To the mind, however, of Arthur Fletcher the fact of the man's death was always present. A dreadful incubus4 had come upon his life, blighting5 all his prospects6, obscuring all his sun by a great cloud, covering up all his hopes, and changing for him all his outlook into the world. It was not only that Emily Wharton should not have become his wife, but that the woman whom he loved with so perfect a love should have been sacrificed to so vile7 a creature as this man. He never blamed her,—but looked upon his fate as Fate. Then on a sudden he heard that the incubus was removed. The man who had made him and her wretched had by a sudden stroke been taken away and annihilated8. There was nothing now between him and her,—but a memory. He could certainly forgive, if she could forget.
Of course he had felt at the first moment that time must pass by. He had become certain that her mad love for the man had perished. He had been made sure that she had repented9 her own deed in sackcloth and ashes. It had been acknowledged to him by her father that she had been anxious to be separated from her husband, if her husband would consent to such a separation. And then, remembering as he did his last interview with her, having in his mind as he did every circumstance of that caress10 which he had given her,—down to the very quiver of the fingers he had pressed,—he could not but flatter himself that at last he had touched her heart. But there must be time! The conventions of the world operate on all hearts, especially on the female heart, and teach that new vows11, too quickly given, are disgraceful. The world has seemed to decide that a widow should take two years before she can bestow12 herself on a second man without a touch of scandal. But the two years is to include everything, the courtship of the second as well as the burial of the first,—and not only the courtship, but the preparation of the dresses and the wedding itself. And then this case was different from all others. Of course there must be time, but surely not here a full period of two years! Why should the life of two young persons be so wasted, if it were the case that they loved each other? There was horror here, remorse13, pity, perhaps pardon; but there was no love,—none of that love which is always for a time increased in its fervour by the loss of the loved object; none of that passionate14 devotion which must at first make the very idea of another man's love intolerable. There had been a great escape,—an escape which could not but be inwardly acknowledged, however little prone15 the tongue might be to confess it. Of course there must be time;—but how much time? He argued it in his mind daily, and at each daily argument the time considered by him to be appropriate was shortened. Three months had passed and he had not yet seen her. He had resolved that he would not even attempt to see her till her father should consent. But surely a period had passed sufficient to justify16 him in applying for that permission. And then he bethought himself that it would be best in applying for that permission to tell everything to Mr. Wharton. He well knew that he would be telling no secret. Mr. Wharton knew the state of his feelings as well as he knew it himself. If ever there was a case in which time might be abridged17, this was one; and therefore he wrote his letter,—as follows:—
3, –––– Court, Temple, 24th July, 187—.
My dear Mr. Wharton,
It is a matter of great regret to me that we should see so little of each other,—and especially of regret that I should never now see Emily.
I may as well rush into the matter at once. Of course this letter will not be shown to her, and therefore I may write as I would speak if I were with you. The wretched man whom she married is gone, and my love for her is the same as it was before she had ever seen him, and as it has always been from that day to this. I could not address you or even think of her as yet, did I not know that that marriage had been unfortunate. But it has not altered her to me in the least. It has been a dreadful trouble to us all,—to her, to you, to me, and to all connected with us. But it is over, and I think that it should be looked back upon as a black chasm18 which we have bridged and got over, and to which we need never cast back our eyes.
I have no right to think that, though she might some day love another man, she would, therefore, love me; but I think that I have a right to try, and I know that I should have your good-will. It is a question of time, but if I let time go by, some one else may slip in. Who can tell? I would not be thought to press indecently, but I do feel that here the ordinary rules which govern men and women are not to be followed. He made her unhappy almost from the first day. She had made a mistake which you and she and all acknowledged. She has been punished; and so have I,—very severely19 I can assure you. Wouldn't it be a good thing to bring all this to an end as soon as possible,—if it can be brought to an end in the way I want?
Pray tell me what you think. I would propose that you should ask her to see me, and then say just as much as you please. Of course I should not press her at first. You might ask me to dinner, and all that kind of thing, and so she would get used to me. It is not as though we had not been very, very old friends. But I know you will do the best. I have put off writing to you till I sometimes think that I shall go mad over it if I sit still any longer.
Your affectionate friend,
Arthur Fletcher.
When Mr. Wharton got this letter he was very much puzzled. Could he have had his wish, he too would have left the chasm behind him as proposed by his young friend, and have never cast an eye back upon the frightful20 abyss. He would willingly have allowed the whole Lopez incident to be passed over as an episode in their lives, which, if it could not be forgotten, should at any rate never be mentioned. They had all been severely punished, as Fletcher had said, and if the matter could end there he would be well content to bear on his own shoulders all that remained of that punishment, and to let everything begin again. But he knew very well it could not be so with her. Even yet it was impossible to induce Emily to think of her husband without regret. It had been only too manifest during the last year of their married life that she had felt horror rather than love towards him. When there had been a question of his leaving her behind, should he go to Central America, she had always expressed herself more than willing to comply with such an arrangement. She would go with him should he order her to do so, but would infinitely21 sooner remain in England. And then, too, she had spoken of him while alive with disdain22 and disgust, and had submitted to hear her father describe him as infamous23. Her life had been one long misery24, under which she had seemed gradually to be perishing. Now she was relieved, and her health was re-established. A certain amount of unjoyous cheerfulness was returning to her. It was impossible to doubt that she must have known that a great burden had fallen from her back. And yet she would never allow his name to be mentioned without giving some outward sign of affection for his memory. If he was bad, so were others bad. There were many worse than he. Such were the excuses she made for her late husband. Old Mr. Wharton, who really thought that in all his experience he had never known any one worse than his son-in-law, would sometimes become testy25, and at last resolved that he would altogether hold his tongue. But he could hardly hold his tongue now.
He, no doubt, had already formed his hopes in regard to Arthur Fletcher. He had trusted that the man whom he had taught himself some years since to regard as his wished-for son-in-law, might be constant and strong enough in his love to forget all that was past, and to be still willing to redeem26 his daughter from misery. But as days had crept on since the scene at the Tenway Junction27, he had become aware that time must do much before such relief would be accepted. It was, however, still possible that the presence of the man might do something. Hitherto, since the deed had been done, no stranger had dined in Manchester Square. She herself had seen no visitor. She had hardly left the house except to go to church, and then had been enveloped28 in the deepest crape. Once or twice she had allowed herself to be driven out in a carriage, and, when she had done so, her father had always accompanied her. No widow, since the seclusion29 of widows was first ordained30, had been more strict in maintaining the restraints of widowhood as enjoined31. How then could he bid her receive a new lover,—or how suggest to her that a lover was possible? And yet he did not like to answer Arthur Fletcher without naming some period for the present mourning,—some time at which he might at least show himself in Manchester Square.
"I have had a letter from Arthur Fletcher," he said to his daughter a day or two after he had received it. He was sitting after dinner, and Everett was also in the room.
"Is he in Herefordshire?" she asked.
"No;—he is up in town, attending to the House of Commons, I suppose. He had something to say to me, and as we are not in the way of meeting he wrote. He wants to come and see you."
"Not yet, papa."
"He talked of coming and dining here."
"Oh yes; pray let him come."
"You would not mind that?"
"I would dine early and be out of the way. I should be so glad if you would have somebody sometimes. I shouldn't think then that I was such a—such a restraint to you."
But this was not what Mr. Wharton desired. "I shouldn't like that, my dear. Of course he would know that you were in the house."
"Upon my word, I think you might meet an old friend like that," said Everett.
She looked at her brother, and then at her father, and burst into tears. "Of course you shall not be pressed if it would be irksome to you," said her father.
"It is the first plunge32 that hurts," said Everett. "If you could once bring yourself to do it, you would find afterwards that you were more comfortable."
"Papa," she said slowly, "I know what it means. His goodness I shall always remember. You may tell him I say so. But I cannot meet him yet." Then they pressed her no further. Of course she had understood. Her father could not even ask her to say a word which might give comfort to Arthur as to some long distant time.
He went down to the House of Commons the next day, and saw his young friend there. Then they walked up and down Westminster Hall for nearly an hour, talking over the matter with the most absolute freedom. "It cannot be for the benefit of any one," said Arthur Fletcher, "that she should immolate33 herself like an Indian widow,—and for the sake of such a man as that! Of course I have no right to dictate34 to you,—hardly, perhaps, to give an opinion."
"Yes, yes, yes."
"It does seem to me, then, that you ought to force her out of that kind of thing. Why should she not go down to Herefordshire?"
"In time, Arthur,—in time."
"But people's lives are running away."
"My dear fellow, if you were to see her you would know how vain it would be to try to hurry her. There must be time."
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
sedulous
|
|
| adj.勤勉的，努力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
nominal
|
|
| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
incubus
|
|
| n.负担；恶梦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
blighting
|
|
| 使凋萎( blight的现在分词 )； 使颓丧； 损害； 妨害 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
prospects
|
|
| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
vile
|
|
| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
annihilated
|
|
| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
repented
|
|
| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
caress
|
|
| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
vows
|
|
| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
bestow
|
|
| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
prone
|
|
| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
abridged
|
|
| 削减的，删节的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
chasm
|
|
| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
severely
|
|
| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
frightful
|
|
| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
disdain
|
|
| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
infamous
|
|
| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
testy
|
|
| adj.易怒的；暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
redeem
|
|
| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
junction
|
|
| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
enveloped
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
seclusion
|
|
| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
ordained
|
|
| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
enjoined
|
|
| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
plunge
|
|
| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
immolate
|
|
| v.牺牲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
dictate
|
|
| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |