It was now the end of November; and it became a question how the intermediate time should be passed. The Countess was resolved that she would hold no pleasant intercourse5 at all with her daughter. She would not even tell the girl of her purpose of going abroad. From hour to hour she assured herself with still increasing obduracy6 that nothing but severity could avail anything. The girl must be cowed and frightened into absolute submission,—even though at the expense of her health. Even though it was to be effected by the absolute crushing of her spirits,—this must be done. Though at the cost of her life, it must be done. This woman had lived for the last twenty years with but one object before her eyes,—an object sometimes seeming to be near, more often distant, and not unfrequently altogether beyond her reach, but which had so grown upon her imagination as to become the heaven to which her very soul aspired7. To be and to be known to be among the highly born, the so-called noble, the titled from old dates,—to be of those who were purely8 aristocratic, had been all the world to her. As a child,—the child of well-born but poor parents, she had received the idea. In following it out she had thrown all thoughts of love to the wind and had married a reprobate9 earl. Then had come her punishment,—or, as she had conceived it, her most unmerited misfortunes. For many years of her life her high courage and persistent10 demeanour had almost atoned11 for the vice3 of her youth. The love of rank was strong in her bosom12 as ever, but it was fostered for her child rather than for herself. Through long, tedious, friendless, poverty-stricken years she had endured all, still assuring herself that the day would come when the world should call the sweet plant that grew by her side by its proper name. The little children hooted13 after her daughter, calling her girl in derision The Lady Anna,—when Lady Anna had been more poorly clad and blessed with less of the comforts of home than any of them. Years would roll by, and they should live to know that the Lady Anna,—the sport of their infantine cruelty,—was Lady Anna indeed. And as the girl became a woman the dream was becoming a reality. The rank, the title, the general acknowledgment and the wealth would all be there. Then came the first great decisive triumph. Overtures14 of love and friendship were made from the other side. Would Lady Anna consent to become the Countess Lovel, all animosities might be buried, and everything be made pleasant, prosperous, noble, and triumphant16!
It is easy to fill with air a half-inflated bladder. It is already so buoyant with its own lightness, that it yields itself with ease to receive the generous air. The imagination of the woman flew higher than ever it had flown when the proposition came home to her in all its bearings. Of course it had been in her mind that her daughter should marry well;—but there had been natural fears. Her child had not been educated, had not lived, had not been surrounded in her young days, as are those girls from whom the curled darlings are wont17 to choose their wives. She would too probably be rough in manner, ungentle in speech, ungifted in accomplishments18, as compared with those who from their very cradles are encompassed19 by the blessings20 of wealth and high social standing21. But when she looked at her child's beauty, she would hope. And then her child was soft, sweet-humoured, winning in all her little ways, pretty even in the poor duds which were supplied to her mainly by the generosity22 of the tailor. And so she would hope, and sometimes despair;—and then hope again. But she had never hoped for anything so good as this. Such a marriage would not only put her daughter as high as a Lovel ought to be, but would make it known in a remarkable23 manner to all coming ages that she, she herself, she the despised and slandered24 one,—who had been treated almost as woman had never been treated before,—was in very truth the Countess Lovel by whose income the family had been restored to its old splendour.
And so the longing25 grew upon her. Then, almost for the first time, did she begin to feel that it was necessary for the purposes of her life that the girl whom she loved so thoroughly26, should be a creature in her hands, to be dealt with as she pleased. She would have had her daughter accede27 to the proposed marriage even before she had seen Lord Lovel, and was petulant28 when her daughter would not be as clay in the sculptor's hand. But still the girl's refusal had been but as the refusal of a girl. She should not have been as are other girls. She should have known better. She should have understood what the peculiarity30 of her position demanded. But it had not been so with her. She had not soared as she should have done, above the love-laden dreams of common maidens31. And so the visit to Yoxham was permitted. Then came the great blow,—struck as it were by a third hand, and that the hand of an attorney. The Countess Lovel learned through Mr. Goffe,—who had heard the tale from other lawyers,—that her daughter Lady Anna Lovel had, with her own mouth, told her noble lover that she was betrothed32 to a tailor! She felt at the moment that she could have died,—cursing her child for this black ingratitude33.
But there might still be hope. The trial was going on,—or the work which was progressing towards the trial, and she was surrounded by those who could advise her. Doubtless what had happened was a great misfortune. But there was room for hope;—room for most assured hope. The Earl was not disposed to abandon the match, though he had, of course, been greatly annoyed,—nay, disgusted and degraded by the girl's communication. But he had consented to see the matter in the proper light. The young tailor had got an influence over the girl when she was a child, was doubtless in pursuit of money, and must be paid. The folly34 of a child might be forgiven, and the Earl would persevere35. No one would know what had occurred, and the thing would be forgotten as a freak of childhood. The Countess had succumbed36 to the policy of all this;—but she was not deceived by the benevolent37 falsehood. Lady Anna had been over twenty when she had been receiving lover's vows38 from this man, reeking40 from his tailor's board. And her girl, her daughter, had deceived her. That the girl had deceived her, saying there was no other lover, was much; but it was much more and worse and more damnable that there had been thorough deception41 as to the girl's own appreciation42 of her rank. The sympathy tendered through so many years must have been always pretended sympathy. With these feelings hot within her bosom, she could not bring herself to speak one kindly43 word to Lady Anna after the return from Yoxham. The girl was asked to abandon her odious44 lover with stern severity. It was demanded of her that she should do so with cruel threats. She would never quite yield, though she had then no strength of purpose sufficient to enable her to declare that she would not yield. We know how she was banished45 to Bedford Square, and transferred from the ruthless persistency47 of her mother, to the less stern but not less fixed man?uvres of Mrs. Bluestone. At that moment of her existence she was herself in doubt. In Wyndham Street and at Yoxham she had almost more than doubted. The softness of the new Elysium had well nigh unnerved her. When that young man had caught her from stone to stone as she passed over the ford46 at Bolton, she was almost ready to give herself to him. But then had come upon her the sense of sickness, that faint, overdone48 flavour of sugared sweetness, which arises when sweet things become too luscious49 to the eater. She had struggled to be honest and strong, and had just not fallen into the pot of treacle50.
But, notwithstanding all this, they who saw her and knew the story, were still sure that the lord must at last win the day. There was not one who believed that such a girl could be true to such a troth as she had made. Even the Solicitor-General, when he told the tale which the amorous51 steward52 had remembered to his own encouragement, did not think but what the girl and the girl's fortune would fall into the hands of his client. Human nature demanded that it should be so. That it should be as he wished it was so absolutely consonant53 with all nature as he had known it, that he had preferred trusting to this result, in his client's behalf, to leaving the case in a jury's hands. At this moment he was sure he was right in his judgment54. And indeed he was right;—for no jury could have done anything for his client.
It went on till at last the wise men decided55 that the girl only wanted to be relieved by her old lover, that she might take a new lover with his permission. The girl was no doubt peculiar29; but, as far as the wise ones could learn from her manner,—for with words she would say nothing,—that was her state of mind. So the interview was planned,—to the infinite disgust of the Countess, who, however, believed that it might avail; and we know what was the result. Lady Anna, who long had doubted,—who had at last almost begun to doubt whether Daniel Thwaite was true to her,—had renewed her pledges, strengthened her former promises, and was now more firmly betrothed than ever to him whom the Countess hated as a very fiend upon earth. But there certainly should be no marriage! Though she pistolled the man at the altar, there should be no marriage.
And then there came upon her the infinite disgust arising from the necessity of having to tell her sorrows to others,—who could not sympathize with her, though their wishes were as hers. It was hard upon her that no step could be taken by her in reference to her daughter without the knowledge of Mr. Goffe and Serjeant Bluestone,—and the consequent knowledge of Mr. Flick56 and the Solicitor-General. It was necessary, too, that Lord Lovel should know all. His conduct in many things must depend on the reception which might probably be accorded to a renewal57 of his suit. Of course he must be told. He had already been told that the tailor was to be admitted to see his love, in order that she might be absolved58 by the tailor from her first vow39. It had not been pleasant,—but he had acceded59. Mr. Flick had taken upon himself to say that he was sure that everything would be made pleasant. The Earl had frowned, and had been very short with Mr. Flick. These confidences with lawyers about his lovesuit, and his love's tone with her low-born lover, had not been pleasant to Lord Lovel. But he had endured it,—and now he must be told of the result. Oh, heavens;—what a hell of misery60 was this girl making for her high-born relatives! But the story of the tailor's visit to Keppel Street did not reach the unhappy ones at Yoxham till months had passed away.
Mr. Goffe was very injudicious in postponing61 the departure of the two ladies—as the Solicitor-General told Mr. Flick afterwards very plainly, when he heard of what had been done. "Money; she might have had any money. I would have advanced it. You would have advanced it!" "Oh certainly," said Mr. Flick, not, however, at all relishing62 the idea of advancing money to his client's adversary63. "I never heard of such folly," continued Sir William. "That comes of trusting people who should not be trusted." But it was too late then. Lady Anna was lying ill in bed, in fever; and three doctors doubted whether she would ever get up again. "Would it not be better that she should die?" said her mother to herself, standing over her and looking at her. It would,—so thought the mother then,—be better that she should die than get up to become the wife of Daniel Thwaite. But how much better that she should live and become the Countess Lovel! She still loved her child, as only a mother can love her only child,—as only a mother can love who has no hope of joy in the world, but what is founded on her child. But the other passion had become so strong in her bosom that it almost conquered her mother's yearnings. Was she to fight for long years that she might be beaten at last when the prize was so near her,—when the cup was almost at her lips? Were the girl now to be taken to her grave, there would be an end at any rate of the fear which now most heavily oppressed her. But the three doctors were called in, one after another; and Lady Anna was tended as though her life was as precious as that of any other daughter.
These new tidings caused new perturbation among the lawyers. "They say that Clerke and Holland have given her over," said Mr. Flick to Sir William.
"I am sorry to hear it," said Mr. Solicitor; "but girls do live sometimes in spite of the doctors."
"Yes; very true, Sir William; very true. But if it should go in that way it might not perhaps be amiss for our client."
"God forbid that he should prosper15 by his cousin's death, Mr. Flick. But the Countess would be the heir."
"The Countess is devoted64 to the Earl. We ought to do something, Sir William. I don't think that we could claim above eight or ten thousand pounds at most as real property. He put his money everywhere, did that old man. There are shares in iron mines in the Alleghanies, worth ever so much."
"They are no good to us," said the Solicitor-General, alluding65 to his client's interests.
"Not worth a halfpenny to us, though they are paying twenty per cent. on the paid-up capital. He seems to have determined66 that the real heir should get nothing, even if there were no will. A wicked old man!"
"Very wicked, Mr. Flick."
"A horrible old man! But we really ought to do something, Mr. Solicitor. If the girl won't marry him there should be some compromise, after all that we have done."
"How can the girl marry any one, Mr. Flick,—if she's going to die?"
A few days after this, Sir William called in Keppel Street and saw the Countess, not with any idea of promoting a compromise,—for the doing which this would not have been the time, nor would he have been the fitting medium,—but in order that he might ask after Lady Anna's health. The whole matter was in truth now going very much against the Earl. Money had been allowed to the Countess and her daughter; and in truth all the money was now their own, to do with it as they listed, though there might be some delay before each was put into absolute possession of her own proportion; but no money had been allowed, or could be allowed, to the Earl. And, that the fact was so, was now becoming known to all men. Hitherto credit had at any rate been easy with the young lord. When the old Earl died, and when the will was set aside, it was thought that he would be the heir. When the lawsuit67 first came up, it was believed everywhere that some generous compromise would be the worst that could befall him. After that the marriage had been almost a certainty, and then it was known that he had something of his own, so that tradesmen need not fear that their bills would be paid. It can hardly be said that he had been extravagant68; but a lord must live, and an earl can hardly live and maintain a house in the country on a thousand a year, even though he has an uncle to keep his hunters for him. Some prudent69 men in London were already beginning to ask for their money, and the young Earl was in trouble. As Mr. Flick had said, it was quite time that something should be done. Sir William still depended on the panacea70 of a marriage, if only the girl would live. The marriage might be delayed; but, if the cards were played prudently71, might still make everything comfortable. Such girls do not marry tailors, and will always prefer lords to tradesmen!
"I hope that you do not think that my calling is intrusive," he said. The Countess, dressed all in black, with that funereal72 frown upon her brow which she always now wore, with deep-sunk eyes, and care legible in every feature of her handsome face, received him with a courtesy that was as full of woe73 as it was graceful74. She was very glad to make his acquaintance. There was no intrusion. He would forgive her, she thought, if he perceived that circumstances had almost overwhelmed her with sorrow. "I have come to ask after your daughter," said he.
"She has been very ill, Sir William."
"Is she better now?"
"I hardly know; I cannot say. They seemed to think this morning that the fever was less violent."
"Then she will recover, Lady Lovel."
"They do not say so. But indeed I did not ask them. It is all in God's hands. I sometimes think that it would be better that she should die, and there be an end of it."
This was the first time that these two had been in each other's company, and the lawyer could not altogether repress the feeling of horror with which he heard the mother speak in such a way of her only child. "Oh, Lady Lovel, do not say that!"
"But I do say it. Why should I not say it to you, who know all? Of what good will her life be to herself, or to any one else, if she pollute herself and her family by this marriage? It would be better that she should be dead,—much better that she should be dead. She is all that I have, Sir William. It is for her sake that I have been struggling from the first moment in which I knew that I was to be a mother. The whole care of my life has been to prove her to be her father's daughter in the eye of the law. I doubt whether you can know what it is to pursue one object, and only one, through your whole life, with never-ending solicitude,—and to do it all on behalf of another. If you did, you would understand my feeling now. It would be better for her that she should die than become the wife of such a one as Daniel Thwaite."
"Lady Lovel, not only as a mother, but as a Christian75, you should get the better of that feeling."
"Of course I should. No doubt every clergyman in England would tell me the same thing. It is easy to say all that, sir. Wait till you are tried. Wait till all your ambition is to be betrayed, every hope rolled in the dust, till all the honours you have won are to be soiled and degraded, till you are made a mark for general scorn and public pity,—and then tell me how you love the child by whom such evils are brought upon you!"
"I trust that I may never be so tried, Lady Lovel."
"I hope not; but think of all that before you preach to me. But I do love her; and it is because I love her that I would fain see her removed from the reproaches which her own madness will bring upon her. Let her die;—if it be God's will. I can follow her without one wish for a prolonged life. Then will a noble family be again established, and her sorrowful tale will be told among the Lovels with a tear and without a curse."
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
emancipation
|
|
| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
solicitor
|
|
| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
vice
|
|
| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
intercourse
|
|
| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
obduracy
|
|
| n.冷酷无情，顽固，执拗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
aspired
|
|
| v.渴望，追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
reprobate
|
|
| n.无赖汉；堕落的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
persistent
|
|
| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
atoned
|
|
| v.补偿，赎（罪）( atone的过去式和过去分词 )；补偿，弥补，赎回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
hooted
|
|
| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
overtures
|
|
| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
prosper
|
|
| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
triumphant
|
|
| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
accomplishments
|
|
| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
encompassed
|
|
| v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
blessings
|
|
| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
generosity
|
|
| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
slandered
|
|
| 造谣中伤( slander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
accede
|
|
| v.应允，同意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
petulant
|
|
| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
peculiarity
|
|
| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
maidens
|
|
| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
betrothed
|
|
| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
ingratitude
|
|
| n.忘恩负义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
persevere
|
|
| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
succumbed
|
|
| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
benevolent
|
|
| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
vows
|
|
| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
vow
|
|
| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
reeking
|
|
| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
deception
|
|
| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
appreciation
|
|
| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
odious
|
|
| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
banished
|
|
| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
Ford
|
|
| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
persistency
|
|
| n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
overdone
|
|
| v.做得过分( overdo的过去分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
luscious
|
|
| adj.美味的；芬芳的；肉感的，引与性欲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
treacle
|
|
| n.糖蜜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
amorous
|
|
| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
steward
|
|
| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
consonant
|
|
| n.辅音；adj.[音]符合的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
flick
|
|
| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
renewal
|
|
| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
absolved
|
|
| 宣告…无罪，赦免…的罪行，宽恕…的罪行( absolve的过去式和过去分词 )； 不受责难，免除责任 [义务] ,开脱（罪责） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
acceded
|
|
| v.（正式）加入( accede的过去式和过去分词 )；答应；（通过财产的添附而）增加；开始任职 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
postponing
|
|
| v.延期，推迟( postpone的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
relishing
|
|
| v.欣赏( relish的现在分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
adversary
|
|
| adj.敌手，对手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
alluding
|
|
| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
lawsuit
|
|
| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
extravagant
|
|
| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
prudent
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
panacea
|
|
| n.万灵药；治百病的灵药 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
prudently
|
|
| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
funereal
|
|
| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
woe
|
|
| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |