The funeral was over, and the will had been read, and at the end of November the three young men were still living together in the great house at Newton. The heir had gone up to London once or twice, instigated4 by the necessity of the now not difficult task of raising a little ready money. He must at once pay off all his debts. He must especially pay that which he owed to Mr. Neefit; and he must do so with many expressions of his gratitude,—perhaps with some expressions of polite regret at the hardness of Polly's heart towards him. But he must do so certainly without any further entreaty6 that Polly's heart might be softened7. Ah,—with what marvellous good fortune had he escaped from that pitfall8! For how much had he not to be thankful to some favouring goddess who must surely have watched over him from his birth! From what shipwrecks9 had he not escaped! And now he was Squire of Newton, with wealth and all luxuries at command, hampered10 with no wife, oppressed by no debts, free from all cares. As he thought of his perfect freedom in these respects, he remembered his former resolution as to Mary Bonner. That resolution he would carry out. It would be well for him now to marry a wife, and of all the women he had ever seen Mary Bonner was certainly the most beautiful. With Newton all his own, with such a string of horses as he would soon possess, and with such a wife at the head of his table, whom need he envy, and how many were there who would not envy him?
Throughout November he allowed his horses to remain at the Moonbeam, being somewhat in doubt whether or no he would return to that fascinating hostelrie. He received one or two most respectful letters from Mr. Horsball, in which glowing accounts were given of the sport of the season, and the health of his horses, and offers made of most disinterested11 services. Rooms should be ready for him at a moment's notice if he liked at any time to run over for a week's hunting. It was quite evident that in the eyes of Mr. Horsball Newton of Newton was a great man. And there came congratulations from Mr. Cox, in which no allusion12 whatever was made to the Squire's somewhat uncivil conduct at their last meeting. Mr. Cox trusted that his dearest friend would come over and have another spell at the Moonbeam before he settled down for life;—and then hinted in language that was really delicate in the niceness of its expression, that if he, Cox, were but invited to spend a week or two at Newton Priory before he banished13 himself for life to Australia, he would be able to make his way over the briny14 deep with a light heart and an uncomplaining tongue. "You know, old fellow, how true I've always been to you," wrote Cox, in language of the purest friendship. "As true as steel,—to sausages in the morning and brandy and soda15 at night," said Ralph to himself as he read this.
He behaved with thorough kindness to his cousin. The three men lived together for a month, and their intercourse16 was as pleasant as was possible under the circumstances. Of course there was no hunting during this month at Newton. Nor indeed did the heir see a hound till December, although, as the reader is aware, he was not particularly bound to revere17 his uncle's memory. He made many overtures18 to his namesake. He would be only too happy if his cousin,—he always called the Squire's son his cousin,—would make Newton his home for the next twelvemonth. It was found that the Squire had left behind him something like forty thousand pounds, so that the son was by no means to be regarded as a poor man. It was his idea at present that he would purchase in some pleasant county as much land as he might farm himself, and there set up his staff for life. "And get about two-and-a-half per cent. for your money," said the heir, who was beginning to consider himself learned in such matters, and could talk of land as a very serious thing in the way of a possession.
"What else am I to do?" said the other. "Two-and-a-half per cent. with an occupation is better than five per cent. with none. I should make out the remainder, too, by farming the land myself. There is nothing else in the world that I could do."
As for remaining twelve months at Newton, that was of course out of the question. Nevertheless, when December came he was still living in the house, and had consented to remain there till Christmas should have passed. He had already heard of a farm in Norfolk. "The worst county for hunting in England," the heir had said. "Then I must try and live without hunting," said Ralph who was not the heir. During all this time not a horse was sent to the meet from the Newton stables. The owner of Newton was contented19 to see the animals exercised in the park, and to amuse himself by schooling20 them over hurdles21, and by high jumping at the bar.
During the past month the young Squire had received various letters from Sir Thomas Underwood, and the other Ralph had received one. With Sir Thomas's caution, advice, and explanations to his former ward5, the story has no immediate22 concern; but his letter to him who was to have been Mary Bonner's suitor may concern us more nearly. It was very short, and the reader shall have it entire.
Popham Villa23, 10th November, 186—.
My dear Mr. Newton,—
I have delayed answering your letter for a day or two in order that it may not disturb you till the last sad ceremony be over. I do not presume to offer you consolation24 in your great sorrow. Such tenders should only be made by the nearest and the dearest. Perhaps you will permit me to say that what little I have seen of you and what further I have heard of you assure to you my most perfect sympathy.
On that other matter which gave occasion for your two letters to me I shall best perhaps discharge my duty by telling you that I showed them both to my niece; and that she feels, as do I, that they are both honourable25 to you, and of a nature to confer honour upon her. The change in your position, which I acknowledge to be most severe, undoubtedly26 releases you, as it would have released her,—had she been bound and chose to accept such release.
Whenever you may be in this neighbourhood we shall be happy to see you.
The state of my arm still prevents me from writing with ease.
Yours very faithfully,
Thomas Underwood.
Newton, when he received this letter, struggled hard to give to it its proper significance, but he could bring himself to no conclusion respecting it. Sir Thomas had acknowledged that he was released,—and that Mary Bonner would also have been released had she placed herself under any obligation; but Sir Thomas did not say a word from which his correspondent might gather whether in his present circumstances he might still be regarded as an acceptable suitor. The letter was most civil, most courteous27, almost cordial in its expression of sympathy; but yet it did not contain a word of encouragement. It may be said that the suitor had himself so written to the lady's uncle, as to place himself out of the way of all further encouragement;—as to have put it beyond the power of his correspondent to write a word to him that should have in it any comfort. Certainly he had done so. He had clearly shown in his second letter that he had abandoned all idea of making the match as to which he had shown so much urgent desire in his first letter. He had explained that the marriage would now be impossible, and had spoken of himself as a ruined, broken man, all whose hopes were shipwrecked. Sir Thomas could hardly have told him in reply that Mary Bonner would still be pleased to see him. And yet Mary Bonner had almost said so. She had been very silent when the letter was read to her. The news of Mr. Newton's death had already reached the family at Popham Villa, and had struck them all with awe28. How it might affect the property even Sir Thomas had not absolutely known at first; though he was not slow to make it understood that in all probability this terrible accident would be ruinous to the hopes which his niece had been justified29 in entertaining. At that hour Mary had spoken not a word;—nor could she be induced to speak respecting it either by Patience or Clarissa. Even to them she could not bring herself to say that if the man really loved her he would still come to her and say so. There was a feeling of awe upon her which made her mute, and stern, and altogether unplastic in the hands of her friends. It seemed even to Patience that Mary was struck by a stunning30 sorrow at the ruin which had come upon her lover's prospects31. But it was not so at all. The thought wronged her utterly32. What stunned33 her was this,—that she could not bring herself to express a passion for a man whom she had seen so seldom, with whom her conversation had been so slight, from whom personally she had received no overtures of attachment34,—even though he were ruined. She could not bring herself to express such a passion;—but yet it was there. When Clarissa thought that she might obtain if not a word, at least a tear, Mary appeared to be dead to all feeling, though crushed by what she had lost. She was thinking the while whether it might be possible for such a one as her to send to the man and to tell him that that which had now occurred had of a sudden made him really dear to her. Thoughts of maiden35 boldness flitted across her mind, but she could not communicate them even to the girls who were her friends. Yet in silence and in solitude36 she resolved that the time should come in which she would be bold.
Then young Newton's second letter reached the house, and that also had been read to her. "He is quite right," said Sir Thomas. "Of course it releases both of you."
"There was nothing to release," said Mary, proudly.
"I mean to say that having made such a proposition as was contained in his first letter, he was bound to explain his altered position."
"I suppose so," said Mary.
"Of course he was. He had made his offer believing that he could make you mistress of Newton Priory,—and he had made it thinking that he himself could marry in that position. And he would have been in that position had not this most unforeseen and terrible calamity37 have occurred."
"I do not see that it makes any difference," said Mary, in a whisper.
"What do you mean, my dear?"
"I hardly know, uncle."
"Try to explain yourself, Mary."
"If I had accepted any man when he was rich, I should not go back when he was poor,—unless he wanted it." This also she said in a whisper.
"But you had not accepted him."
"No," said Mary, still in a whisper. Sir Thomas, who was perhaps not very good at such things, did not understand the working of her mind. But had she dared, she would have asked her uncle to tell Mr. Newton to come and see her. Sir Thomas, having some dim inkling of what perhaps might be the case, did add a paragraph to his letter in which he notified to his correspondent that a personal visit would be taken in good part.
By the end of the first week in December things were beginning to settle into shape at the Priory. The three young men were still living together at the great house, and the tenants38 on the estate had been taught to recognise the fact that Ralph, who had ever been the heir, was in truth the owner. Among the labourers and poorer classes there was no doubt much regret, and that regret was expressed. The tenants, though they all liked the Squire's son, were not upon the whole ill-pleased. It was in proper conformity39 with English habits and English feelings that the real heir should reign40. Among the gentry41 the young Squire was made as welcome as the circumstances of the heir would admit. According to their way of thinking, personally popular as was the other man, it was clearly better that a legitimate descendant of the old family should be installed at Newton Priory. The old Squire's son rode well to hounds, and was loved by all; but nothing that all the world could do on his behalf would make him Newton of Newton. If only he would remain in the neighbourhood and take some place suited to his income, every house would be open to him. He would be received with no diminution42 of attachment or respect. Overtures of this nature were made to him. This house could be had for him, and that farm could be made comfortable. He might live among them as a general favourite; but he could not under any circumstances have been,—Newton of Newton. Nothing, however, was clearer to himself than this;—that as he could not remain in the county as the master of Newton Priory, he would not remain in the county at all.
As things settled down and took shape he began to feel that even in his present condition he might possibly make himself acceptable to such a girl as Mary Bonner. In respect of fortune there could be no reason whatever why he should not offer her his hand. He was in truth a rich man, whereas she had nothing, By birth he was nobody,—absolutely nobody; but then also would he have been nobody had all the lands of Newton belonged to him. When he had written that second letter, waiving43 all claim to Mary's hand because of the inferiority of his position, he was suffering from a morbid44 view which he had taken of his own affairs. He was telling himself then,—so assuring himself, though he did not in truth believe the assurance,—that he had lost not only the estate, but also his father's private fortune. At that moment he had been unstrung, demoralised, and unmanned,—so weak that a feather would have knocked him over. The blow had been so sudden, the solitude and gloom of the house so depressing, and his sorrow so crushing, that he was ready to acknowledge that there could be no hope for him in any direction. He had fed himself upon his own grief, till the idea of any future success in life was almost unpalatable to him. But things had mended with him now, and he would see whether there might not yet be joys for him in the world. He would first see whether there might not be that one great joy which he had promised to himself.
And then there came another blow. The young Squire had resolved that he would not hunt before Christmas in the Newton country. It was felt by him and by his brother that he should abstain45 from doing so out of respect to the memory of his uncle, and he had declared his purpose. Of course there was neither hunting nor shooting in these days for the other Ralph. But at the end of a month the young Squire began to feel that the days went rather slowly with him, and he remembered his stud at the Moonbeam. He consulted Gregory; and the parson, though he would fain have induced his brother to remain, could not say that there was any real objection to a trip to the B. and B's. Ralph would go there on the 10th of December, and be back at his own house before Christmas. When Christmas was over, the other Ralph was to leave Newton,—perhaps for ever.
The two Ralphs had become excellent friends, and when the one that was to go declared his intention of going with no intention of returning, the other pressed him warmly to think better of it, and to look upon the Priory at any rate as a second home. There were reasons why it could not be so, said the namesake; but in the close confidence of friendship which the giving and the declining of the offer generated came this further blow. They were standing46 together leaning upon a gate, and looking at the exhumation47 of certain vast roots, as to which the trees once belonging to them had been made to fall in consequence of the improvements going on at Darvell's farm. "I don't mind telling you," said Ralph the heir, "that I hope soon to have a mistress here."
"And who is she?"
"That would be mere48 telling;—would it not?"
"Clarissa Underwood?" asked the unsuspecting Ralph.
There did come some prick49 of conscience, some qualm, of an injury done, upon the young Squire as he made his answer. "No; not Clarissa;—though she is the dearest, sweetest girl that ever lived, and would make a better wife perhaps than the girl I think of."
"And who is the girl you think of?"
"She is to be found in the same house."
"You do not mean the elder sister?" said the unfortunate one. He had known well that his companion had not alluded50 to Patience Underwood; but in his agony he had suggested to himself that mode of escape.
"No; not Patience Underwood. Though, let me tell you, a man might do worse than marry Patience Underwood. I have always thought it a pity that Patience and Gregory would not make a match of it. He, however, would fall in love with Clary, and she has too much of the rake in her to give herself to a parson. I was thinking of Mary Bonner, who, to my mind, is the handsomest woman I ever saw in my life."
"I think she is," said Ralph, turning away his face.
"She hasn't a farthing, I fancy," continued the happy heir, "but I don't regard that now. A few months ago I had a mind to marry for money; but it isn't the sort of thing that any man should do. I have almost made up my mind to ask her. Indeed, when I tell you, I suppose I have quite made up my mind."
"She'll accept you,—of course."
"I can say nothing about that, you know. A man must take his chance. I can offer her a fine position, and a girl, I think, should have some regard to money when she marries, though a man should not. If there's nobody before me I should have a chance, I suppose."
His words were not boastful, but there was a tone of triumph in his voice. And why should he not triumph? thought the other Ralph. Of course he would triumph. He had everything to recommend him. And as for himself,—for him, the dispossessed one,—any particle of a claim which he might have secured by means of that former correspondence had been withdrawn51 by his own subsequent words. "I dare say she'll take you," he said, with his face still averted52.
Ralph the heir did indeed think that he would be accepted, and he went on to discuss the circumstances of their future home, almost as though Mary Bonner were already employed in getting together her wedding garments. His companion said nothing further, and Ralph the heir did not discover that anything was amiss.
On the following day Ralph the heir went across the country to the Moonbeam in Buckinghamshire.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
squire
|
|
| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
legitimate
|
|
| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
instigated
|
|
| v.使（某事物）开始或发生，鼓动( instigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
ward
|
|
| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
entreaty
|
|
| n.恳求，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
pitfall
|
|
| n.隐患，易犯的错误；陷阱，圈套 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
shipwrecks
|
|
| 海难，船只失事( shipwreck的名词复数 )； 沉船 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
hampered
|
|
| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
disinterested
|
|
| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
allusion
|
|
| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
banished
|
|
| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
briny
|
|
| adj.盐水的；很咸的；n.海洋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
soda
|
|
| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
intercourse
|
|
| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
revere
|
|
| vt.尊崇，崇敬，敬畏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
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： |
|
|
|
|
19
contented
|
|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
schooling
|
|
| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
hurdles
|
|
| n.障碍( hurdle的名词复数 )；跳栏；（供人或马跳跃的）栏架；跨栏赛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
villa
|
|
| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
honourable
|
|
| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
courteous
|
|
| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
awe
|
|
| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
justified
|
|
| a.正当的，有理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
stunning
|
|
| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
prospects
|
|
| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
stunned
|
|
| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
attachment
|
|
| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
maiden
|
|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
calamity
|
|
| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
tenants
|
|
| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
conformity
|
|
| n.一致，遵从，顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
reign
|
|
| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
gentry
|
|
| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
diminution
|
|
| n.减少；变小 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
waiving
|
|
| v.宣布放弃( waive的现在分词 )；搁置；推迟；放弃（权利、要求等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
morbid
|
|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
abstain
|
|
| v.自制，戒绝，弃权，避免 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
exhumation
|
|
| n.掘尸，发掘；剥璐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
prick
|
|
| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
alluded
|
|
| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
withdrawn
|
|
| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
averted
|
|
| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |