A second table was set against one of the walls. Our boiling water for the tea was kept there, in a silver kettle heated by a spirit-lamp. I next observed a delicate little china vase which held the tea, and a finely-designed glass claret jug3, with a silver cover. Other men, possessing that beautiful object, would have thought it worthy4 of the purest Bordeaux wine which the arts of modern adulteration permit us to drink. This man had filled the claret jug with water.
"All my valuable property, ostentatiously exposed to view," he said, in his bitterly facetious5 manner. "My landlord's property matches it on the big table."
The big table presented a coarse earthenware6 teapot; cups and saucers with pieces chipped out of them; a cracked milk jug; a tumbler which served as a sugar basin; and an old vegetable dish, honored by holding delicate French sweet-meats for the first time since it had left the shop.
My deaf friend, in boisterously7 good spirits, pointed8 backwards9 and forwards between the precious and the worthless objects on the two tables, as if he saw a prospect10 that delighted him.
"I don't believe the man lives," he said, "who enjoys Contrast as I do.—What do you want now?"
This question was addressed to Gloody, who had just entered the room. He touched the earthenware teapot. His master answered: "Let it alone."
"I make the tea at other times," the man persisted, looking at me.
"What does he say? Write it down for me, Mr. Roylake. I beg you will write it down."
There was anger in his eyes as he made that request. I took his book, and wrote the words—harmless words, surely? He read them, and turned savagely11 to his unfortunate servant.
"In the days when you were a ruffian in the prize-ring, did the other men's fists beat all the brains out of your head? Do you think you can make tea that is fit for Mr. Roylake to drink?"
He pointed to an open door, communicating with another bedroom. Gloody's eyes rested steadily12 on Cristel: she failed to notice him, being occupied at the moment in replacing the pin of a brooch which had slipped out of her dress. The man withdrew into the second bedroom, and softly closed the door.
Our host recovered his good humor. He took a wooden stool, and seated himself by Cristel.
"Borrowed furniture," he said, "as well as borrowed tea-things. What a debt of obligation I owe to your excellent father. How quiet you are, dear girl. Do you regret having followed the impulse which made you kindly13 offer to drink tea with us?" He suddenly turned to me. "Another proof, Mr. Roylake, of the sisterly interest that she feels in you; she can't hear of your coming to my room, without wanting to be with you. Ah, you possess the mysterious attractions which fascinate the sex. One of these days, some woman will love you as never man was loved yet." He addressed himself again to Cristel. "Still out of spirits? I dare say you are tired of waiting for your tea. No? You have had tea already? It's Gloody's fault; he ought to have told me that seven o'clock was too late for you. The poor devil deserved that you should take no notice of him when he looked at you just now. Are you one of the few women who dislike an ugly man? Women in general, I can tell you, prefer ugly men. A handsome man matches them on their own ground, and they don't like that. 'We are so fond of our ugly husbands; they set us off to such advantage.' Oh, I don't report what they say; I speak the language in which they think.—Mr. Roylake, does it strike you that the Cur is a sad cynic? By-the-by, do you call me 'the Cur' (as I suggested) when you speak of me to other people—to Miss Cristel, for instance? My charming young friends, you both look shocked; you both shake your heads. Perhaps I am in one of my tolerant humors to-day; I see nothing disgraceful in being a Cur. He is a dog who represents different breeds. Very well, the English are a people who represent different breeds: Saxons, Normans, Danes. The consequence, in one case, is a great nation. The consequence, in the other case, is the cleverest member of the whole dog family—as you may find out for yourself if you will only teach him. Ha—how I am running on. My guests try to slip in a word or two, and can't find their opportunity. Enjoyment14, Miss Cristel. Excitement, Mr. Roylake. For more than a year past, I have not luxuriated in the pleasures of society. I feel the social glow; I love the human family; I never, never, never was such a good man as I am now. Let vile15 slang express my emotions: isn't it jolly?"
Cristel and I stopped him, at the same moment. We instinctively16 lifted our hands to our ears.
In his delirium17 of high spirits, he had burst through the invariable monotony of his articulation18. Without the slightest gradation of sound, his voice broke suddenly into a screech19, prolonged in its own discord20 until it became perfectly21 unendurable to hear. The effect that he had produced upon us was not lost on him. His head sank on his breast; horrid22 shudderings shook him without mercy; he said to himself not to us:
"I had forgotten I was deaf."
There was a whole world of misery23 in those simple words. Cristel kept her place, unmoved. I rose, and put my hand kindly on his shoulder. It was the best way I could devise of assuring him of my sympathy.
He looked up at me, in silence.
His book of leaves was on the table; he did once more, what he had already done at the spring. Instead of using the book as usual, he wrote in it himself, and then handed it to me.
"Let me spare your nerves a repetition of my deaf discord. Sight, smell, touch, taste—I would give them all to be able to hear. In reminding me of that vain aspiration24, my infirmity revenges itself: my deafness is not accustomed to be forgotten. Well! I can be silently useful; I can make the tea."
He rose, and, taking the teapot with him, went to the table that had been placed against the wall. In that position, his back was turned towards us.
At the same time, I felt his book gently taken out of my hand. Cristel had been reading, while I read, over my shoulder. She wrote on the next blank leaf: "Shall I make the tea?"
"Now," she said to me, "notice what happens."
Following him, she touched his arm, and presented her request. He shook his head in token of refusal. She came back to her place by me.
"You expected that?" I said.
"Yes."
"Why did you ask me to notice his refusal?"
"Because I may want to remind you that he wouldn't let me make the tea."
"Mysteries, my dear?"
"Yes: mysteries."
"Not to be mentioned more particularly?"
"I will mention one of them more particularly. After the tea has been made, you may possibly feel me touch your knee under the table."
I was fool enough to smile at this, and wise enough afterwards to see in her face that I had made a mistake.
"What is your touch intended to mean?" I asked.
"It means, 'Wait,' she said."
My sense of humor was, by this time, completely held in check. That some surprise was in store for me, and that Cristel was resolved not to take me into her confidence, were conclusions at which I naturally arrived. I felt, and surely not without good cause, a little annoyed. The Lodger came back to us with the tea made. As he put the teapot on the table, he apologized to Cristel.
"Don't think me rude, in refusing your kind offer. If there is one thing I know I can do better than anybody else, that thing is making tea. Do you take sugar and milk, Mr. Roylake?"
I made the affirmative sign. He poured out the tea. When he had filled two cups, the supply was exhausted25. Cristel and I noticed this. He saw it, and at once gratified our curiosity.
"It is a rule," he said, "with masters in the art of making tea, that one infusion26 ought never to be used twice. If we want any more, we will make more; and if you feel inclined to join us, Miss Cristel, we will fill the third cup."
What was there in this (I wondered) to make her turn pale? And why, after what he had just said, did I see her eyes willingly rest on him, for the first time in my experience? Entirely27 at a loss to understand her, I resignedly stirred my tea. On the point of tasting it next, felt her hand on my knee, under the table.
Bewildered as I was, I obeyed my instructions, and went on stirring my tea. Our host smiled.
"Your sugar takes a long time to melt," he said—and drank his tea. As he emptied the cup, the touch was taken off me. I followed his example.
In spite of his boasting, the tea was the worst I ever tasted. I should have thrown it out of the window, if they had offered us such nasty stuff at Trimley Deen. When I set down my cup, he asked facetiously28 if I wished him to brew29 any more. My negative answer was a masterpiece of strong expression, in the language of signs.
Instead of sending for Gloody to clear the table, he moved away the objects near him, so as to leave an empty space at his disposal.
"I ought perhaps to have hesitated, before I asked you to spend the evening with me," he said, speaking with a gentleness and amiability30 of manner, strongly in contrast with his behavior up to this time. "It is my misfortune, as you both well know, to be a check on conversation. I dare say you have asked yourselves: How is he going to amuse us, after tea? If you will allow me, I propose to amuse you by exhibiting the dexterity31 of my fingers and thumbs. Before I was deaf, I should have preferred the piano for this purpose. As it is, an inferior accomplishment32 must serve my turn."
He opened a cupboard in the wall, close by the second table, and returned with a pack of cards.
Cristel imitated the action of dealing33 cards for a game. "No," he said, "that is not the amusement which I have in view. Allow me to present myself in a new character. I am no longer the Lodger, and no longer the Cur. My new name is more honorable still—I am the Conjurer."
He shuffled34 the pack by pouring it backwards and forwards from one hand to the other, in a cascade35 of cards. The wonderful ease with which he did it prepared me for something worth seeing. Cristel's admiration36 of his dexterity expressed itself by a prolonged clapping of hands, and a strange uneasy laugh. As his excitement subsided37, her agitation38 broke out. I saw the flush again on her face, and the fiery39 brightness in her eyes. Once, when his attention was engaged, she stole a look at the door by which Gloody had left the room. Did this indicate another of the mysteries which, by her own confession40, she had in preparation for me? My late experience had not inclined me favorably towards mysteries. I devoted41 my whole attention to the Conjurer.
Whether he chose the easiest examples of skill in sleight42 of hand is more than I know. I can only say that I never was more completely mystified by any professor of legerdemain43 on the public platform. After the performance of each trick, he asked leave to time himself by looking at his watch; being anxious to discover if he had lost his customary quickness of execution through recent neglect of the necessary practice.
Of Cristel's conduct, while he was amusing us, I can only say that it justified44 Mrs. Roylake's spiteful description of her as a bold girl. The more cleverly the tricks were performed, the more they seemed to annoy and provoke her.
"I hate being puzzled!" she said, addressing herself of course to me. "Yes, yes; his fingers are quicker than my eyes—I have heard that explanation before. When he has done one of his tricks, I want to know how he does it. Conjurers are people who ask riddles45, and, when one can't guess them, refuse to say what the answer is. It's as bad as calling me a fool, to suppose that I like being deceived. Ah," she cried, with a shocking insolence46 of look and manner, "if our friend could only hear what I am saying!"
He had paused while she was speaking, observing her attentively47. "Your face doesn't encourage me," he said, with a patience and courtesy of manner which it was impossible not to admire. "I am coming gradually to my greatest triumph; and I think I can surprise and please you."
He timed his last trick, and returned to the table placed against the wall.
"Excuse me for a moment," he resumed; "I am suffering as usual, after drinking tea. I so delight in it that the temptation to-night was more than I could resist. Tea disagrees with my weak stomach. It always produces thirst."
"What nonsense he talks!" Cristel exclaimed. "All mere48 fancy! He reminds me of the old song called 'The Nervous Man.' Do you know it, Mr. Roylake?"
In spite of my efforts to prevent her, she burst out with the first verse of a stupid comic song. Spared by his deafness from this infliction49 of vulgarity, our host filled a tumbler from the water in the claret jug, and drank it.
As he set the tumbler down, we were startled by an accident in the next room. The floor was suddenly shaken by the sound of a heavy fall. The fall was followed by a groan50 which instantly brought me to my feet.
Although his infirmity made him unconscious of the groan, my friend felt the vibration51 of the floor, and saw me start up from my chair. He looked even more alarmed than I was, judging by the ghastly change that I saw in his color; and he reached the door of the second room as soon as I did. It is needless to say that I allowed him to enter first.
On the point of following him, I felt myself roughly pulled back. When I turned round, and saw Cristel, I did really and truly believe that she was mad. The furious impatience52 in her eyes, the frenzied53 strength of her grasp on my arm, would have led most other men to form the same conclusion.
"Come!" she cried. "No! not a word. There isn't a moment to lose." She dragged me across the room to the table on which the claret jug stood. She filled the tumbler from it, as he had filled the tumbler. The material of which the jug had been made was so solid (crystal, not glass as I had supposed) that the filling of the two tumblers emptied it. Cristel held the water out to me, gasping54 for breath, trembling as if she saw some frightful55 reptile56 before her instead of myself.
"Drink it," she said, "if you value your life!"
I should of course have found it perfectly easy to obey her, strange as her language was, if I had been in full possession of myself. Between distress57 and alarm, my mind (I suppose) had lost its balance. With or without a cause, I hesitated.
She crossed the room, and threw open the window which looked out on the river.
"You shan't die alone," she said. "If you don't drink it, I'll throw myself out!"
I drank from the tumbler to the last drop.
It was not water.
It had a taste which I can compare to no drink, and to no medicine, known to me. I thought of the other strange taste peculiar58 to the tea. At last, the tremendous truth forced itself on my mind. The man in whom my boyish generosity59 had so faithfully believed had attempted my life.
Cristel took the tumbler from me. My poor angel clasped her free arm round my neck, and pressed her lips, in an ecstasy60 of joy, on my cheek. The next instant, she seized the claret jug, and dashed it into pieces on the floor. "Get the jug from his washhand-stand," she said. When I gave it to her, she poured some of the water upon the broken fragments of crystal scattered61 on the floor. I had put the jug back in its place, and was returning to Cristel, when the poisoner showed himself, entering from the servant's room.
"Don't be alarmed," he said. "Gloody's name ought to be Glutton62. An attack of giddiness, thoroughly63 well deserved. I have relieved him. You remember, Mr. Roylake, that I was once a surgeon—"
The broken claret jug caught his eye.
We have all read of men who were petrified64 by terror. Of the few persons who have really witnessed that spectacle, I am one. The utter stillness of him was really terrible to see. Cristel wrote in his book an excuse, no doubt prepared beforehand: "That fall in the next room frightened me, and I felt faint. I went to get some water from the jug you drank out of, and it slipped from my hand."
She placed those words under his eyes—she might just as well have shown them to the dog. A dead man, erect65 on his feet—so he looked to our eyes. So he still looked, when I took Cristel's arm, and led her out of that dreadful presence.
"Take me into the air!" she whispered.
A burst of tears relieved her, after the unutterable suspense66 that she had so bravely endured. When she was in some degree composed again, we walked gently up and down for a minute or two in the cool night air. "Don't speak to me," she said, as we stopped before her father's door. "I am not fit for it yet; I know what you feel." I pressed her to my heart, and let the embrace speak for me. She yielded to it, faintly sighing. "To-morrow?" I whispered. She bent67 her head, and left me.
Walking home through the wood, I became aware, little by little, that my thoughts were not under the customary control. Over and over again, I tried to review the events of that terrible evening, and failed. Fragments of other memories presented themselves—and then deserted68 me. Nonsense, absolute nonsense, found its way into my mind next, and rose in idiotic69 words to my lips. I grew too lazy even to talk to myself. I strayed from the path. The mossy earth began to rise and sink under my feet, like the waters in a ground-swell at sea. I stood still, in a state of idiot-wonder. The ground suddenly rose right up to my face. I remember no more.
My first conscious exercise of my senses, when I revived, came to me by way of my ears. Leaden weights seemed to close my eyes, to fetter70 my movements, to silence my tongue, to paralyze my touch. But I heard a wailing71 voice, speaking close to me, so close that it might have been my own voice: I distinguished72 the words; I knew the tones.
"Oh, my master, my lord, who am I that I should live—and you die! and you die!"
Was it her warm young breath that quickened me with its vigorous life? I only know that the revival73 of my sense of touch did certainly spring from the contact of her lips, pressed to mine in the reckless abandonment of grief without hope. Her cry of joy, when my first sigh told her that I was still a living creature, ran through me like an electric shock. I opened my eyes; I held out my hand; I tried to help her when she raised my head, and set me against the tree under which I had been stretched helpless. With an effort I could call her by her name. Even that exhausted me. My mind was so weak that I should have believed her, if she had declared herself to be a spirit seen in a dream, keeping watch over me in the wood.
Wiser than I was, she snatched up my hat, ran on before me, and was lost in the darkness.
An interval74, an unendurable interval, passed. She returned, having filled my hat from the spring. But for the exquisite75 coolness of the water falling on my face, trickling76 down my throat, I should have lost my senses again. In a few minutes more, I could take that dear hand, and hold it to me as if I was holding to my life. We could only see each other obscurely, and in that very circumstance (as we confessed to each other afterwards) we found the needful composure before we could speak.
"Cristel! what does it mean?"
"Poison," she answered. "And he has suffered too."
To my astonishment77, there was no anger in her tone: she spoke78 of him as quietly as if she had been alluding79 to an innocent man.
"Do you mean that he has been at death's door, like me?"
"Yes, thank God—or I should never have found you here. Poor old Gloody came to us, in search of help. 'My master's in a swoon, and I can't bring him to.' Directly I heard that, I remembered that you had drunk what he had drunk. What had happened to him, must have happened to you. Don't ask me how long it was before I found you, and what I felt when I did find you. I do so want to enjoy my happiness! Only let me see you safely home, and I ask no more."
She helped me to rise, with the encouraging words which she might have used to a child. She put my arm in hers, and led me carefully along through the wood, as if I had been an old man.
Cristel had saved my life—but she would hear of no allusion80 to it. She knew how the poisoner had plotted to get rid of me—but nothing that I could say induced her to tell me how she had made the discovery. In view of Trimley Deen, my guardian81 angel dropped my arm.
"Go on," she said, "and let me see the servant let you in, before I run home."
If she had not been once more wiser than I was, I should have taken her with me to the house; I should have positively82 refused to let her go back by herself. Nothing that I could say or do had the slightest effect on her resolution. Does the man live who could have taken leave of her calmly, in my place? She tore herself away from me, with a sigh of bitterness that was dreadful to hear.
"Oh, my darling," I said, "do I distress you?"
"Horribly," she answered; "but you are not to blame."
Those were her farewell words. I called after her. I tried to follow her. She was lost to me in the darkness.
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1
lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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earthenware
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| n.土器，陶器 | |
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boisterously
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| adv.喧闹地，吵闹地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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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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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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articulation
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| n.（清楚的）发音；清晰度，咬合 | |
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screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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infusion
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| n.灌输 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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facetiously
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| adv.爱开玩笑地；滑稽地，爱开玩笑地 | |
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brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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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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cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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sleight
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| n.技巧，花招 | |
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legerdemain
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| n.戏法，诈术 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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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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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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infliction
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| n.（强加于人身的）痛苦，刑罚 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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glutton
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| n.贪食者，好食者 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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fetter
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| n./vt.脚镣，束缚 | |
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wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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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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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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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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alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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81
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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