It was Maltravers’ letter that lay open in her lap, the letter of a coward and a hypocrite, full of euphemistic cunning and of subtle sentiment. For an hour or more Ophelia had sat silent and motionless before the window, with the glib5 sentences ebbing6 and flowing through her brain. Anger had failed her in that hour; shame and loneliness seemed closing about her soul.
“My dear Phyl [began the epistle],—I write to you in great haste, for my news is of such a nature that the more speedily it is told the better.
“Understand, in the first place, my dear girl, that what I am now doing is for your welfare, and goes grievously against the grain with me. We have ventured so much for each other in the past that this flouting7 at the eleventh hour comes like a thunderclap upon my soul.”
After some such preamble8, Maltravers proceeded to paint a vivid picture of their betrayal and of John Strong’s relentless9 determination to unearth10 the truth. He described the interview at the manor11, and recounted his own heroic stand and his desperate attempts to impress upon the master of Saltire the hopelessness of his cause. The letter went on to state that, though his arguments had brought John Strong to a temporary stand-still, he feared that the old man, “like a mad elephant, would soon break through the net.”
Finally came the real inspiration of the letter. The further linking of their names would be injudicious in the extreme. Maltravers would sacrifice himself. In fact, he had already left the neighborhood, having timed his flight so that the epistle should reach Ophelia after he had gone. This was “to insure the inevitable12 ending of a relationship that could only bring misery13 and misrepresentation upon both.”
Such in outline was the document with which this English gentleman relieved himself of a responsibility that he had so passionately15 assumed. There was much vapid16 and offensive sentiment, much pathetic posing crowded therein. Yet the letter reeked17 of hypocrisy—hypocrisy of the basest sort, even because it was pitched in a spiritually tragic18 key. Its scented20 sentiments stung far more deeply than the rough truth would have done, for there was an insult in the very cleverness of the thing, an insult exaggerated by the florid profession of feelings that the writer had never felt.
A woman is rarely deceived by a man whom she has loved, and Ophelia had gleaned21 the truth little by little those many weeks, the truth that the man’s passion had cooled, and that her love was no more to him the magic wine of life. Possibly she had fought against the conviction, even as a woman will fight against that which she knows in her heart of hearts to be true. The blow in itself was no sudden one to Ophelia, but the method of its administration appealed to her as brutal22 in the extreme.
She pictured the whole drama to herself as she sat at the window, brooding and brooding over the letter in her lap. She could see Maltravers confronted by John Strong, the leopard23 and the bull, guile24 and gold. She could imagine the disloyal promptings of his heart, his selfish scheming, his desire to escape from a predicament that had lost its passionate14 charm. Her woman’s instinct served her wonderfully in this. She could read the truth in every studied phrase of Maltravers’ letter.
The nature of her position dawned upon her relentlessly25 as the evening sunlight streamed in upon her sensual face and haughty26 eyes. The shame of it! the shame of it! This it was that smote27 her vanity to the core. Her overstrained imagination portrayed28 the future to her with a mordant29 realism that made her quail30. She was only a woman, if a very imperfect one, and the motive31 towards audacity32 had vanished, leaving her unshielded and alone.
She reasoned thus as the day declined. John Strong would speak, for he was not the man to remain long silent. The whole country-side would take up the cry. The women, those women who loved her little, would point at her mockingly and clamor, “Clear yourself before us and the world, or be known as an adulteress and a liar33.” They would shriek34 at her, these smug-mouthed women. And whence could come the refutation? Society would throw the gauntlet down, and who should stoop to take the challenge up?
Maltravers? Ay, he was the man, and thence rose the bitterest mockery of all. His very cowardice35 would condemn36 her, for like a false god he would not hear her cry, and fanaticism37 would rend38 her for his silence. For him she had risked all; for her he would venture nothing. Ignominy! ignominy! What was life worth to her that she should face such shame?
That night there was much hurrying to and fro in the galleries of the castle. Bells rang. White-faced servants stood gaping39 in the passageways, whispering together, awed40 and frightened. A lamp flashed to and fro in the stable-yard, where two grooms41 were saddling and bridling42 a horse, Ophelia’s horse, as good a beast as ever rode to hounds. Soon there came the sparking of hoofs43 on the cobbles, a scattering44 of pebbles45 along the drive.
A woman’s voice cried from the porch.
“This note, quick, John, to the doctor.”
“Saltire?”
“You know the house.”
“Damn it, yes.”
“Get on! get on!”
The man went away at a canter, a canter that steadied into a hard gallop46 as he passed the lodge47 and swung out into the high-road. He pulled his cap down over his eyes and gave the beast the whip. Overhead a full moon was shining, splashing the silent trees with silver, glimmering48 upon the distant sea. There was the scent19 of new-mown hay upon the warm night air. In the castle porch servants stood huddled49, listening to the sound of hoofs that died away along the road.
Above in the turret bedroom Blanche Gusset, with her brown hair tumbled about her face, half lay upon the pillows, holding her sister in her arms. Outside in the gallery a smart maid stood listening, running every now and again to the stairhead to peer down into the hall beneath. A shaded lamp burned in the room, whose angles were full of solemn shadows. Ophelia, her face a dusky white, the pupils of her eyes dilated50, lay in her sister’s arms breathing spasmodically with shallow span. She seemed half torpid51, like one near death.
A table stood by the bed, bearing a glass and a flask52 of brandy, also a bottle of smelling-salts. Blanche, half witless yet methodical for all her terror, was bathing her sister’s face with scent. A crumpled53 letter and an empty phial lay near on the scarlet54 coverlet of the bed.
“Phyl,” she said, “Phyl,” putting her mouth close to her sister’s ear.
There was some slight brightening of the dilated eyes. Ophelia’s lips moved. Her hands, flickering55 to and fro, entwined themselves in Blanche’s hair.
“Jim,” she said—“I hear Jim’s voice—”
In some such fashion she maundered on. Blanche, vigorous being that she was, shuddered56 as though a cold wind played upon her bosom57. She reached for the glass, gulped58 down some brandy, coughed, and called to the girl without the door.
“Florence! Florence!”
The door opened a very little and a white face peered in.
“Yes, miss.”
“How long—”
“How long, miss?”
“Oh, you fool. How long has John been?”
“Half an hour, miss.”
“Oh, my God, only half an hour!”
“The doctor’ll be here soon, miss; ’tis only four miles to Saltire.”
“Go down and listen.”
“Yes, miss.”
“Shut the door. Oh, my God!”
She turned again and hung over Ophelia, staring into the bedewed and dusky face. All the beauty had fled therefrom, for it was as the face of death, gray and inanimate. The widely dilated eyes seemed to gaze into the unknown, as though fathoming59 many a solemn truth.
Blanche trickled60 brandy between the parted lips, poured scent into the palm of her hand and dashed it in her sister’s face. She dragged her higher upon the pillows, the head with its golden mass of hair rolling upon her shoulder. The blue veins61 showed in the white neck, where all the muscles seemed tense as cords, striving and laboring62 for life and air.
Then through the window came the distant sound of wheels upon the road. Blanche gave a cry like a woman who hears the voice of a rescuer through the smoke of a burning house. The beat of hoofs came near apace. There was a hoarse63 grinding of the gravel64 before the house, hurried steps upon the stairs, the sound of a voice, quiet but confident, giving commands to the maid Florence.
James Marjoy entered, roughly dressed, as though he had but risen from bed. Calm and self-reliant, he was a changed being in such an hour as this; and though but “Mrs. Marjoy’s husband” in his own home, he was the man when ministering to the sick. His assistant, a tall, morose-faced Scotchman, followed at his heels. Blanche, freeing herself, ran to James Marjoy and seized his arm.
“Thank God you have come,” she said.
“Cocaine?”
“Cocaine, yes; the bottle is yonder—and that scoundrel’s letter. I heard her ring and found her like this. My poor father is away.”
The Scotchman was busy taking a hypodermic syringe from its case, his big, bony hands steady and unflurried, his solemn face devoid65 of all emotion. James Marjoy had given one glance at the figure upon the bed. He took Blanche Gusset gently by the arm and thrust her towards the door.
“Go, Miss Gusset,” he said.
“But—”
“Time is precious. We shall do better alone.”
The night was wellnigh spent and the moon hung low in the west when James Marjoy, haggard of face and weary about the eyes, came down to Blanche Gusset in the dining-room. A single candle burned upon the mantel-piece. Blanche, white as the bed-gown under her dressing-jacket, ran to the doctor and held his arm. Her eyes had that strange and terrible earnestness so tragic when seen in the eyes of a woman.
“Well?”
“We were in time.”
“Doctor—”
“Your sister will recover.”
“Thank God! thank God!”
She kissed James Marjoy’s hand and flung herself upon a sofa, weeping unrestrainedly like a little child.
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1
turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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4
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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glib
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| adj.圆滑的，油嘴滑舌的 | |
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ebbing
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的现在分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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7
flouting
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| v.藐视，轻视( flout的现在分词 ) | |
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8
preamble
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| n.前言；序文 | |
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9
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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10
unearth
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| v.发掘，掘出，从洞中赶出 | |
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11
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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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
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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15
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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16
vapid
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| adj.无味的；无生气的 | |
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17
reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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18
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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19
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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20
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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21
gleaned
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| v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的过去式和过去分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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leopard
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| n.豹 | |
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guile
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| n.诈术 | |
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relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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27
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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28
portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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29
mordant
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| adj.讽刺的；尖酸的 | |
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30
quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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31
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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32
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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33
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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34
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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36
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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37
fanaticism
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| n.狂热，盲信 | |
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38
rend
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| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
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39
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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40
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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42
bridling
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的现在分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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43
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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44
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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45
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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46
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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47
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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48
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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49
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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50
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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52
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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53
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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54
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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55
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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56
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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57
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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58
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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59
fathoming
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| 测量 | |
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60
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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61
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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62
laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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63
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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64
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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