Bessy understood the condition of the old woman much better than did her son. “I am sad a little,” she said, on her way home, “because of her disappointment.”
“Sad, because she is to have you,—you yourself,—for her daughter-in-law?”
“Yes, indeed, Philip; because I know that she has not wanted me. She will be kind because I shall belong to you, and perhaps partly because she loves me; but she will always regret that that young lady down in Cornwall has not been allowed to add to the honour and greatness of the family. The Launays are everything to her, and what can I do for the Launays?” Of course he said many pretty things to her in answer to this, but he could not eradicate1 from her mind the feeling that, in regard to the old friend who had been so kind to her, she was returning evil for good.
But even Bessy did not quite understand the old woman. When she found that she had yielded, there{191} was disappointment in the old woman’s heart. Who can have indulged in a certain longing2 for a lifetime, in a special ambition, and seen that ambition and that longing crushed and trampled3 on, without such a feeling? And she had brought this failure on herself,—by her own weakness, as she told herself. Why had she given way to Bessy and to Bessy’s blandishments? It was because she had not been strong to do her duty that this ruin had fallen upon her hopes. The power in her own hands had been sufficient. But for her Philip need never have seen Bessy Pryor. Might not Bessy Pryor have been sent somewhere out of the way when it became evident that she had charms of her own with which to be dangerous? And even after the first evil had been done her power had been sufficient. She need not have sent for Philip back. She need have written no letter to Bessy. She might have been calm and steady in her purpose, so that there should have been no violent ebullition of anger,—so violent as to induce repentance4, and with repentance renewed softness and all the pangs5 of renewed repentance.
When Philip had left her on his mission to Normandy her heart was heavy with regret, and heavy also with anger. But it was with herself that she was angry. She had known her duty and she had not done it. She had known her duty, and had neglected it,—because Bessy had been soft to her, and dear, and pleasant. It was here that Bessy did not quite understand her friend. Bessy reproached herself because she had made to her friend a bad return to all the{192} kindness she had received. The old woman would not allow herself to entertain any such a thought. Once she had spoken to herself of having warmed a serpent in her bosom7; but instantly, with infinite self-scorn, she had declared to herself that Bessy was no serpent. For all that she had done for Bessy, Bessy had made ample return, the only possible return that could be full enough. Bessy had loved her. She too had loved Bessy, but that should have had no weight. Though they two had been linked together by their very heartstrings, it had been her duty to make a severance8 because their joint9 affection had been dangerous. She had allowed her own heart to over-ride her own sense of duty, and therefore she was angry,—not with Bessy, but with herself.
But the thing was done. To quarrel with Philip had been impossible to her. One feeling coming upon another, her own repentance, her own weakness, her acknowledgment of a certain man’s strength on the part of her son, had brought her to such a condition that she had yielded. Then it was natural that she should endeavour to make the best of it. But even the doing of that was a trial to her. When she told herself that as far as the woman went, the mere10 woman, Philip could not have found a better wife had he searched the world all round, she found that she was being tempted11 from her proper path even in that. What right could she have to look for consolation12 there? For other reasons, which she still felt to be adequate, she had resolved that something else should{193} be done. That something else had not been done, because she had failed in her duty. And now she was trying to salve the sore by the very poison which had created the wound. Bessy’s sweet temper, and Bessy’s soft voice, and Bessy’s bright eye, and Bessy’s devotion to the delight of others, were all so many temptations. Grovelling13 as she was in sackcloth and ashes because she had yielded to them, how could she console herself by a prospect14 of these future enjoyments15 either for herself or her son?
But there were various duties to which she could attend, grievously afflicted16 as she was by her want of attention to that great duty. As Fate had determined17 that Bessy Pryor was to become mistress of Launay, it was proper that all Launay should know and recognise its future mistress. Bessy certainly should not be punished by any want of earnestness in this respect. No one should be punished but herself. The new mistress should be made as welcome as though she had been the red-haired girl from Cornwall. Knowl was a good deal put about because Mrs. Miles, remembering a few hard words which Knowl had allowed herself to use in the days of the imprisonment18, became very stern. “It is settled that Miss Pryor is to become Mrs. Philip Launay, and you will obey her just as myself.” Mrs. Knowl, who had saved a little money, began to consider whether it would not be as well to retire into private life.
When the day came on which the two travellers were to reach Launay Mrs. Miles was very much disturbed{194} in her mind. In what way should she receive the girl? In her last communication,—her very last,—she had called Bessy her enemy; and now Bessy was being brought home to be made her daughter-in-law under her own roof. How sweet it would be to stand at the door and welcome her in the hall, among all the smiling servants, to make a tender fuss and hovering19 over her, as would be so natural with a mother-in-law who loved an adopted daughter as tenderly as Mrs. Miles loved Bessy! How pleasant to take her by the hand and lead her away into some inner sanctum where warm kisses as between mother and child would be given and taken; to hear her praises of Philip, and then to answer again with other praises; to tell her with words half serious and half drollery20 that she must now buckle21 on her armour22 and do her work, and take upon herself the task of managing the household! There was quite enough of softness in the old woman to make all this delightful23. Her imagination revelled24 in thinking of it even at the moment in which she was telling herself that it was impossible. But it was impossible. Were she to force such a change upon herself Bessy would not believe in the sincerity25 of the change. She had told Bessy that she was her enemy!
At last the carriage which had gone to the station was here; not the waggonette on this occasion, but the real carriage itself, the carriage which was wont26 to toddle27 four miles an hour about the parish. “This is an honour meant for the prodigal28 daughter,” said{195} Philip, as he took his seat. “If you had never been naughty, we should only have had the waggonette, and we then should have been there in half the time.” Mrs. Miles, when she heard the wheels on the gravel29, was even yet uncertain where she would place herself. She was fluttered, moving about from the room into the hall and back, when the old butler spoke6 a careful word: “Go into the library, madam, and Mr. Philip will bring her to you there.” Then she obeyed the butler,—as she had probably never done in her life before.
Bessy, as soon as her step was off the carriage, ran very quickly into the house. “Where is my aunt?” she said. The butler was there showing the way, and in a moment she had thrown her arms round the old woman. Bessy had a way of making her kisses obligatory30, from which Mrs. Miles had never been able to escape. Then, when the old woman was seated, Bessy was at once upon her knees before her. “Say that you love me, aunt. Say that at once! Say that first of all!”
“You know I love you.”
“I know I love you. Oh, I am so glad to have you again. It was so hard not to be with you when I thought that you were ill. I did not know how sick it would make me to be away from you.” Neither then nor at any time afterwards was there a word spoken on the one side or the other as to that declaration of enmity.
There was nothing then said in way of explanation.{196} There was nothing perhaps necessary. It was clear to Bessy that she was received at Launay as Philip’s future wife,—not only by Mrs. Miles herself, but by the whole household,—and that all the honours of the place were to be awarded to her without stint31. For herself that would have sufficed. To her any explanation of the circumstances which had led to a change so violent was quite unnecessary. But it was not so with Mrs. Miles herself. She could not but say some word in justification33 of herself,—in excuse rather than justification. She had Bessy into her bedroom that night, and said the word, holding between her two thin hands the hand of the girl she addressed. “You have known, Bessy, that I did not wish this.” Bessy muttered that she did know it. “And I think you knew why.”
“How could I help it, aunt?”
Upon this the old woman patted the hand. “I suppose he could not help it. And, if I had been a young man, I could not have helped it. I could not help it as I was, though I am an old woman. I think I am as foolish as he is.”
“Perhaps he is foolish, but you are not.”
“Well; I do not know. I have my misgivings34 about that, my dear. I had objects which I thought were sacred and holy, to which I had been wedded35 through many years. They have had to be thrust aside.”
“Then you will hate me!”
“No, my child; I will love you with all my heart. You will be my son’s wife now, and, as such, you will be dear to me, almost as he is dear. And you will still{197} be my own Bessy, my gleam of sunlight, without whom the house is so gloomy that it is like a prison to me. For myself, do you think I could want any other young woman about the house than my own dear Bessy;—that any other wife for Philip could come as near my heart as you do?”
“But if I have stood in the way?”
“We will not think of it any more. You, at any rate, need not think of it,” added the old woman, as she remembered all the circumstances. “You shall be made welcome with all the honours and all the privileges due to Philip’s wife; and if there be a regret, it shall never trouble your path. It may be a comfort to you to hear me say that you, at least, in all things have done your duty.” Then, at last, there were more tears, more embracings, and, before either of them went to their rest, a perfect ecstacy of love.
Little or nothing more is necessary for the telling of the story of the Lady of Launay. Before the autumn had quite gone, and the last tint32 had left the trees, Bessy Pryor became Bessy Launay, under the hand of Mr. Gregory, in the Launay parish church. Everyone in the neighbourhood around was there, except Mr. Morrison, who had taken this opportunity of having a holiday and visiting Switzerland. But even he, when he returned, soon became reconciled to the arrangement, and again became a guest in the dining-room of the mansion36. I hope I shall have no reader who will not think that Philip Launay did well in not following the example of the major-general.
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1
eradicate
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| v.根除，消灭，杜绝 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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4
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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6
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
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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8
severance
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| n.离职金；切断 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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10
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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12
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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grovelling
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| adj.卑下的，奴颜婢膝的v.卑躬屈节，奴颜婢膝( grovel的现在分词 )；趴 | |
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14
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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15
enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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19
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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drollery
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| n.开玩笑，说笑话；滑稽可笑的图画（或故事、小戏等） | |
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buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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22
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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revelled
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| v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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toddle
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| v.（如小孩）蹒跚学步 | |
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28
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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30
obligatory
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| adj.强制性的，义务的，必须的 | |
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31
stint
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| v.节省，限制，停止；n.舍不得化，节约，限制；连续不断的一段时间从事某件事 | |
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32
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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33
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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34
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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35
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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