All this added to Stratton’s depression, and the sense of coming trouble. It was impossible to pass it over as imaginary, face to face as he was with the terrible difficulties before him; for in that tiny place, unless Barron was hurried away, a meeting was imminent4, and it was his doing—his.
Guest laughed at the idea of his presence there being due to fate, he recalled; but how else could he think of the strange complication but as being wrought5 out by a greater directing hand? “And for what?” he muttered. Could it be only to inflict6 fresh torture upon a gentle, loving woman?
The mental outlook was as black and misty7 as that across the sands to the moaning, sighing sea; and as Stratton sat there, with the damp, soft air cooling his brow, he longed for rest, and thought of the peace and gentle calm that he might find if he could take a boat and sail right away into the soft, black darkness.
He shook his head mournfully, though, for he knew that he could not sail away from his thoughts, and that it would be the act of a coward to try and escape from the sufferings which fell to his lot.
To sleep was impossible. He did not even think of lying down, but sat there waiting for the first streaks8 of day with the face of Myra always before him, her eyes looking gravely into his with a sweet, trustful tenderness, which made him recall her visit to his chambers10 that night when she knelt before him with her arms outstretched to take him to her breast, and he asked himself why he had shrunk from her—why he had not crushed down conscience, and the horror of his having slain11 her husband, and taken her away—anywhere so that they two could have been together far from the world and its ways.
For his dread12 had been his own making. It was not real. The shot was an accident, not even dealt by his own hand, and the man had lived. Myra would have been his, and they might have been happy.
Was it too late, even now? If he could only reach her ear and tell her how all stood. She loved him—he knew that. Once with Myra meant till death, and she would follow him to the world’s end.
“And I sit here,” he cried, and started from his seat, “when she is there yonder waiting for me. A word would rouse her from her sleep, if she does sleep. She may be sitting at her window even now, wakeful and wretched as I, and ready to trust me, to let me lead her far away from all this misery13 and despair. Heaven never could mean us to suffer as we do. It is a natural prompting. She must be waiting for me now.”
The moments of exaltation passed, and he sank down again to bury his face in his hands, knowing that it was all the madness of a despairing man.
No; he could do nothing but that which he and Brettison had planned—nothing but wait for the morning, which was yet hours away.
He grew calmer as the night passed on; firmer, too, and there was a quiet determination in his thoughts as he felt that some day Myra would know all that he had done, and perhaps, after all, happiness might be theirs.
For hope came with the approach of day, and when at last the first pale dawn appeared in the east, and by degrees there was a delicious opalescent14 tint15 on the waves, where a soft breeze was slowly wafting16 away the mist, it was a calm, grave, thoughtful man, nerved to the day’s task, who went forth17 with the knowledge that the people of the inn were already stirring, for, as he stepped out, a casement was opened, and the landlady18 greeted him with the customary bon jour.
Stratton returned the greeting, and told her his requirements—a sailing boat and men to take him and his friends for a good long cruise.
“Ah, yes!” said the landlady; “of course, and monsieur would pay them well,”—and at another time there were Jacques, and Jean, and André, and many more who would have been so glad—for it was going to be a day superb: look at the light on the water like the silver and sheen upon a mackerel, to prove her words—but the hands went out last night, and would not return in time from the fishing.
“But was there no one else?”
“Not a soul, monsieur. Why, there was a great nobleman—an old sea admiral—English, at the little chateau19 who had sent only last night, wanting a boat to sail with the beautiful ladies he had brought, one of whom was a stately old marquise, at least, with hair grey; but no, he could not have a boat for any money. Why could not monsieur take his sick friend for a beautiful long drive?”
Stratton jumped at the proposal.
“Yes; that would do,” he said.
“Then Guillaume should have the horse and chaise ready at any time monsieur chose to name.”
A sense of relief came over Stratton as he finished his arrangements. The car was to be waiting till the sick friend was brought over, and then they would start at once—after breakfast—no, perhaps sooner. It was to be ready for them to start at any time; for the invalid20 was capricious; and it was uncertain when they would come back.
Stratton could do no more but wait. He dared not show himself for fear the admiral might be out early; and he shuddered21 at the idea of the old man strolling about on the sands and encountering Brettison and his charge.
But he felt that his old friend would take care, and, going back to his rooms with the intention of forcing himself to wait patiently, he watched the sun rise in all its glory over the sea of fire, while the clouds and mists around were one blaze of effulgent22 hues23.
It was impossible to help a feeling of elation24 as nature smiled upon him full of hope and joy; and the determination to act manfully and well grew and grew in Stratton’s breast as, in obedience25 to a thought, he went to where a glass hung in the passage of the little inn, and took it up to his window.
It was with throbbing26 heart that he adjusted it, and brought it to bear upon the pretty little chateau high upon the cliff, covered with creepers, and with its terrace garden a mass of flowers.
He scanned window after window, but not a soul was visible, and after a time he brought it to bear on the fisher’s cottage at the foot of the cliff, where he saw the smoke curling up clear and blue, though it was quite a mile away. Dale’s brawny27 French nurse stood outside in the early morning sunshine knitting. The fisherman was at his boat making some repairs, where it lay bottom upward, and his wife was going in and out busy over household affairs, but it was too early for sign of the other occupants.
After a time Stratton was summoned to breakfast, and, after swallowing a little bread and coffee hastily, he made sure that the car and driver were ready, and with the excitement growing, returned to his place of observation with the glass, where he was seen by the landlady, who remarked to herself how anxious monsieur was about his friend.
At that moment the glass was trembling, and its eyepiece seemed blurred28; for it was fixed29 upon the figure of a tall, graceful30 woman, standing31 outside one of the windows in the terrace garden of the little chateau, with a hand raised to shade her eyes, as she looked along the coast line, but appeared to be gazing straight at where Stratton watched her with the glass.
One minute of delirious32 joy as he observed her features, then all was blurred, and he closed up the glass; he dared not gaze, for his brain swam, and when the insane desire to look once more came over him, and he yielded, the figure in its soft, white, clinging drapery, was gone, and he sternly turned the glass upon the cottage, to watch for the coming of Brettison, till his eyes refused to distinguish the place.
He felt that they ought to be on their way now, while the occupants of the house above were at their morning meal; but there was still no sign, and another hour passed full of agony for Stratton, till he forced himself to believe that Brettison was acting33 for the best, and that there must be good reason for his keeping back.
He took the glass again, and concluded why his friend had not come; for he saw a group now upon the terrace, and directly after could trace their descent beyond the cottage to the sands—the admiral first, with Myra leaning on his arm, then the stately figure of Miss Jerrold, and lastly Edie and Guest; and all so close to him that he could almost read the expression on their features as they stopped and walked past the cottage as if about to come in his direction.
Stratton’s heart beat, for there was the possibility of Barron appearing at the cottage door, but they turned again, went on toward the south-east and soon disappeared beyond the rocks which lay scattered34 along the shore.
“Brettison will be here directly,” thought Stratton, and after watching for a few minutes a thought struck him: they would perhaps come along the path at the top of the cliff, and in the belief that this might be so he hurried out to warn the car driver to be ready.
Hardly had he returned to his room when the landlady appeared to say that a boy was there to deliver a message to him alone, and, upon going out, a heavy looking peasant announced that he was to go on to the cottage.
Stratton caught up his hat and started, full of anxiety, for it was evident that Brettison was having trouble with their charge, who was perhaps obstinate35 and fretful, while before he was half-way there he began to regret not bringing the car, so that they might have started at once.
But he felt the next moment that it was folly36 to bring a wheeled vehicle down upon that heavy sand, and keeping a sharp lookout37 for those he wished to avoid, and taking advantage of every sheltering rock, he at length reached the cottage, at whose door he was met by the fisherman.
Stratton saw at a glance that something was wrong; but before he could get out a word the fisherman’s wife, who was evidently suffering from fear, stammered38 that she was desolated39 to have to send for the monsieur.
“Where is my friend?” said Stratton sharply.
“In his chamber9, monsieur, exceedingly ill.”
Stratton hurried in, to find Brettison in bed looking pinched of cheek, his eyes sunken and blue beneath the lids, and perfectly40 insensible.
“What does this mean?” cried Stratton.
“We did not hear the gentleman moving this morning, but my husband heard him stirring in the night, sir; oh, yes; and when I went to call him he answered so strangely that I entered and gave a cry, for he looked as if he was going to the death, monsieur.
“I wanted to send for you, but he forbade me. He said he would be better soon, and I made him tea, and gave him some cognac, and he grew better, then worse, then better again. It is something bad with his throat, monsieur. Look, it is—all worse, quite blue.”
Stratton gazed at the livid marks in horror.
“Where is Mr Cousin, our invalid?” he said, beginning to tremble now.
“Oh, he, monsieur, he insisted upon going out on the sands with his attendant Margot.”
“Which way?” gasped41 Stratton.
“Yonder, monsieur,” said the woman, pointing to the south-east.
“Here, get cognac; bathe his face,” panted Stratton, half wild now with horror; “and send someone for the nearest doctor. Quick. I shall be back soon—if I live,” he muttered as he rushed off through the deep, loose sand to find and bring back their charge before he encountered the Jerrolds on the beach.
He could not see far for the rocks that strewed42 the shore, which was apparently43 deserted44. The sun beat down upon his head, and the effort to advance grew more painful, and yet he passed through maze45 after maze of stones fallen in huge masses from the cliffs above, without seeing a sign, till all at once, as he passed round one huge mass, beyond which lay scores of others covered with barnacle and weed, he heard voices, and stopped short, hidden from the group before him by one of the rocks.
His toil46 had been in vain, and a jealous, maddening pang47 shot through him.
There, some forty yards away, sat Barron upon a huge boulder48, his back propped49 against a rock, and his attendant knitting a short distance back, while Miss Jerrold sat on the sands reading beneath a great sunshade. The admiral was smoking his cigar, looking down at Barron; Edie and Guest were together; and Myra, pale, gentle, and with a smile upon her lip, was offering the invalid a bunch of grapes, which he was gently taking from her hand.
“The past condoned,” said Stratton to himself; “the future—well, he is her husband, after all. Great Heavens, am I really mad, or is all this a waking dream?”
He staggered back and nearly fell, so terrible was the rush of horror through his brain, but he could not draw away his eyes, and he saw that Barron was speaking and holding out his hand—that Myra responded by laying hers within his palm, and the fingers closed upon it—fingers that not many hours back must have held Brettison’s throat in a deadly grip.
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1
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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3
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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6
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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7
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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8
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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9
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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10
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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11
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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12
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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13
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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14
opalescent
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| adj.乳色的，乳白的 | |
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15
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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16
wafting
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的现在分词 ) | |
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17
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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21
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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22
effulgent
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| adj.光辉的；灿烂的 | |
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23
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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26
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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28
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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29
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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30
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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31
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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33
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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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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35
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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36
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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37
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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38
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
desolated
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| adj.荒凉的，荒废的 | |
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40
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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41
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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42
strewed
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| v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 )；散落于；点缀；撒满 | |
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43
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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44
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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45
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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46
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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47
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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48
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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49
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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