Lucy was out amidst her plants and shrubs5 and flowers the evening of her return, when the shadows were lengthening6 on the grass. Karl was writing letters indoors; Miss Blake had hurried up from dinner to attend vespers. In spite of the estrangement7 and misery9 that pervaded10 the home atmosphere, Lucy felt glad to be there again. The meeting with her husband, after the week's entire separation, had caused her pulses to quicken and her heart to bound with something that was very like joy. Colonel Cleeve was out of all danger; was nearly well again. It had been a sharp but temporary attack of sickness. The Colonel and his wife had pressed Lucy to prolong her stay, had asked Sir Karl to come and join her; and they both considered it somewhat unaccountable that Lucy should have persisted in declining. Theresa was alone at Foxwood, was the chief plea of excuse she urged: the real impediment being that she and Karl could not stay at her mother's home together without risk of the terms on which they lived becoming known. So Karl, on the day appointed, went from London to Winchester, and brought Lucy home.
For the forbearance she had exercised, the patient silence she had maintained, Lucy had in a degree received the reward during this sojourn11 with her father and mother. More than ever was it brought home to her conviction then, that she would almost rather have died than betray it. It would have inflicted12 on them so much pain and shame. It would have lowered herself so in their sight, and in the sight of those old and young friends who had known her in her girlhood, and who whispered their sense of what her happiness must now be, and their admiration13 of her attractive husband. "Martyrdom rather than that!" said Lucy, clasping her hands with fixed14 resolution, as she paced the grass, thinking over her visit, on this, the evening of her return.
Karl came up to her with two letters in his hand. She was then sitting under the acacia tree. The sun had set, but in the west shone a flood of golden light. The weather in the daytime was still hot as in the middle of that hot summer, but the evenings and nights were cool. Lucy's shawl lay beside her.
"It is time to put it on," said Karl--and he wrapped it round her himself carefully. It caused her to see the address of the two letters in his hand. One was to Plunkett and Plunkett; the other to Mrs. Cleeve.
"You have been writing to mamma!" she exclaimed.
"She asked me to be sure and let her have one line to say you got home safely. I have given your love, Lucy."
"Thank you, Karl. And now you axe17 going to the post."
"And now I am going to the post. And I must make haste, or I shall find the box shut."
He took his hand from her shoulder, where it had momentarily rested, and crossed the grass, Lucy looking after him.
"How thoughtful and kind he is!" she soliloquised. "It is just as though he loved me." And her imagination went off wandering at random18, as imagination will. Once more she reverted19 to that former possibility---of condoning21 the past and becoming reconciled again. It was very good of him, and she felt it so, to have stayed that week in London. She fancied he had done it that she might know he did not spend his time at the Maze in her absence. And so, the evening shadows came on, and still Lucy sat there, lost in her dreams.
Miss Blake, it has been said, had hurried from dinner, to go to vespers. As she turned into the road from the Court, she saw a boy a little in advance of her on the other side, his basket on his arm. It was the doctor's boy, Cris Lumley, against whom Miss Blake had a grievance22. She crossed over and caught him up just as he rang at the Maze gate.
"Now, Cris Lumley, what have you to say for yourself! For three days you have not appeared at class."
"'Tain't my fault," said Cris Lumley, who was just as impudent23 as he looked; a very different boy indeed from civil-natured Tom Pepp. "It be master's."
"How is it your master's?"
"What master says is this here: 'I be to attend to him and my place; or I be to give it up, if I wants to kick up my heels all day at school.'"
"I don't believe you," said Miss Blake. "I shall speak to Mr. Moore."
"Just do then," said the independent boy.
"The fact of the case is no doubt this, Cris Lumley--that you play truant24 for half the day sometimes, on the plea of being all that while at school."
"Master said another thing, he did," resumed the young gentleman, ignoring the last accusation25. "He said as if Parson Sumnor warn't no longer good enough for me to learn religion from, he'd get another boy in my place, that he was good enough for. There! you may ask him whether he said it or not."
Declining to bandy further words with him until she should have seen the surgeon, Miss Blake was hastening on, when the fringe of her mantle26 caught against his medicine basket. It reminded her that some one must be ill. Battling for a moment with her curiosity, but not for long, she condescended27 to inquire who was ill at the Maze.
"It be the missis," replied Cris.
"The mistress! Do you mean Mrs. Grey?"
Mr. Lumley nodded.
"What is the matter with her?"
"Got a baby," said the boy shortly.
For the instant Miss Blake felt struck into herself, and was dumb. She did not believe it.
"He were born yesterday," added the boy. "This be some physic for him: and this be the missis's."
Throwing back the lid of one end of his basket, Miss Blake saw two bottles, done up in white paper. The larger one was addressed "Mrs. Grey," the small one "Mrs. Grey's infant."
She turned away without another word, feeling ready to sink with the weight of the world's iniquity28. It pressed upon her most unpleasantly throughout the evening service at St. Jerome's, and for once Miss Blake was inattentive to the exhortations29 of the Rev20. Guy. Looking at the matter as Miss Blake looked at it, it must be confessed that she had just cause for condemnation30.
To return to Lucy. It grew dusk and more dusk; and she at length went indoors. Karl came in, bringing Mr. Moore, whom he had overtaken near the gate: and almost close upon that, Miss Blake returned. The sight of the doctor, sitting there with Karl and Lucy, brought back all Miss Blake's vexation. It had been at boiling-point for the last hour, and now it bubbled over. The wisest course no doubt would have been to hold her tongue: but her indignation--a perfectly31 righteous and proper indignation, as she deemed it--forbade that. The ill-doing of the boy, respecting which she had been about to appeal to Mr. Moore, was quite lost sight of in this ill-doing. There could be no fear of risking Jane Shore's sheet of penance33 in repeating what she had heard. It was her duty to speak: she fully16 believed that: her duty to open Lucy's obtuse34 eyes--and who knew but Sir Karl might be brought to his senses through the speaking? The surgeon and Lucy were sitting near the window in the sweet still twilight35: Karl stood back by the mantel-piece: and they were deep in some discussion about flowers. Miss Blake sat in silence, gathering36 her mental forces for the combat, when the present topic should have died away.
"I--I have heard some curious news," she began then in a low, reluctant tone: and in good truth she was reluctant to enter on it. "I heard it from that boy of yours, Mr. Moore. He says there's a baby at the Maze."
"Yes," readily acquiesced37 Mr. Moore. "A baby boy, born yesterday."
And Miss Blake, rising and standing38 at angles between the two, saw a motion of startled surprise on the part of Karl Andinnian. Lucy looked up; simply not understanding. After a pause, during which no one spoke39, Miss Blake, in language softened40 to ambiguousness, took upon herself to intimate that, in her opinion, the Maze had no business with a baby.
Mr. Moore laughed pleasantly. "That, I imagine, is Mrs. Grey's concern," he said.
Lucy understood now; she felt startled almost to sickness. "Is it Mrs. Grey who has the baby?" was on the point of her tongue: but she did not speak it.
"Where is Mrs. Grey's husband?" demanded Miss Blake, in her most uncompromising tone.
"In London, I fancy, just now," said the doctor. "Has she one at all, Mr. Moore?"
"Good gracious, yes," cried the hearty-natured surgeon, utterly41 unconscious that it could be of particular moment to anybody present whether she had or not. "I'd answer for it with my life, nearly. She's as nice a young lady as I'd ever wish to attend; and good too."
"For Lucy's sake, I'll go on; for his sake, standing there in his shame," thought Miss Blake, in her rectitude. "Better things may come of it: otherwise I'd drop the hateful subject for ever."
"Mr. Moore," she continued aloud, "Why do you say the husband is in London?"
"Because Mrs. Grey said something to that effect," he answered. "At least, I understood her words to imply as much; but she was very ill at the moment, and I did not question further. It was when I was first called in."
"It has hitherto been represented that Mr. Grey was travelling abroad," pursued Miss Blake, with a tone and a stress on the "Mr. Grey."
"I know it has. But he may have returned. I am sure she said she had been up to London two or three weeks ago--and I thought she meant to imply that she went to meet her husband. It may have been a false conclusion I drew; but I certainly thought it."
Sir Karl took a step forward. "I can answer for it that Mrs. Grey did go up," he said, "for I chanced to travel in the same carriage with her. Getting into the up-train at the station one day, I found Mrs. Grey seated there."
Lucy glanced towards him as he spoke. There was no embarrassment42 in his countenance43; his voice was easy and open as though he had spoken of a stranger. Her own face looked white as death.
"You did!" cried the doctor. "Did she tell you she was going up to meet Mr. Grey?"
"No, she did not. I put her into a cab at the terminus, and that's all I know about it. It was broiling44 hot, I remember."
"Well," resumed the doctor, "whether it was to meet her husband or whether not, to London she went for a day or two in the broiling heat--as Sir Karl aptly terms it--and she managed to fatigue45 herself so much that she has not been able to recover it, and has been very unwell ever since. This young gentleman, who chose to take upon himself to make his appearance in the world yesterday, was not due for a good couple of months to come."
Lucy rose and left the room, she and her white face. Karl followed her with his eyes: he had seen the whiteness.
"Is it a healthy child?" he asked.
"Quite so," replied the surgeon; "but very small. The worst of these little monkeys is, you can't send them back again with a whipping, when they make too much haste, and tell them to come again at proper time. Mrs. Grey's very ill."
"Is she?" cried Karl.
"Yes. And there's no nurse and no anything; matters are all at sixes and sevens."
"I hope she'll do well!" breathed Karl.
"So do I."
Miss Blake looked at the two speakers. The one seemed just as open as the other. She thought what a finished adept46 Karl Andinnian was getting to be in deception47.
"I am going to the Maze now," said the doctor: "was on my way to it when you seduced48 me in here, Sir Karl. Good evening, Miss Blake."
He took his departure hastily as he spoke. He was, as he told them, on his way to the Maze then. Karl went with him to the outer gate, and then paced the lawn in the evening twilight.
"After all, it is well it's over," ran his thoughts. "This expected future illness was always putting itself in view when I was planning to get away Adam. Once Rose is well again, the ground will be, so far, clear. But good heavens! how it increases the risk! Here's Moore going in at any hour of the day or night, I suppose--and Adam so incautious! Well, I think he will take care of himself, and keep in seclusion49 for his own sake. And for myself--it brings more complication," he added with a sigh. "The child is the heir now instead of me: and the whole property must eventually come to him. Poor Lucy! I saw she felt it. Oh, she may well be vexed50! Does she quite comprehend, I wonder, who this baby is, and what it will take from us?--Foxwood amidst the rest? I wish I had never married! I wish a merciful heaven had interposed to prevent it."
When Mr. Moore, some eight-and-forty hours previously51, received a hurried visit from Mrs. Grey's servant, Ann Hopley, at the dusk of evening, and heard what she had to say about her mistress, he was excessively astonished, not having had the slightest idea that his services were likely to be wanted in any such way at the Maze. It is possible that some doubts of Mrs. Grey's position crossed his mind at the moment: but he was a good man, and he made it a rule never to think ill if he could by possibility think good; and when he came to see and converse52 with Mrs. Grey, he felt sure she was all she should be. The baby was born on the following morning. Since then the doctor, as Karl expressed it, had been going in at all hours: Ann Hopley invariably preceding him through the Maze, and conducting him out of it again at his departure. As he marched on to the Maze tonight after the above conversation at the Court, he wondered what Miss Blake had got in her head, and why she should betray so much anger over it.
Three or four days went on. The doctor passed in and out in the care of his patient, and never a notion entered his head that the Maze was tenanted by any save its ordinary inmates54, or that one under a ban was lying there in concealment55. Ann Hopley, letting her work go how it would, attended on her mistress and the baby; the old gardener was mostly busy in his garden as usual. On the fifth or sixth day from the commencement of the illness, Mr. Moore, upon paying his usual morning visit, found Mrs. Grey worse. There were rather dangerous symptoms of fever.
"Has she been exciting herself?" he privately56 asked of Ann Hopley.
"She did a little last night, sir," was the incautious admission.
"What about?"
"Well, sir--chiefly talking."
"Chiefly talking!" repeated the doctor. "But what were you about, to let her talk?" he demanded, supposing Ann Hopley to be the only other inmate53 of the house. "What possessed57 you to talk to her?"
Ann was silent. She could have said that it was not with her Mrs. Grey had talked, but with her husband.
"I must send a nurse in," he resumed. "Not only to see that she is kept quiet, but to attend to her constantly. It is not possible that you can be with her always with your housework to do."
But all of this Ann Hopley most strongly combated. She could attend to her mistress, and would, and did attend to her, she urged, and a nurse she would not have in the house. From the first, this question of a nurse had been a bone of contention58: the doctor wanting to send one in; Ann Hopley and also Mrs. Grey strenuously59 objecting. So once more the doctor yielded, and let the matter drop, inwardly resolving that if his patient did not get better during the day, he should take French leave to pursue his own course.
Late in the afternoon he went in again. Mrs. Grey was worse: flushed, restless, and slightly delirious60. The doctor said nothing; but when he got home, he sent a summons for Mrs. Chaffen. A skilled nurse, she; and first cousin to the Widow Jinks, both in respect to kin15 and to love of gossip.
That same evening, after dark, when Adam Andinnian was sitting in his wife's room, and Ann Hopley was concocting61 something in a saucepan over the kitchen fire, the gate bell clanged out. It had been nothing unusual to hear it these last few days at any hour; and the woman, putting the saucepan on the hob for safety, went forth, key in hand.
No sooner had she unlocked the gate than Mr. Moore brushed past her, followed by a little thin woman with a bundle. Ann Hopley stared: but never a word said he.
"Keep close to me, and you won't lose yourself," cried he to the little woman; and went tearing off at a double-quick pace through the intricacies of the maze.
Ann Hopley stood like one bewildered. For one thing, she had not possessed the slightest notion that the surgeon knew his way through, for he had given no special indication of it, always having followed her. He could have told her that he had learnt the secret of the maze long before she came to Foxwood. It had been shown to him in old Mr. Throckton's time, whom he had attended for years. And, to see a second person pass in, startled her. All she could do was to lock the gate, and follow them.
On went the doctor; the little woman keeping close to his coat tails: and they were beyond the maze in no time. Mr. Moore had no private motive62 for this unusual haste, except that he had another patient waiting for him, and was in a hurry. In, at the open portico63, passed he, and made direct for the stairs, the woman after him. Ann Hopley, miles behind, could only pray in agony that her master might escape their view.
But he did not. The doctor had nearly reached the top of the staircase, when a gentleman, tall, and in evening dress, suddenly presented himself in front, apparently64 looking who it might be, coming up. He drew back instantly, strode noiselessly along the corridor, and disappeared within a door at its extreme end. It all passed in a moment of time. What with the speed, and what with the obscurity of the stairs and passages, any one, less practical than the doctor, might have questioned whether or not it had happened at all.
"That's Mr. Grey, come down," thought he. "But he seems to wish not to be noticed. Be it so."
Had he cared to make any remark upon it to Mrs. Grey, he could not have done so, for she was quite delirious that night. And, as he saw no further sign of the gentleman at any subsequent visit, he merely supposed that Mr. Grey had come down for a few hours and had gone again. And the matter passed from his mind.
It did not so pass from the nurse's. Mrs. Chaffen had distinctly seen the gentleman in evening attire65 looking down the stairs at her and the doctor; she saw him whisk away, as she phrased it, and go into the further room. In the obscure light, Mrs. Chaffen made him out to be a very fine-looking gentleman with beautiful white teeth. She had keen eyesight, and she saw that much: she had also a weakness for fine-looking men, and felt glad that one so fine as this should be in the house. It could not make much difference to her; but she liked gentlemen to be in a dwelling66 where she might be located: they made it lively, were pleasant to talk to; and were generally to be found more liberal in the offers of glasses of wine and what not than the mistresses. Like the doctor, she supposed this was Mrs. Grey's husband, come down at last.
She neither saw nor heard more of the gentleman that night, though she sat up with her patient. Neither did she on the following day--and then she began to think it somewhat odd. At dusk, when Mrs. Grey and the baby were both sleeping, she went down stairs.
When Ann Hopley found the nurse installed there and that she was powerless to prevent it, she had to make the best of the unfortunate occurrence--and most unfortunate it was destined67 to turn out in the end. She gave the nurse certain directions. One of them was, "Ring for everything you want, and I will bring it up." The woman's meals also were brought to her punctually: Ann's object of course being to prevent her going about the house. But nurses are but human. Mrs. Chaffen was longing68 for a word of social gossip, and downstairs she went, this night, and made her way to the kitchen. Ann Hopley was in it, ironing at a table under the window.
"What do you want?" cried she, in a quick startled tone, as the nurse appeared.
"I thought I'd get you to give me a sup o' beer, Mrs. Hopley," was the answer. "I'm a'most faint, stopping so long in that there room with its smell of ether about."
"Why could you not have rung? I'll bring it up to you."
In the very teeth of this plain intimation, Mrs. Chaffen sat herself down on a chair by the ironing board, and began fanning her face with a corner of her white apron69. "The missis is asleep," she said: "she's a sight better to-night; and I shall stop here while I drink the beer for a bit of relief and change."
Ann took a small jug70 that was hanging on the dresser shelves, went down in the cellar, brought up the beer and poured it into a tumbler. Mrs. Chaffen took a good draught71 and smacked72 her lips.
"That ain't bad beer, is it, Mrs. Hopley?"
"Not at all," said Ann Hopley. "Drink it up."
She would not go on with her ironing, lest it might seem an excuse for the nurse to linger; she stood by the fire, waiting, and evidently wanting the nurse gone.
"Your husband's a-taking of it easy out there!"
Ann glanced from the window, and saw the gardener seated amongst a heap of drying weeds, his back against the tool house, and a pipe in his mouth.
"He has done his work, I suppose, for the day," she said.
"And he knows his missis's eyes can't be upon him just now," added the nurse, taking another draught. "He don't hardly look strong enough to do all this here big garden."
"You couldn't offend Hopley worse than by telling him that. His mistress says nothing about it now, it puts him up so. Last May, when he was laid up in bed with the rheumatis, she ordered a gardener in for two or three days to clear up some of the rough work. Hopley was not at all grateful: he only grumbled73 at it when he got about again."
"It's just like them good old-fashioned servants that takes pride in their work," said the nurse. "There's not many of the young uns like 'em. The less work they have to do the better it pleases them. Is that a hump now, or only a stoop of the shoulders?" continued she, ignoring good manners in her sociability74.
"It used to be only a stoop, Mrs. Chaffen. But those things, you know, always get worse with years."
Mrs. Chaffen nodded. "And gardening work, when one has a natural stoop, is the worst sort of work a man can take to."
"True," assented75 Ann. She had spoken absently all along, and kept glancing round and listening as though ill at ease. One might have fancied she feared a ghost was coming down the staircase.
"What be you a-harkening at?" asked Mrs. Chaffen.
"For fear the baby should cry."
"The baby's in a sweet sleep, he is. I wonder whether he'll get reared, that baby?--he's very little. Where's the gentleman?" abruptly76 inquired Mrs. Chaffen, after a pause.
"What gentleman?"
"Mrs. Grey's husband. Him we saw here last night."
If Ann Hopley had been apathetic77 before, she was fully aroused to interest now, and turned her eyes upon the nurse with a long stare.
"Why what is it that you are talking of?" she asked. "There has been no gentleman here. Mrs. Grey's husband is abroad."
"But I saw him," persisted the nurse. "He stood right at the head of the staircase when me and Dr. Moore was a-going up it. I saw him."
"I'm sure you didn't."
"I'm sure I did."
Then they went on, asserting and re-asserting. Nurse Chaffen protesting, by all that was truthful78, that she did see the gentleman: Ann Hopley denying in the most emphatic79 language that any gentleman had been there, or could have been. Poor woman! in her faithful zeal80 for her master's safety; in her terrible inward fear lest this might bring danger upon him, she went so far as to vow81 by heaven that no living soul had been in the house or about it, save her mistress and the infant, herself and Hopley.
The assertion had its effect. Nurse Chaffen was not an irreligious woman, though she did indulge in unlimited82 gossip, and love a glass of beer when she could get it; and she could not believe that a thing so solemnly asserted was a lie. She felt puzzled to death: her eyes were good and had never played her false yet.
"Have ye got a ghost in the house?" she asked at length, edging a little nearer to the ironing board and to Ann Hopley.
"I have never seen or heard of one."
"It's a rare old place this house. Folks said all kinds of queer things about it in Miser8 Throckton's time."
"He left no ghost in it, that I know of," repeated Ann.
"Well I never! I can't make it out. You might a'most as soon tell me to believe there's no truth in the Bible. He stood atop o' the stairs, looking down at me and the doctor. It was dusk, I grant; a'most dark; but I saw him as plain as plain could be. He had got white teeth and a suit of black on; and he went off into that door that's at the fur end of the passage."
A keen observer might have detected a sleeping terror in Ann Hopley's eyes; but she was habitually83 of calm manner and she showed perfect calmness now, knowing how much was at stake. A great deal had all along depended upon her ready presence of mind, her easy equanimity84 in warding85 off suspicion: it depended more than ever on her at this trying time, and she had her wits at hand.
"Your eyes and the dusk must have misled you, Mrs. Chaffen," she quietly rejoined. "Is it possible--I put it to yourself--that any gentleman could be in this house, and me and Hopley not know it? That night I had run down from my mistress's room, where she was lying off her head with the fever, and the baby asleep in its little bed by the fire, and was making a drop of gruel86 in the kitchen here, when the ring at the gate came. I had a great mind to send Hopley to open it: I heard him out yonder putting up his tools for the night: but I should have had to go close up to make him understand, for he's as deaf as a post; and his knees would have been a long while making their way through the maze. So I went myself: it seemed less trouble; and I let in you and the doctor. As to any soul's having been in the place, save me and Hopley and the missis and baby, it's a moral impossibility; and if necessary I could swear to it."
"Where do that there end door lead to?" questioned Mrs. Chaffen, only half-convinced and that half against her will.
"It leads to nowhere. It's a sitting-room87. Mrs. Grey does not often use it."
"Well, this beats everything, this do. I'm sure I could have swore that a gentleman was there."
"It was quite a mistake. Hark! there is the baby."
Nurse Chaffen flew up the stairs. Ann Hopley went on with her ironing; her face, now that she was alone, allowing its terror scope.
"It is so foolish of my master to run risks just at this time, when the house is liable to be invaded by strangers!" she ejaculated wearily. "But who was to foresee the doctor would come bursting in like that? Pray Heaven master doesn't show himself again like that while the woman's here!"
Mrs. Chaffen sat in the sick-room, the awakened88 baby occupying her lap, and the problem her mind. Never in all her life had she felt to be in so entire a mist. Ann Hopley she could not and would not disbelieve: and yet, in her reasoning moments she was as fully persuaded that a gentleman had been there, and that she had seen him, as that the sun shone in the sky.
A day or two went on; and the subject was never out of the woman's mind. Now leaning to this side of the question, now wavering to that, she could not arrive at any positive conclusion. But, taking one thing with another, she thought the house was rather a strange house. Why did Ann Hopley want to keep her for ever in that one room?--as she evidently did want to--and prevent her from moving freely about the house? An unfortunate doubt took possession of her--was there a gentleman in the house after all; and, for some reason or other, keeping himself concealed89? Unfortunate, because it was to bear unpleasant fruit.
"Be whipped if it is not the most likely solution o' the matter I've thought of yet!" cried she, striking her hand on the tall fender. "But how do he manage to hide himself from Ann Hopley?--and how do he get his victuals90? Sure-ly she can't have been deceiving of me--and as good as taking oaths to an untruth! She'd not be so wicked."
From that time Mrs. Chaffen looked curiously91 about her, poking92 and peering around whenever she had the opportunity. One morning in particular, when Mrs. Grey was asleep, and she saw Ann go out to answer the bell, and Hopley was safe at the end of the garden, for she could hear him rolling the path there, Mrs. Chaffen made use of the occasion. She went along the passage to the door where the gentleman had disappeared, and found herself in a dull sitting-room wainscoted with mahogany, its wide, modern window looking to the maze. Keenly Mrs. Chaffen's eyes darted93 about the room: but there was no other outlet94 that she could see. The dark paneling went from the door to the window, and from the window round to the door again. After that, she made her way into the small angular passages that the house seemed to abound95 in: two of them were bedrooms with the beds made up, the others seemed to be out of use. None of them were locked; the doors of most of them stood open; but certainly in not one of them was there any trace of a hidden gentleman.
That same day when she had finished her dinner, brought up to her as usual, she hastily put the things together on the tray and darted off with it down stairs. Mrs. Grey feebly called to her; but the nurse, conveniently deaf, went on without hearing. The staircase was angular, the turnings were short, and Mrs. Chaffen, as she went through the last one, gave the tray an inadvertent knock against the wall. Its plates rattled96, its glasses jingled97, betraying their approach: and--if ever she had heard a bolt slipped in her life, she felt sure she heard one slipped inside the kitchen door.
"It's me, Mrs. Hopley, with the tray," she called out, going boldly on. "Open the door."
No answer. No signs of being heard. Everything seemed perfectly still. Mrs. Chaffen managed to lodge98 the tray against the door-post and hold it steady with one hand, while she tried the door with the other. But she could not open it.
"Mrs. Hopley, it's me with the tray. Please open."
It was opened then. Ann Hopley flung it wide and stood there staring, a saucepan in her hand. "What, have you brought the things down!" she exclaimed in a voice of surprise. "Why on earth couldn't you have let them be till I came up?"
The nurse carried her tray onwards, and put it on the board under the window. At the table, not having been polite enough to his wife to take off his flapping straw hat in her presence, sat the gardener, munching99 his dinner as toothless people best can, his back to the light.
"Why did you keep me waiting at the door?" asked the nurse, not pleased.
"Did you wait?" returned Ann Hopley. "I was in the back place there, washing out the saucepans. You might have come in without knocking."
"The door was bolted."
"The door bolted!--not it," disputed Ann. "The latch100 has got a nasty trick of catching101, though."
"This is fine weather, Mr. Hopley!" said the nurse, leaving the point uncontested, and raising her voice.
He seemed to be, as Ann had formerly102 expressed it, as deaf as a post. Neither turning his head nor answering, but keeping on at his dinner. Ann bent103 her head to his ear.
"The nurse, Mrs. Chaffen, spoke to you, Hopley. She says what fine weather it is."
"Ay, ay, ma'am," said he; "fine and bright."
What more might have passed was stopped by the ringing of Mrs. Grey's bell; a loud, long, impatient peal32. The nurse turned to run.
"For pity's sake don't leave her again, Mrs. Chaffen!" called out Ann Hopley with some irritation104. "If you do, I shall complain to Mr. Moore. You'll cause the fever to return."
"I could be upon my oath that she slipped the bolt to keep me out," thought the nurse, hurrying along. "Drat the cross-grained woman! Does she fear I shall poison her kitchen?"
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forth
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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5
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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6
lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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7
estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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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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pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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14
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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15
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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16
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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17
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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18
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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19
reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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20
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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21
condoning
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| v.容忍，宽恕，原谅( condone的现在分词 ) | |
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22
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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23
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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24
truant
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| n.懒惰鬼，旷课者；adj.偷懒的，旷课的，游荡的；v.偷懒，旷课 | |
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25
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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26
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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28
iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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29
exhortations
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| n.敦促( exhortation的名词复数 )；极力推荐；（正式的）演讲；（宗教仪式中的）劝诫 | |
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condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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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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32
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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33
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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34
obtuse
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| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
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35
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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36
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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39
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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40
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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41
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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42
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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43
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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44
broiling
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| adj.酷热的，炽热的，似烧的v.（用火）烤（焙、炙等）( broil的现在分词 )；使卷入争吵；使混乱；被烤（或炙） | |
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45
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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46
adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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47
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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48
seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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49
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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50
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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51
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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52
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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53
inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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54
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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55
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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56
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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57
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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58
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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59
strenuously
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| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
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60
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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61
concocting
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的现在分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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62
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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63
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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64
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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65
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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66
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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67
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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68
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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69
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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70
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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71
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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72
smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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74
sociability
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| n.好交际，社交性，善于交际 | |
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75
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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77
apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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78
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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79
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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80
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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81
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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82
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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83
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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84
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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85
warding
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| 监护，守护（ward的现在分词形式） | |
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86
gruel
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| n.稀饭，粥 | |
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87
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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88
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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89
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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90
victuals
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| n.食物；食品 | |
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91
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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92
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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93
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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94
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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95
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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96
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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97
jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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98
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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99
munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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100
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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101
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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102
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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103
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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104
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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