But the bird, from the moment in which he had packed up his portmanteau at Brook Park, had determined11 that he would be taken in at the window again,—that he would at any rate return to the window, and peck at the glass with constancy, soliciting12 that it might be opened. As he now thought of the two girls, the womanliness of the one, as compared with the worldliness of the other, conquered him completely. There had never been a moment in which his heart had in truth inclined itself towards the young athlete of Brook Park,—never a moment, hardly a moment, in which his heart had been untrue to Alice. But glitter had for awhile prevailed with him, and he had, just for a moment, allowed himself to be discontented with the homely13 colour of unalloyed gold. He was thoroughly14 ashamed of himself, knowing well that he had given pain. He had learned, clearly enough, from what her father, mother, and others had said to him, that there were those who expected him to marry Alice Dugdale, and others who hoped that he would marry Georgiana Wanless. Now, at last, he could declare that no other love than that which was warm within his heart at present could ever have been possible to him. But he was aware that he had much to do to recover his footing.{412} Alice’s face and her manner as she bade him good-bye at the gate were very clear before his eyes.
Two months passed by before he was again seen at Beetham. It had happened that he was, in truth, required elsewhere, on duty, during the period, and he took care to let it be known at Beetham that such was the case. Information to this effect was in some shape sent to Alice. Openly, she took no notice of it; but, inwardly, she said to herself that they who troubled themselves by sending her such tidings, troubled themselves in vain. “Men may come and men may go,” she sang to herself, in a low voice. How little they knew her, to come to her with news as to Major Rossiter’s coming and going!
Then one day he came. One morning early in December the absolute fact was told at the dinner table. “The Major is at the parsonage,” said the maid-servant. Mrs. Dugdale looked at Alice, who continued, however, to distribute hashed mutton with an equanimity15 which betrayed no flaw.
After that not a word was said about him. The doctor had warned his wife to be silent; and though she would fain have spoken, she restrained herself. After dinner the usual work went on, and then the usual playing in the garden. The weather was dry and mild for the time of year, so that Alice was swinging two of the children when Major Rossiter came up through the gate. Minnie, who had been a favourite, ran to him, and he came slowly across the lawn to the tree on which the swing was hung. For a moment{413} Alice stopped her work that she might shake hands with him, and then at once went back to her place. “If I were to stop a moment before Bobby has had his turn,” she said, “he would feel the injustice16.”
“No, I isn’t,” said Bobby. “Oo may go ’is time.”
“But I don’t want to go, Bobby, and Major Rossiter will find mamma in the drawing-room;” and Alice for a moment thought of getting her hat and going off from the place. Then she reflected that to run away would be cowardly. She did not mean to run away always because the man came. Had she not settled it with herself that the man should be nothing to her? Then she went on swinging the children,—very deliberately17, in order that she might be sure of herself, that the man’s coming had not even flurried her.
In ten minutes the Major was there again. It had been natural to suppose that he should not be detained long in conversation by Mrs. Dugdale. “May I swing one of them for a time?” he asked.
“Well, no; I think not. It is my allotted18 exercise, and I never give it up.” But Minnie, who knew what a strong arm could do, was imperious, and the Major got possession of the swing.
Then of a sudden he stopped. “Alice,” he said, “I want you to take a turn with me up the road.”
“I am not going out at all to-day,” she said. Her voice was steady and well preserved; but there was a slight rising of colour on her cheeks.
“But I wish it expressly. You must come to-day.”
She could consider only for a moment,—but for a{414} moment she did think the matter over. If the man chose to speak to her seriously, she must listen to him,—once, and once only. So much he had a right to demand. When a bird of that kind pecks in that manner some attention must be paid to him. So she got her hat, and leading the way down the road, opened the gate and turned up the lane away from the street of the village. For some yards he did not speak. She, indeed, was the first to do so. “I cannot stay out very long, Major Rossiter; so, if there is anything——?”
“There is a something, Alice.” Of course she knew, but she was quite resolved. Resolved! Had not every moment of her life since last she had parted with him been given up to the strengthening this resolution? Not a stitch had gone through the calico which had not been pulled the tighter by the tightening19 of her purpose! And now he was there. Oh, how more than earthly sweet it had been to have him there, when her resolutions had been of another kind! But she had been punished for that, and was strong against such future ills. “Alice, it had better come out simply. I love you, and have ever loved you with all my heart.” Then there was a frown and a little trampling20 of the ground beneath her feet, but she said not a word. Oh, if it only could have come sooner,—a few weeks sooner! “I know what you would say to me, but I would have you listen to me, if possible, before you say it. I have given you cause to be angry with me.”
“Oh no!” she cried, interrupting him.{415}
“But I have never been untrue to you for a moment. You seemed to slight me.”
“And if I did?”
“That may pass. If you should slight me now, I must bear it. Even though you should deliberately tell me that you cannot love me, I must bear that. But with such a load of love as I have at my heart, it must be told to you. Day and night it covers me from head to foot. I can think of nothing else. I dream that I have your hand in mine, but when I wake I think it can never be so.”
There was an instinct with her at the moment to let her fingers glide21 into his; but it was shown only by the gathering22 together of her two hands, so that no rebellious23 fingers straying from her in that direction might betray her. “If you have never loved me, never can love me, say so, and I will go away.” She should have spoken now, upon the instant; but she simply moved her foot upon the gravel24 and was silent. “That I should be punished might be right. If it could be possible that the punishment should extend to two, that could not be right.”
She did not want to punish him,—only to be brave herself. If to be obdurate25 would in truth make him unhappy, then would it be right that she should still be firm? It would be bad enough, after so many self-assurances, to succumb26 at the first word; but for his sake,—for his sake,—would it not be possible to bear even that? “If you never have loved me, and never can love me, say so, and I will go.” Even to herself,{416} she had not pledged herself to lie. If he asked her to be his wife in the plain way, she could say that she would not. Then the way would be plain before her. But what reply was she to make in answer to such a question as this? Could she say that she had not loved him,—or did not love him? “Alice,” he said, putting his hand up to her arm.
“No!”
“Alice, can you not forgive me?”
“I have forgiven.”
“And will you not love me?”
She turned her face upon him with a purpose to frown, but the fulness of his eyes upon her was too much, and the frown gave way, and a tear came into her eye, and her lips trembled; and then she acknowledged to herself that her resolution had not been worth a straw to her.
It should be added that considerably27 before Alice’s wedding, both Sophia and Georgiana Wanless were married,—Sophia, in due order, as of course, to young Cobble, and Georgiana to Mr. Burmeston, the brewer28. This, as the reader will remember, was altogether unexpected; but it was a great and guiding principle with Lady Wanless that the girls should not be taken out of their turns.
THE END.
点击收听单词发音
1 crumbs | |
int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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2 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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3 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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4 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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5 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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6 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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7 abate | |
vi.(风势,疼痛等)减弱,减轻,减退 | |
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8 jot | |
n.少量;vi.草草记下;vt.匆匆写下 | |
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9 pitfall | |
n.隐患,易犯的错误;陷阱,圈套 | |
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10 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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11 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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12 soliciting | |
v.恳求( solicit的现在分词 );(指娼妇)拉客;索求;征求 | |
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13 homely | |
adj.家常的,简朴的;不漂亮的 | |
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14 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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15 equanimity | |
n.沉着,镇定 | |
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16 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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17 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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18 allotted | |
分配,拨给,摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19 tightening | |
上紧,固定,紧密 | |
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20 trampling | |
踩( trample的现在分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
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21 glide | |
n./v.溜,滑行;(时间)消逝 | |
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22 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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23 rebellious | |
adj.造反的,反抗的,难控制的 | |
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24 gravel | |
n.砂跞;砂砾层;结石 | |
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25 obdurate | |
adj.固执的,顽固的 | |
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26 succumb | |
v.屈服,屈从;死 | |
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27 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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28 brewer | |
n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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