for it—and there the clerk is to-night (thanks to Captain Wragge and Rosemary Lane) at the end of his resources. He will forthwith communicate that fact to his employers in London; and those employers (don’t be alarmed!) will apply for help to the detective police. Allowing for inevitable delays, a professional spy, with all his wits about him, and with those handbills to help him privately143 in identifying you, will be here certainly not later than the day after tomorrow—possibly earlier. If you remain in York, if you attempt to communicate with Mr. Huxtable, that spy will find you out. If, on the other hand, you leave the city before he comes (taking your departure by other means than the railway, of course) you put him in the same predicament as the clerk—you defy him to find a fresh trace of you. There is my brief abstract of your present position. What do you think of it?”
“I think it has one defect,” said Magdalen. “It ends in nothing.”
“Pardon me,” retorted the captain. “It ends in an arrangement for your safe departure, and in a plan for the entire gratification of your wishes in the direction of the stage. Both drawn144 from the resources of my own experience, and both waiting a word from you, to be poured forth142 immediately in the fullest detail.”
“I think I know what that word is,” replied Magdalen, looking at him attentively145.
“Charmed to hear it, I am sure. You have only to say, ‘Captain Wragge, take charge of me’—and my plans are yours from that moment.”
“I will take to-night to consider your proposal,” she said, after an instant’s reflection. “You shall have my answer to-morrow morning.”
Captain Wragge looked a little disappointed. He had not expected the reservation on his side to be met so composedly by a reservation on hers.
“Why not decide at once?” he remonstrated146, in his most persuasive tones. “You have only to consider—”
“I have more to consider than you think for,” she answered. “I have another object in view besides the object you know of.”
“May I ask—?”
“Excuse me, Captain Wragge—you may not ask. Allow me to thank you for your hospitality, and to wish you good-night. I am worn out. I want rest.”
Once more the captain wisely adapted himself to her humor with the ready self-control of an experienced man.
“Worn out, of course!” he said, sympathetically. “Unpardonable on my part not to have thought of it before. We will resume our conversation to-morrow. Permit me to give you a candle. Mrs. Wragge!”
Prostrated147 by mental exertion148, Mrs. Wragge was pursuing the course of the omelette in dreams. Her head was twisted one way, and her body the other. She snored meekly. At intervals149 one of her hands raised itself in the air, shook an imaginary frying-pan, and dropped again with a faint thump150 on the cookery-book in her lap. At the sound of her husband’s voice, she started to her feet, and confronted him with her mind fast asleep, and her eyes wide open.
“Assist Miss Vanstone,” said the captain. “And the next time you forget yourself in your chair, fall asleep straight—don’t annoy me by falling asleep crooked26.”
Mrs. Wragge opened her eyes a little wider, and looked at Magdalen in helpless amazement.
“Is the captain breakfasting by candle-light?” she inquired, meekly. “And haven’t I done the omelette?”
Before her husband’s corrective voice could apply a fresh stimulant, Magdalen took her compassionately151 by the arm and led her out of the room.
“Another object besides the object I know of?” repeated Captain Wragge, when he was left by himself. “Is there a gentleman in the background, after all? Is there mischief152 brewing153 in the dark that I don’t bargain for?”
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1
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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5
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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9
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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11
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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12
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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13
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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14
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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15
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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16
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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18
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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19
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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20
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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21
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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22
stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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23
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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24
regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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25
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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26
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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27
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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28
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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29
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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30
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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31
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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32
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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33
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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34
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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35
despondently
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| adv.沮丧地，意志消沉地 | |
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36
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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37
stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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38
tart
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| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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39
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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40
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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41
docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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42
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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43
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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44
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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45
treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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46
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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47
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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48
mince
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| n.切碎物；v.切碎，矫揉做作地说 | |
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49
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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50
mellifluous
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| adj.（音乐等）柔美流畅的 | |
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51
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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52
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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53
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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54
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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55
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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56
veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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57
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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58
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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59
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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60
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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61
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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62
blindfolded
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| v.（尤指用布）挡住（某人）的视线( blindfold的过去式 )；蒙住（某人）的眼睛；使不理解；蒙骗 | |
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63
persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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64
pauper
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| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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65
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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66
unemployed
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| adj.失业的，没有工作的；未动用的，闲置的 | |
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67
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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68
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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69
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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70
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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71
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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72
diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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73
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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74
rascally
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| adj. 无赖的，恶棍的 adv. 无赖地，卑鄙地 | |
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75
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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76
vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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77
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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78
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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79
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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80
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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81
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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82
assails
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| v.攻击( assail的第三人称单数 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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83
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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84
intelligibly
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| adv.可理解地，明了地，清晰地 | |
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85
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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86
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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87
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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88
needy
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
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89
complicating
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| 使复杂化( complicate的现在分词 ) | |
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90
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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91
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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92
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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93
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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94
circumvent
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| vt.环绕，包围；对…用计取胜，智胜 | |
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95
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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96
plow
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| n.犁，耕地，犁过的地；v.犁，费力地前进[英]plough | |
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97
persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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98
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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99
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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100
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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101
embalmed
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| adj.用防腐药物保存（尸体）的v.保存（尸体）不腐( embalm的过去式和过去分词 )；使不被遗忘；使充满香气 | |
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102
tardy
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| adj.缓慢的，迟缓的 | |
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103
plowed
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| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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104
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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105
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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106
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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107
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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108
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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109
jocosely
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| adv.说玩笑地，诙谐地 | |
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110
magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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111
vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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112
celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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113
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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114
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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117
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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120
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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121
ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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122
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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123
speckless
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| adj.无斑点的，无瑕疵的 | |
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124
blots
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| 污渍( blot的名词复数 )； 墨水渍； 错事； 污点 | |
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inborn
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| adj.天生的，生来的，先天的 | |
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inveterately
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| adv.根深蒂固地，积习地 | |
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127
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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129
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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130
practitioner
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| n.实践者，从事者；(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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131
practitioners
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| n.习艺者，实习者( practitioner的名词复数 )；从业者（尤指医师） | |
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132
shrimps
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| n.虾，小虾( shrimp的名词复数 )；矮小的人 | |
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fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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134
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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135
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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136
subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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137
remunerative
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| adj.有报酬的 | |
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138
fluctuations
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| 波动，涨落，起伏( fluctuation的名词复数 ) | |
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139
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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140
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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142
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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143
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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144
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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146
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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147
prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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148
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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149
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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150
thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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151
compassionately
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| adv.表示怜悯地，有同情心地 | |
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152
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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153
brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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