The two rooms into which sash windows had been placed were--the one that faced Miss Blake when she had penetrated7 to the confines of the Maze on that unlucky day, and within which she had seen the unconscious Mrs. Grey; and the one above it. They were at the end of the house, looking towards the entrance gates. Into this upper room the reader must pay a night visit. It was used as a sitting-room8. The same dark mahogany wainscoting lined the walls as in the room below, the furniture was dark and heavy-looking; and, in spite of the sultry heat of the night, the shutters9 were closed before the window and dull crimson10 curtains of damask wool were drawn11 across them. There was nothing bright in the appendages12 of the room, save the lighted lamp on the table and a crystal vase of hothouse flowers.
Seated at the table at work--the making of an infant's frock--was
Mrs. Grey. Opposite to her, in the space between the table and the fire-place, sat Sir Karl; and by her side, facing him--Adam Andinnian.
It is more than probable that this will be no surprise; that the reader has already divined the truth of the secret, and all the miserable13 complication it had brought and was bringing in its train. It was not Adam Andinnian who had died in that fatal scuffle off Portland Island--or more strictly14 speaking, off Weymouth--but one of the others who had been concerned in it.
Yes, there he sat, in life and in health; his speech as free, his white and beautiful teeth not less conspicuous15 than of yore--Sir Adam Andinnian. Karl, sitting opposite with his grave, sad face, was not in reality Sir Karl and never had been.
But Adam Andinnian was altered. The once fine black hair, which it had used to please him to wear long in the neck, was now short, scanty16, and turned to grey; his once fine fresh colour had given place to pallor, and he was growing a beard that looked grey and stubbly. Decidedly old-looking now, as compared with the past, was Adam Andinnian. He wore evening dress: just as though he had been attired18 for a dinner party--say--at Foxwood Court. Mrs. Grey--as she was called, though she was in reality Lady Andinnian wore a summer dress of clear white muslin, through which might be seen her white neck and arms. It was the pleasure of her husband, Sir Adam, that in the evening, when only he dared to come out of his hiding-shell, they should keep up, in attire19 at least, some semblance20 of the state that ought to have been theirs.
"I can tell you, Karl, that I don't approve of it," Sir Adam was saying, with all his old haughty21 bearing and manner. "It's a regular scandal. What business has any one to set up such a thing on my land?"
"It's Truefit's land for the time being, you know, Adam. He gave the consent."
"A parcel of foolish people--be-vanitied boys of self-called priests, and be-fooled girls, running and racing22 to the place four or five times a day under pretence23 of worship!" continued Sir Adam, getting up to pace the room in his excitement, as though he would have burst through its small confines. "I won't permit it, Karl."
He seemed to have got somewhat shorter, and his walk had a limp in it. But he was the same hasty, fiery25, Adam Andinnian. A man cannot well change his nature.
"I do not see how it is to be prevented," was Karl's answer. "It will not do in our position, to raise a stir over anything, or to make enemies. I daresay it will bring itself to an end some way or other."
"The whole parish is making fun of it, I find: Ann hears it talked of when she goes on errands. And it is a downright insult on Mr. Sumnor. What a curious-minded person that Miss Blake must be! Rose"--Sir Adam halted close to his wife--"if ever you put your foot inside this St. Jerome's I'll not forgive you."
She lifted her eyes to his from the baby's frock. "I am not likely to go to it, Adam."
"The empty-headed creatures that girls are, now-a-days! If
bull-baiting came up, they'd run off to it, just as readily as the good girls of former days would run from any approach of evil to take shelter under their mother's wing. Does your wife frequent St. Jerome's, Karl?"
"Oh no."
"She shows her sense."
Karl Andinnian smiled. "You have not lost the old habit, Adam--the putting yourself into a heat for nothing. I came over this evening to have some serious talk with you. Do sit down."
"Yes do, Adam," added his wife, turning to him; "you will get the pain in your hip24 again. Do you wish me to go away?" she added to Karl, as she prepared to gather up her working materials.
"No, no, Rose: it's only the old story, I know--the wanting to get rid of me," interposed Sir Adam, sitting down himself. "Stay where you are, wife. Now for it, Karl.--Wait a moment, though" he added, ringing the bell.
It was answered by the same staid, respectable-looking servant seen by Miss Blake; the same confidential26 woman who had lived with Mrs. Andinnian at Weymouth--Ann Hopley.
"Ann, I am as thirsty as a fish," said her master. "Bring up a bottle of soda-water and a dash of brandy."
"Yes, sir," she replied--not daring now or at any other time to give him his title.
He opened the soda-water himself when it was brought, put in the brandy, drank it, and sat down again. Karl Andinnian began to speak, feeling an innate27 certainty that his words would be wasted ones.
But some explanation of the past is necessary, and it may as well be given here.
When Karl Andinnian went down from London to Weymouth upon the news of his brother's attempted escape and death, he found his mother in a dreadful state of distress29--as already related. This distress was not put on: indeed such distress it would not be possible to assume: for Mrs. Andinnian believed the public accounts--that Adam was dead. After she had despatched Karl to Foxwood to make arrangements for the interment, the truth was disclosed to her, Sir Adam had escaped with life, and was lying concealed30 in Weymouth; but he had been terribly knocked about in the scuffle, and in fact had been considered dead. By the careless stupidity of one of the warders, or else by his connivance31, Mrs. Andinnian never entirely knew which, he was reported at the prison as being dead--and perhaps the prison thought itself well rid of so obstreperous32 an inmate33. The warders had said one to another from the time he was first put there, that that Andinnian gentleman had "mischief34" in him. Further explanation may be given later on in the story: at present it is enough to say that Adam Andinnian escaped.
When Mrs. Andinnian arrived with the body (supposed to be her son's) at Foxwood, she then knew the truth. Adam was not dead. He was lying somewhere in great danger; they would not, from motives35 Of prudence36, allow her to know where; but, dead he was not. Not a hint did she disclose of this to Karl; and he stood by her side over the grave, believing it was his brother that was placed in it. She called him Sir Karl; she never gave him a hint that his succession to the title and estates was but a pseudo one; she suffered him to depart in the false belief. Perhaps she did not dare to speak of it, even to him. Karl went abroad, re-met Lucy Cleeve, and became engaged to her. He caused the marriage settlements to be drawn up and signed, still never dreaming that he had no legal right to settle, that the revenues were not his. Only when he went down to Foxwood, a day or two before his marriage, did he become acquainted with the truth.
That was the dread28 secret disclosed to him by his mother; that, in her fear, she had made him take an oath to keep--"Adam is not dead." Just at the first moment Karl thought her intellects must be wandering: but as she proceeded in a few rapid words to tell of his escape, of his dangerous illness, of his lying even then, hidden away from the terrors of the law, all the dreadful position of his ill-fated brother rushed over Karl as in one long agony. He saw in vivid colours the hazard Adam was running--and must ever run, until either death or recapture should overtake him; he saw as if portrayed37 in a mirror the miserable future that lay before him, the lonely fugitive38 he must be.
To Karl Andinnian's mind, no fate in this world could be so miserable. Even death on the scaffold would to himself have been preferable to this lifetime of living dread. He had loved his brother with a keen love; and he felt this almost as a death-blow: he could have died in his love and pity, if by that means his brother might be saved. Mingling39 with this regret had come the thought of his own changed position, and that he ought not to marry.
This he said. But Mrs. Andinnian pointed40 out to him that his position would not be so very materially altered. Such was her conviction. That she herself, by connivance with one of the warders, had mainly contributed to the step Adam had taken, that she had been the first to put it into his head, and set him on to attempt it, she was all too remorsefully41 conscious of. Now that he had escaped, and was entered in the prison rolls as dead, and lay hidden away in some hole or corner, not daring to come out of it, or to let into it the light of day, she saw what she had done. Not even to her might his hiding-place be disclosed. She saw that his future life must be, at the very best, that of a nameless exile--if, by good fortune, he could make his escape from his own land. If? His person was rather a remarkable44 one, and well known to his enemies the police force. Not one, perhaps, but had his photograph. A fugitive in some barren desert, unfrequented by man, where he must drag on a solitary45 life of expatriation! Not much of his income would be needed for this.
"You will have to occupy Foxwood as its master; you must be Sir Karl to the world as you are now," spoke46 Mrs. Andinnian; "and it is your children who will inherit after you. There is no reason whatever for breaking off your marriage, or for altering any of the arrangements. You will have to pay a certain sum yearly to Adam out of the estate. He will not need it long, poor fellow; a man's life, banned to the extent his will be, eats itself away soon."
Hemmed47 in by perplexities of all kinds, Karl's interview with his mother ended, and he went forth48 with his care and trouble. His own trouble would have been enough, but it was as nothing to that felt for his brother. He dared not tell the truth to Colonel Cleeve or to Lucy, or impart the slightest hint that his brother was alive; he almost as little dared, for Lucy's sake, to break off the marriage. And so it took place.
After that, he heard no more until he was again at Foxwood, summoned thither49 by his mother's illness. Mrs. Andinnian had fretted50 herself sick. Night and day, night and day was the fear of her son's discovery ever before her mind; she would see the recapture in her dreams: remorse42 wore her out, and fever supervened. She would have given all she possessed51 in the world could he be safely back at Portland Island without having attempted to quit it. Karl, on his arrival, found her in this sad state: and it was then she disclosed to him a further complication in the case, which she had but recently learnt herself. Sir Adam Andinnian was married.
It may be remembered that he was for a few days absent from his home in Northamptonshire, returning to it only on the eve of the day that news came of Sir Joseph's death, the fatal day when he killed Martin Scott. He had left home for the purpose of marrying Rose Turner, who was staying in Birmingham, a measure which had previously52 been planned between them. But for his mother's prejudices--as he called them--he would have married the young lady in the face of day; but he knew she would never consent, and he did not care openly to set her at naught53. "We will be married in private, Rose," he decided17, "and I will feel my way afterwards to disclose it to my mother." And Miss Rose Turner cared for him too much to make any objection. Alas54, the time never came for him to disclose it. On the very day after his return to his home, the young lady returning to hers, to her unsuspicious friends, he was thrown into prison on the charge of murder. It was not a time to speak; he wished to spare comment and annoyance55 to her; and she gave evidence at the trial--which she could 'not have done had she been his acknowledged wife. All this had been disclosed to Mrs. Andinnian the day after Karl left to celebrate his marriage. The stranger, Mr. Smith, spoken of by Hewitt as presenting himself again that day at Foxwood, and demanding an interview with its mistress, told her of it then. It was another bitter blow for Mrs. Andinnian, and the distress of mind it induced no doubt helped to bring on the fever. This, in her turn, she disclosed to Karl later from her
sick-bed; and for him it made the complication ten times worse. Had he known his brother had a wife, nothing would have induced him to marry Lucy. Mrs. Andinnian told him more; that Adam had escaped safely to London, where he then lay hidden, and where his wife had joined him; and that they were coming to inhabit the Maze at Foxwood. The last bit of news nearly struck Karl dumb.
"Is Adam mad?" he asked.
"No, very sane," replied Mrs. Andinnian. "He wants to be at least on his own grounds: and we all think--he and I and--no matter--that he may be safer here than anywhere. Even were there a suspicion abroad that he is alive--which there is not, and I trust never will be,--his own place is the very last place that people would look into for him. Besides, there will be precautions used--and the Maze is favourable56 for concealment57."
"It will be utter madness," spoke Karl. "It will be putting himself into the lion's mouth.'
"It will be nothing of the sort--or Mr. Smith would not approve of it," retorted Mrs. Andinnian. "I must see my son, Karl: and how else am I to see him? I may not go to him where he is: it might bring suspicion on him; but I can go over to the Maze."
"Who is Mr. Smith?--and what has he to do with Adam?--and how comes he in the secret?" reiterated58 Karl.
But to this he could get no answer. Whether Mrs. Andinnian knew, or whether she did not know, she would not say. The one fact--that Mr. Smith held the dangerous secret, and must be conciliated, was quite enough, she said, for Karl Mr. Smith had Adam's safety and interest at heart, she went on to state; he wished to be near the Maze to watch over him; and she had given him the pretty cottage opposite the Maze gates to live in, calling him Sir Karl's agent, and appointing him to collect a few rents, so as to give a colouring of ostensibility59 to the neighbourhood. In vain Karl remonstrated60. It was useless. The ground seemed slipping from under all their feet, but he could do nothing.
After all, poor Mrs. Andinnian did not live to see her most beloved son. Anxiety, torment61, restlessness, proved too much for her, and brought on the crisis sooner than was expected. On the very day after she died, the tenants62 came to the Maze--at least, all the tenants who would be seen openly, or be suspected of inhabiting it. They arrived by the last evening train; Mrs. Grey and her attendants, the Hopleys; and took two flies, which were waiting in readiness, on to the Maze; the lady occupying one, Hopley and his wife the other. How Adam Andinnian reached the place, it is not convenient yet to state.
In the course of the next evening, Karl Andinnian went over to the Maze and saw his brother. Adam was much altered. In the fever, which had supervened on his injuries received at the escape, he had lost his hair and become pale and thin. But his spirits were undaunted. He should soon "pick up" now he was in the free open country air and on his own grounds, he said. As to danger, he seemed not to see it, and declared there was less risk of discovery there than anywhere else. Karl could play the grand man and the baronet for him at Foxwood--but he meant, for all that, to have a voice in the ruling of his own estate. Poor Karl Andinnian, on the contrary, saw the very greatest danger in the position of affairs. He would have preferred to shut up Foxwood, leaving only Hewitt to take care of it, that no chance of discovery should arise from either servants or other inhabitants there. But Sir Adam ruled it otherwise; saying he'd not have the Court left to stagnate63. Hewitt was in the secret. It might have been neither expedient64 nor practicable to keep it from him: but the question was decided of itself. One evening just before Mrs. Andinnian's death, when Hewitt had gone to her sick-room on some errand at the dusk hour, she mistook him for Karl; and spoke words which betrayed all. Karl was glad of it: it seemed a protection to Adam, rather than not, that his tried old servant should be cognizant of the truth. So Karl went abroad again with his wife, and stayed until his keeping aloof65 from Foxwood began to excite comment in his wife's family; when he deemed it more expedient to return to it.
And now does the reader perceive all the difficulties of Karl Andinnian? There he was, in a false position: making believe to be a baronet of the realm, and a wealthy man, and the owner of Foxwood: and obliged to make believe. A hint to the contrary, a word that he was not in his right place, might have set suspicion afloat--and Heaven alone knew what would then be the ending. For Adam's sake he must be wary66 and cunning; he must play, so to say, the knave's part and deceive the world. But the dread of his brother's discovery lay upon him night and day, with a very-present awful dread: it was as a burning brand eating away his heart.
And again--you, my reader, can now understand the complication between Karl and his wife. He believed she had discovered the fact that Adam was alive and living concealed at the Maze; she, relying on Miss Blake's information, put down the Maze mystery to something of a very different nature. How could he suppose she meant anything but the dangerous truth? How could she imagine that the secret was any other than Miss Blake had so clearly and convincingly disclosed to her? In Lucy's still almost maidenly67 sensitiveness, she could not bring her lips to allude68 openly to the nature of her charge: and there was no necessity: she assumed that Karl knew it even better than she did. In his reluctance69 to pronounce his brother's name or hint at the secret, lest even the very air should be treacherous70 and carry it abroad, he was perhaps less open than he might have been. When he offered to relate to her the whole story, she stopped him and refused to listen: and so closed up the explanation that would have set the cruel doubt right and her heart at rest.
Sitting there with Adam to-night, in that closely curtained room, Karl entered upon the matter he had come to urge--that his brother should get away from the Maze into some safer place. It was, as Sir Adam expressed it, but the old story--for Karl had never ceased to urge it from the first--and he wholly refused to listen. There was no risk, he said, no fear of discovery, and he should not go away from his own land. Either from this little particular spot of land which was individually his, or from the land of his birth. It was waste of words in Karl to speak further. Adam had always been of the most obstinate71 possible temperament72. But the (supposed) discovery of his wife had frightened Karl worse than ever. He did not mention it to them, since he was not able to say how Lucy had made it.
"As sure as you are living, Adam, you will some day find the place entered by the officers of justice!" he exclaimed in pain.
"Let them enter it," recklessly answered Sir Adam. "They'll not find me."
"Oh, Adam, you don't know. They are lynx-eyed and crafty73 men."
"No doubt. I am all safe, Karl."
Karl had been there longer than usual, and he rose to say good night. Mrs. Grey--for convenience sake we must continue to call her by that name, and Lucy Lady Andinnian--folded up her work and went downstairs with him. She was changed too; but for the better. The very pretty, blooming-faced Rose Turner had come in for her share of the world's bitter trouble, and it had spiritualized her. The once round face was oval now, the lovely features were refined, the damask cheeks were a shade more delicate, the soft blue eyes had a sad light in them. Miss Blake's words were not misapplied to her--"beautiful as an angel."
"Karl," she whispered, "the dread of discovery is wearing me out. If we could but get away from England!"
"I am sure it will wear out me," was Karl's answer.
"Adam is afraid of Mr. Smith, I am sure. He thinks Smith would stop his going. Karl, I fully43 believe, as truly as I ever believed any great truth in my life, that Mr. Smith is keeping us here and will not let us go. Mr. Smith may appear to be a friend outwardly, but I fear he is an inward enemy. Oh, dear! it is altogether a dreadful situation."
Karl went on home, his brain active, his heart sinking. The manner in which his wife had taken up the matter, distressed74 him greatly. He supposed she was resenting it chiefly on the score of her father and mother. The colonel had told him that they would rather have followed Lucy to the grave than see her his wife had Sir Adam lived.
"I wonder how she discovered it?" ran his thoughts--but in truth the fact did not excite so much speculation75 in his mind, because he was hourly living in the apprehension76 that people must suspect it. When we hold a dangerous secret, this is sure to be the case. "Perhaps Hewitt let drop an incautious word," he went on musing77, "and Lucy caught it up, and guessed the rest. Or--perhaps I dropped one in my sleep."
Crossing the lawn of the Court, he entered by the little smoking-room, his hand pressed upon his aching brow. No wonder that people found fault with the looks of Sir Karl Andinnian! He was wearing to a skeleton. Just as his mother, when she was dying, used to see the
recapture of Adam in her dreams, so did Karl see it in his. Night after night would he wake up from one of the dreadful visions. Adam, the retaken convict, held fast by a heap of scowling78, threatening warders, and a frightful79 scaffold conspicuous in the distance. He would start up in bed in horror, believing it all real, his heart quivering, and once or twice he knew that he had cried out aloud.
"Yes, yes, that's how it must have been," he said, the mystery becoming apparently80 clear to his eyes as the light of day. "Hewitt is too cautious and true. I have betrayed it in my sleep. Oh, my brother! May Heaven help and save him!"
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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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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fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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premium
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| n.加付款；赠品；adj.高级的；售价高的 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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appendages
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| n.附属物( appendage的名词复数 )；依附的人；附属器官；附属肢体（如臂、腿、尾等） | |
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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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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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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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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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attire
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semblance
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haughty
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racing
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pretence
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hip
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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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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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innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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dread
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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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concealed
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connivance
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obstreperous
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inmate
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mischief
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motives
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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portrayed
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fugitive
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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remorsefully
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| adv.极为懊悔地 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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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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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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hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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54
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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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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ostensibility
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| 表面 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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63
stagnate
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| v.停止 | |
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expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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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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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl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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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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