The elucidation5 of the misunderstanding that had kept them apart for months was taking place.
On the day after the funeral, Karl sought his wife in the dressing-room to tell her of what had occurred. She had scarcely spoken a word to him since her return, or allowed him to speak one to her. Very briefly7, in half a dozen words, he informed her his brother was dead, and delivered the message Adam had left for her. For a few minutes Lucy's bewilderment was utter; and, when she did at length grasp somewhat of the truth, her confusion and distress8 were pitiable.
"Oh, Karl, Karl, do you think you will ever be able to forgive me? What can I do?--what can I do to atone9 for it?"
"You must get up, Lucy, before I say whether I forgive you or not."
"I cannot get up. It seems to me that I ought never to get up again. Your brother at the Maze10!--your brother's wife! Oh, what must you have thought of my conduct? Oh, Karl, why do you not strike me as I lie?"
Sir Karl put forth11 his arms and his strength, and raised her to the sofa. She bent12 her face down on its pillow, to weep out her tears of shame.
"Come, Lucy," he said, when he had waited a few minutes, sitting beside her. "We shall not arrive at the end in this way. Is it possible that you did not know my brother was alive?"
"How could I know it, Karl?" she asked, amid her streaming tears. "How was I likely to know it?"
"You told me you knew it. You said to me that you had discovered the secret at the Maze. I thought you were resenting the fact of his being alive. Or, rather, of my having married you, knowing that he was."
"Why should I resent it? How could you think, so? Was that the secret you spoke6 of in Paris the night before our wedding?--that Adam was alive."
"That, and no other. But I did not know then that he was married--or suspect that he ever would marry. I learnt that fact only during my mother's last illness."
"Oh, Karl, this is dreadful," she sobbed13. "What must you have thought of me all this time? I almost wish I could die!"
"You still care for me, then; a little?"
With a burst of anguish14 she turned and hid her face upon his breast. "I have only loved you the better all the while," she whispered.
"Lucy, my dear, I say we shall not get to the end in this way. Look up. If you were in ignorance of my brother's existence, and of all the complications for you and for me that it involved, what then was it that you were resenting?"
"Don't ask me, Karl," she said, her face growing scarlet again. "I could not tell you for the very shame."
He drew a little away, making a movement to put her from him. Never had his countenance15 been so stern to her as it was now; never could he be so little trifled with.
"If there is to be an explanation between us, Lucy, it must be full and complete. I insist upon its being so. If you refuse to give it now--why, I shall never ask you for it again. Do you not think you owe me one?"
Again she bent her face upon him. "I owe you everything, Karl; I owe you more reparation than I can ever pay. Never, as long as our lives shall last, will I have a secret from you again, heaven helping16 me. If I hesitate to tell you this, it is because I am ashamed for you to know how foolish I could be, and the wicked thoughts I could have."
"Not more foolish or wicked, I dare say, than I was for making you my wife. Speak out, Lucy. It must be so, you see, if there is to be a renewal17 of peace between us."
Keeping her head where it was, her face hidden from him, Lucy whispered her confession18. Karl started from her in very astonishment19.
"Lucy! You could think that! Of me!"
She put up her hands beseechingly20. "Oh, forgive me, Karl; for the sake of the pain, forgive me! It has been killing21 me all the while. See how worn and thin I am."
He put his arm out and drew her to his side. "Go on, my dear. How did you pick up the notion?"
"It was Theresa." And now that the ice was broken, anxious to tell all and clear herself, Lucy described the past in full: the cruel anguish she had battled with, and her poor, ever-to-be renewed efforts to endure patiently, for his sake and for God's. Karl's arm involuntarily tightened22 around her.
"Why did you not speak to me of this at once, Lucy?" he asked, after a pause. "It would have cleared it up, you see."
"I did speak to you, Karl; and you seemed to understand me perfectly23, and to accept it all as truth. You must remember your agitation24, and how you begged me not to let it come to an exposure."
"But I thought you alluded25 to the trouble about my poor brother; that it was the fact of his being alive you had discovered and were resenting. That was the exposure I dreaded26. And no wonder: for, if it had come, it would have sent him back to Portland Island."
Lucy wrung27 her hands. "What a miserable28 misapprehension it has been!--and how base and selfish and cruel I must have appeared to you! I wonder, Karl, you did not put me away from you for ever!"
"Will you go now?"
She knew it was asked in jest: she probably knew that neither would have parted from the other for the wealth of the world. And she nestled the least bit closer to him.
"Karl!"
"Well?"
"Why did you not tell me about your brother when you found I knew nothing, and was resenting it. If I had but known the real truth, we never should have been at issue for a day."
"Remember, Lucy, that I thought it was what you knew, and spoke of. I thought you knew he was alive and was at the Maze with his wife. When I would have given you the whole history from the first, you stopped me and refused to hear. I wished to give it; that you might see I was less to blame than you seemed to be supposing. It has been a wretched play at cross-purposes on both sides: and neither of us, that I see, is to blame for it."
"Poor Sir Adam!" she cried, the tears again falling. "Living in that dreadful fear day after day! And what must his poor wife have suffered! And her baby dying, and now her husband! And I, instead of giving sympathy, have thought everything that was ill of her, and hated her and despised her. And Karl--why, Karl--she must have been the real Lady Andinnian."
He nodded. "Until Adam's death, I was not Sir Karl, you see. The day you came with her from Basham, and they told her the fly waiting at the station was for Lady Andinnian, she was stricken with terror, believing they meant herself."
"Oh, if I had known all this time!" bewailed Lucy. "Stuck up here in my false pride and folly29, instead of helping you to shield them and to lighten their burthen! I cannot hope that you will ever quite forgive me in your heart, Karl."
"Had it been as I supposed it was, I am not quite sure that I should. Not quite, Lucy, even to our old age. You took it up so harshly and selfishly, looking at it from my point of view, and resented it in so extraordinary a fashion, so bitter a spirit----"
"Oh don't, don't!" she pleaded, slipping down to his feet again in the depth of her remorse30, the old sense of shame on her burning cheeks. "Won't you be merciful to me? I have suffered much."
"Why, my darling, you are mistaking me again," he cried tenderly, as he once more raised her. "I said, 'Looking at it from my point of view.' Looking at it from yours, Lucy, I am amazed at your gentle forbearance. Few young wives would have been as good and patient as you."
"Then do you really forgive me?" she asked, raising her eyes and her wet cheeks.
"Before I answer that, I think I must ask whether you forgive my having married you--now that you know all."
"Oh, Karl!"
She fell upon his shoulder, her arms round his neck. Karl caught her face to his. He might take what kisses he chose from it again.
"Karl, would you please let me go to see her?" she whispered.
"See whom?" asked Karl, in rather a hard tone, his mind pretty full just then of Miss Blake.
"Poor Lady Andinnian."
"Yes, if you will," he softly said. "I think she would like it. But, my dear, you must call her 'Mrs. Grey' remember. Not only for safety, but that she would prefer it."
They went over in the afternoon. Miss Blake, quite accidentally this time, for she was returning home quietly from confession at St. Jerome's--and a wholesale31 catalogue of peccadilloes32 she must have been disclosing, one would say, by the length of the hearing--saw them enter. It puzzled her not a little. Sir Karl taking his wife there! What fresh ruse33, what further deceit was he going to try? Oh but it was sinful! Worse than anything ever taken for Mr. Cattacomb's absolution at St. Jerome's.
Lucy behaved badly: without the slightest dignity whatever. The first thing she did was to burst out crying, and kiss Mrs. Grey's hand: as if--it really seemed so to Mrs. Grey--she did not dare to offer to kiss her cheek. Very sad and pretty she looked in her widow's mourning.
It was a sad interview: though in some respects a soothing34 and satisfactory one. Lucy explained, without entering into any details whatever, that she had not known who it was residing at the Maze, or she should have been over before, Karl and Sir Adam permitting her. Rose supposed that for safety's sake Karl had deemed it well to keep the secret intact. And there the matter ended.
"You will come and stay with me at the Court before you leave," pleaded Lucy.
Rose shook her head. "It is very kind of you to wish it, Lady Andinnian; very kind indeed under the circumstances; but it could not be. I shall not pass through these gates until I pass through them with Ann Hopley for good. That will be very soon."
"At least, you will come and stay with us sometime in the future."
"I think not. Unless I should get a fever upon me to see the spot once more that contains my husband and child. In that case, I might trespass35 on you for a day or two if you would have me. Thank you very much, Lady Andinnian."
"You will let me come over again before you leave?"
"Oh, I should be pleased--if Sir Karl has no objection. Thank you, Karl," she added, holding out her hands to him, "thank you for all. You have been to us ever the most faithful friend and brother."
The church bell at Foxwood was ringing for the late afternoon service as they quitted the Maze--for Mr. Sumnor, in spite of his discouragement and nonattendance, kept on the daily service. The ting-tang was sounding from St. Jerome's, and several damsels, who had come round by the Court to call for Miss Blake, were trooping past. Lucy bowed; Karl lifted his hat: he had ceased to care who saw him going in and out of the Maze gate now.
"Karl," said Lucy, "I should like to go to prayers this evening. I shall take no harm: it is scarcely dusk yet."
He turned to take her. Mr. Sumnor and the clerk were in the church; hardly anybody else--just as it had been that other evening when Lucy had crept in. Even Miss Diana was off to St. Jerome's, in the wake of her flighty nieces. Lucy went on to her own pew this time.
Oh, what a contrast it was!--this evening and that. Now she was utterly36 still in her rapt thankfulness; then she had lain on the floor, her heart crying aloud to God in its agony. What could she do to show her gratitude37 to Him, who had turned the darkness into this radiant light? She could do nothing. Nothing, save strive to let her whole life be spent as a thank-offering. Karl noted38 her excessive stillness, her blinding tears; and he probably guessed her thoughts.
While he was talking with Mr. Sumnor after the service, Lucy went in to the vicarage. Margaret, lying in the dusk, for the room was only lighted by its bit of fire, could not see who had entered.
"Is it you, Martha?" she said, thinking it was her sister. "You are back early."
"It is I--Lucy," said Lady Andinnian. "Oh, Margaret, I was obliged to come to you just for a minute. Karl is outside, and we have been to church. I have something to tell."
Margaret Sumnor put out both her hands in token of welcome. Instead of taking them, Lucy knelt by the reclining board, and brought her face close to her friend's, and spoke in a hushed whisper.
"Margaret, I want to thank you, and I don't know how. I have been thinking how impossible it will be for me ever to thank God: and it seems to be nearly as impossible ever to thank you. Do you remember what you once said to me, Margaret, about bearing and waiting? Well, but for you, I don't think I could have borne or waited, even in the poor way I have; and--and--"
She broke down: sobs39 of emotion checked her utterance40.
"Be calm, my dear," said Margaret. "You have come to tell me that the trouble is over."
"Yes: God has ended it. And, Margaret, I never need have had a shade of it: I was on a wrong track all the while. I--I was led to think ill of my husband; I treated him worse than any one will ever know or would believe: while he was good and loyal to the core in all ways, and in the most bitter trouble the world can inflict41. Oh, Margaret, had I been vindictive42 instead of patient--I might have caused the most dire43 injury and tribulation44, and what would have been my condition now, my dreadful remorse through life? When the thought comes over me, I shiver as I did in that old ague fever."
A fit of shivering took her actually. Miss Sumnor saw how the matter had laid hold upon her.
"Lucy, my dear, it seems to me that you may put away these thoughts now. God has been merciful and cleared it to you, you say; and you ought to be happy."
"Oh, so merciful!" she sobbed. "So happy! But it might have been otherwise, and I cannot forget, or forgive myself."
"Do you remember, Lucy, what I said? That some day when the cloud was removed your heart would go up with a bound of joyous45 thankfulness?"
"Yes. Because I did--and have done--as Margaret told me; and endured."
The affair had indeed laid no slight hold of Lucy. She could not forget what might have been the result, and quite an exaggerated remorse set in.
A few nights afterwards Karl was startled out of his sleep by her. She had awakened46, it appeared, in a state of terror, and had turned to him with a nervous grasp as of one who is drowning. Shaking, sobbing47, moaning, she frightened her husband. He would have risen for a light, but she clung to him too tightly.
"But what has alarmed you, Lucy--what is it?" he reiterated48.
"A dream, Karl; a dream," she sobbed, in her bitter distress. "I am always thinking of it by day, but this time I dreamt it; and I awoke believing it was true."
"Dreamt what?" he asked.
"I thought that cruel time was back again. I thought that I had not been quiet and patient, as Margaret enjoined49, leaving vengeance50 to God, but had taken it into my own hands, and so had caused the Maze's secret to be discovered. You and Adam had both died through it; and I was left all alone to my dreadful repentance, on some barren place surrounded by turbid51 water."
"Lucy, you will assuredly make yourself ill."
"But, oh Karl, if it had been true! If God had not saved me from it!"
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1
contrition
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| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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elucidation
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| n.说明，阐明 | |
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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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7
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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8
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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11
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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13
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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14
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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beseechingly
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| adv. 恳求地 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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22
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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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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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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27
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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28
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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31
wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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peccadilloes
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| n.轻罪，小过失( peccadillo的名词复数 ) | |
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ruse
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| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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34
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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trespass
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| n./v.侵犯，闯入私人领地 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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39
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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40
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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41
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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42
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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43
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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44
tribulation
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| n.苦难，灾难 | |
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45
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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46
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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47
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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48
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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49
enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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51
turbid
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| adj.混浊的，泥水的，浓的 | |
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