Sir Peregrine and Mr. Furnival were well known to each other, and had always met as friends. They had been interested on the same side in the first Orley Farm Case, and possessed2 a topic of sympathy in their mutual3 dislike to Joseph Mason of Groby Park. Sir Peregrine therefore was courteous4, and when he learned the subject on which he was to be consulted he became almost more than courteous.
"Oh! yes; she's staying here, Mr. Furnival. Would you like to see her?"
"Before I leave I shall be glad to see her, Sir Peregrine; but if I am justified5 in regarding you as specially6 her friend, it may perhaps be well that I should first have some conversation with you." Sir Peregrine in answer to this declared that Mr. Furnival certainly would be so justified; that he did regard himself as Lady Mason's special friend, and that he was ready to hear anything that the barrister might have to say to him.
Many of the points of this case have already been named so often, and will, I fear, be necessarily named so often again that I will spare the repetition when it is possible. Mr. Furnival on this occasion told Sir Peregrine—not all that he had heard, but all that he thought it necessary to tell, and soon became fully7 aware that in the baronet's mind there was not the slightest shadow of suspicion that Lady Mason could have been in any way to blame. He, the baronet, was thoroughly8 convinced that Mr. Mason was the great sinner in this matter, and that he was prepared to harass9 an innocent and excellent lady from motives10 of disappointed cupidity11 and long-sustained malice12, which made him seem in Sir Peregrine's eyes a being almost too vile13 for humanity. And of Dockwrath he thought almost as badly—only that Dockwrath was below the level of his thinking. Of Lady Mason he spoke14 as an excellent and beautiful woman driven to misery15 by unworthy persecution16; and so spoke with an enthusiasm that was surprising to Mr. Furnival. It was very manifest that she would not want for friendly countenance17, if friendly countenance could carry her through her difficulties.
There was no suspicion against Lady Mason in the mind of Sir Peregrine, and Mr. Furnival was careful not to arouse any such feeling. When he found that the baronet spoke of her as being altogether pure and good, he also spoke of her in the same tone; but in doing so his game was very difficult. "Let him do his worst, Mr. Furnival," said Sir Peregrine; "and let her remain tranquil18; that is my advice to Lady Mason. It is not possible that he can really injure her."
"It is possible that he can do nothing—very probable that he can do nothing; but nevertheless, Sir Peregrine—"
"I would have no dealing19 with him or his. I would utterly20 disregard them. If he, or they, or any of them choose to take steps to annoy her, let her attorney manage that in the usual way. I am no lawyer myself, Mr. Furnival, but that I think is the manner in which things of this kind should be arranged. I do not know whether they have still the power of disputing the will, but if so, let them do it."
Gradually, by very slow degrees, Mr. Furnival made Sir Peregrine understand that the legal doings now threatened were not of that nature;—that Mr. Mason did not now talk of proceeding21 at law for the recovery of the property, but for the punishment of his father's widow as a criminal; and at last the dreadful word "forgery22" dropped from his lips.
"Who dares to make such a charge as that?" demanded the baronet, while fire literally23 flashed from his eyes in his anger. And when he was told that Mr. Mason did make such a charge he called him "a mean, unmanly dastard24." "I do not believe that he would dare to make it against a man," said Sir Peregrine.
But there was the fact of the charge—the fact that it had been placed in the hands of respectable attorneys, with instructions to them to press it on—and the fact also that the evidence by which that charge was to be supported possessed at any rate a prima facie appearance of strength. All that it was necessary to explain to Sir Peregrine, as it would also be necessary to explain it to Lady Mason.
"Am I to understand, then, that you also think—?" began Sir Peregrine.
"You are not to understand that I think anything injurious to the lady; but I do fear that she is in a position of much jeopardy25, and that great care will be necessary."
"Good heavens! Do you mean to say that an innocent person can under such circumstances be in danger in this country?"
"An innocent person, Sir Peregrine, may be in danger of very great annoyance26, and also of very great delay in proving that innocence27. Innocent people have died under the weight of such charges. We must remember that she is a woman, and therefore weaker than you or I."
"Yes, yes; but still—. You do not say that you think she can be in any real danger?" It seemed, from the tone of the old man's voice, as though he were almost angry with Mr. Furnival for supposing that such could be the case. "And you intend to tell her all this?" he asked.
"I fear that, as her friend, neither you nor I will be warranted in keeping her altogether in the dark. Think what her feelings would be if she were summoned before a magistrate28 without any preparation!"
"No magistrate would listen to such a charge," said Sir Peregrine.
"In that he must be guided by the evidence."
"I would sooner throw up my commission than lend myself in any way to a proceeding so iniquitous29."
This was all very well, and the existence of such a feeling showed great generosity30, and perhaps also poetic31 chivalry32 on the part of Sir Peregrine Orme; but it was not the way of the world, and so Mr. Furnival was obliged to explain. Magistrates33 would listen to the charge—would be forced to listen to the charge,—if the evidence were apparently34 sound. A refusal on the part of a magistrate to do so would not be an act of friendship to Lady Mason, as Mr. Furnival endeavoured to explain. "And you wish to see her?" Sir Peregrine asked at last.
"I think she should be told; but as she is in your house, I will, of course, do nothing in which you do not concur35." Upon which Sir Peregrine rang the bell and desired the servant to take his compliments to Lady Mason and beg her attendance in the library if it were quite convenient. "Tell her," said Sir Peregrine, "that Mr. Furnival is here."
When the message was given to her she was seated with Mrs. Orme, and at the moment she summoned strength to say that she would obey the invitation, without displaying any special emotion while the servant was in the room; but when the door was shut, her friend looked at her and saw that she was as pale as death. She was pale and her limbs quivered, and that look of agony, which now so often marked her face, was settled on her brow. Mrs. Orme had never yet seen her with such manifest signs of suffering as she wore at this instant.
"I suppose I must go to them," she said, slowly rising from her seat; and it seemed to Mrs. Orme that she was forced to hold by the table to support herself.
"Mr. Furnival is a friend, is he not?"
"Oh, yes! a kind friend, but—"
"They shall come in here if you like it better, dear."
"Oh, no! I will go to them. It would not do that I should seem so weak. What must you think of me to see me so?"
"I do not wonder at it, dear," said Mrs. Orme, coming round to her; "such cruelty would kill me. I wonder at your strength rather than your weakness." And then she kissed her. What was there about the woman that had made all those fond of her that came near her?
Mrs. Orme walked with her across the hall, and left her only at the library door. There she pressed her hand and again kissed her, and then Lady Mason turned the handle of the door and entered the room. Mr. Furnival, when he looked at her, was startled by the pallor of her face, but nevertheless he thought that she had never looked so beautiful. "Dear Lady Mason," said he, "I hope you are well."
Sir Peregrine advanced to her and handed her over to his own arm-chair. Had she been a queen in distress36 she could not have been treated with more gentle deference37. But she never seemed to count upon this, or in any way to assume it as her right. I should accuse her of what I regard as a sin against all good taste were I to say that she was humble38 in her demeanour; but there was a soft meekness39 about her, an air of feminine dependence40, a proneness41 to lean and almost to cling as she leaned, which might have been felt as irresistible42 by any man. She was a woman to know in her deep sorrow rather than in her joy and happiness; one with whom one would love to weep rather than to rejoice. And, indeed, the present was a time with her for weeping, not for rejoicing.
Sir Peregrine looked as though he were her father as he took her hand, and the barrister immediately comforted himself with the remembrance of the baronet's great age. It was natural, too, that Lady Mason should hang on him in his own house. So Mr. Furnival contented44 himself at the first moment with touching45 her hand and hoping that she was well. She answered hardly a word to either of them, but she attempted to smile as she sat down, and murmured something about the trouble she was giving them.
"Mr. Furnival thinks it best that you should be made aware of the steps which are being taken by Mr. Mason of Groby Park," began Sir Peregrine. "I am no lawyer myself, and therefore of course I cannot put my advice against his."
"I am sure that both of you will tell me for the best," she said.
"In such a matter as this it is right that you should be guided by him. That he is as firmly your friend as I am there can be no doubt."
"I believe Lady Mason trusts me in that," said the lawyer.
"Indeed I do; I would trust you both in anything," she said.
"And there can be no doubt that he must be able to direct you for the best. I say so much at the first, because I myself so thoroughly despise that man in Yorkshire,—I am so convinced that anything which his malice may prompt him to do must be futile46, that I could not myself have thought it needful to pain you by what must now be said."
This was a dreadful commencement, but she bore it, and even was relieved by it. Indeed, no tale that Mr. Furnival could have to tell after such an exordium would be so bad as that which she had feared as the possible result of his visit. He might have come there to let her know that she was at once to be carried away—immediately to be taken to her trial—perhaps to be locked up in gaol47. In her ignorance of the law she could only imagine what might or might not happen to her at any moment, and therefore the words which Sir Peregrine had spoken relieved her rather than added to her fears.
And then Mr. Furnival began his tale, and gradually put before her the facts of the matter. This he did with a choice of language and a delicacy48 of phraseology which were admirable, for he made her clearly understand the nature of the accusation49 which was brought against her without using any word which was in itself harsh in its bearing. He said nothing about fraud, or forgery, or false evidence, but he made it manifest to her that Joseph Mason had now instructed his lawyer to institute a criminal proceeding against her for having forged a codicil50 to her husband's will.
"I must bear it as best I may," she said. "May the Lord give me strength to bear it!"
"It is terrible to think of," said Sir Peregrine; "but nobody can doubt how it will end. You are not to suppose that Mr. Furnival intends to express any doubt as to your ultimate triumph. What we fear for you is the pain you must endure before this triumph comes."
Ah, if that were all! As the baronet finished speaking she looked furtively51 into the lawyer's face to see how far the meaning of these smooth words would be supported by what she might read there. Would he also think that a final triumph did certainly await her? Sir Peregrine's real opinion was easily to be learned, either from his countenance or from his words; but it was not so with Mr. Furnival. In Mr. Furnival's face, and from Mr. Furnival's words, could be learned only that which Mr. Furnival wished to declare. He saw that glance, and fully understood it; and he knew instinctively52, on the spur of the moment, that he must now either assure her by a lie, or break down all her hopes by the truth. That final triumph was not certain to her—was very far from certain! Should he now be honest to his friend, or dishonest? One great object with him was to secure the support which Sir Peregrine could give by his weight in the county; and therefore, as Sir Peregrine was present, it was needful that he should be dishonest. Arguing thus he looked the lie, and Lady Mason derived53 more comfort from that look than from all Sir Peregrine's words.
And then those various details were explained to her which Mr. Furnival understood that Mr. Dockwrath had picked up. They went into that matter of the partnership54 deed, and questions were asked as to the man Kenneby and the woman Bolster55. They might both, Lady Mason said, have been witnesses to half a dozen deeds on that same day, for aught she knew to the contrary. She had been present with Sir Joseph, as far as she could now remember, during the whole of that morning, "in and out, Sir Peregrine, as you can understand." Sir Peregrine said that he did understand perfectly56. She did know that Mr. Usbech had been there for many hours that day, probably from ten to two or three, and no doubt therefore much business was transacted57. She herself remembered nothing but the affair of the will; but then that was natural, seeing that there was no other affair in which she had specially interested herself.
"No doubt these people did witness both the deeds," said Sir Peregrine. "For myself, I cannot conceive how that wretched man can be so silly as to spend his money on such a case as this."
"He would do anything for revenge," said Mr. Furnival.
And then Lady Mason was allowed to go back to the drawing-room, and what remained to be said was said between the two gentlemen alone. Sir Peregrine was very anxious that his own attorneys should be employed, and he named Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile, than whom there were no more respectable men in the whole profession. But then Mr. Furnival feared that they were too respectable. They might look at the matter in so straightforward58 a light as to fancy their client really guilty; and what might happen then? Old Slow would not conceal59 the truth for all the baronets in England—no, nor for all the pretty women. The touch of Lady Mason's hand and the tear in her eye would be nothing to old Slow. Mr. Furnival, therefore, was obliged to explain that Slow and Bideawhile did not undertake that sort of business.
"But I should wish it to be taken up through them. There must be some expenditure60, Mr. Furnival, and I should prefer that they should arrange about that."
Mr. Furnival made no further immediate43 objection, and consented at last to having an interview with one of the firm on the subject, provided, of course, that that member of the firm came to him at his chambers61. And then he took his leave. Nothing positive had been done, or even settled to be done, on this morning; but the persons most interested in the matter had been made to understand that the affair was taking an absolute palpable substance, and that steps must be taken—indeed would be taken almost immediately. Mr. Furnival, as he left the house, resolved to employ the attorneys whom he might think best adapted for the purpose. He would settle that matter with Slow and Bideawhile afterwards.
And then, as he returned to Noningsby, he wondered at his persistence63 in the matter. He believed that his client had been guilty; he believed that this codicil was no real instrument made by Sir Joseph Mason. And so believing, would it not be better for him to wash his hands of the whole affair? Others did not think so, and would it not be better that such others should be her advisers64? Was he not taking up for himself endless trouble and annoyance that could have no useful purpose? So he argued with himself, and yet by the time that he had reached Noningsby he had determined65 that he would stand by Lady Mason to the last. He hated that man Mason, as he declared to himself when providing himself with reasons for his resolve, and regarded his bitter, malicious66 justice as more criminal than any crime of which Lady Mason might have been guilty. And then as he leaned back in the railway carriage he still saw her pale face before him, still heard the soft tone of her voice, and was still melted by the tear in her eye. Young man, young friend of mine, who art now filled to the overflowing67 of thy brain with poetry, with chivalry, and love, thou seest seated opposite to thee there that grim old man, with long snuffy nose, with sharp piercing eyes, with scanty68 frizzled hairs. He is rich and cross, has been three times married, and has often quarrelled with his children. He is fond of his wine, and snores dreadfully after dinner. To thy seeming he is a dry, withered69 stick, from which all the sap of sentiment has been squeezed by the rubbing and friction70 of years. Poetry, the feeling if not the words of poetry,—is he not dead to it, even as the pavement is dead over which his wheels trundle? Oh, my young friend! thou art ignorant in this—as in most other things. He may not twitter of sentiment, as thou doest; nor may I trundle my hoop71 along the high road as do the little boys. The fitness of things forbids it. But that old man's heart is as soft as thine, if thou couldst but read it. The body dries up and withers72 away, and the bones grow old; the brain, too, becomes decrepit73, as do the sight, the hearing, and the soul. But the heart that is tender once remains74 tender to the last.
Lady Mason, when she left the library, walked across the hall towards the drawing-room, and then she paused. She would fain remain alone for a while if it were possible, and therefore she turned aside into a small breakfast parlour, which was used every morning, but which was rarely visited afterwards during the day. Here she sat, leaving the door slightly open, so that she might know when Mr. Furnival left the baronet. Here she sat for a full hour, waiting—waiting—waiting. There was no sofa or lounging-chair in the room, reclining in which she could remain there half sleeping, sitting comfortably at her ease; but she placed herself near the table, and leaning there with her face upon her hand, she waited patiently till Mr. Furnival had gone. That her mind was full of thoughts I need hardly say, but yet the hour seemed very long to her. At last she heard the library door open, she heard Sir Peregrine's voice as he stood in the hall and shook hands with his departing visitor, she heard the sound of the wheels as the fly moved upon the gravel75, and then she heard Sir Peregrine again shut the library door behind him.
She did not immediately get up from her chair; she still waited awhile, perhaps for another period of ten minutes, and then she noiselessly left the room, and moving quickly and silently across the hall she knocked at Sir Peregrine's door. This she did so gently that at first no answer was made to her. Then she knocked again, hardly louder but with a repeated rap, and Sir Peregrine summoned her to come in. "May I trouble you once more—for one moment?" she said.
"Certainly, certainly; it is no trouble. I am glad that you are here in the house at this time, that you may see me at any moment that you may wish."
"I do not know why you should be so good to me."
"Because you are in great grief, in undeserved grief, because—. Lady Mason, my services are at your command. I will act for you as I would for a—daughter."
"You hear now of what it is that they accuse me."
"Yes, he said; I do hear;" and as he spoke he came round so that he was standing76 near to her, but with his back to the fireplace. "I do hear, and I blush to think that there is a man in England, holding the position of a county magistrate, who can so forget all that is due to honesty, to humanity, and to self-respect."
"You do not then think that I have been guilty of this thing?"
"Guilty—I think you guilty! No, nor does he think so. It is impossible that he should think so. I am no more sure of my own innocence than of yours;" and as he spoke he took both her hands and looked into her face, and his eyes also were full of tears. "You may be sure of this, that neither I nor Edith will ever think you guilty."
"Dearest Edith," she said; she had never before called Sir Peregrine's daughter-in-law by her Christian77 name, and as she now did so she almost felt that she had sinned. But Sir Peregrine took it in good part. "She is dearest," he said; "and be sure of this, that she will be true to you through it all."
And so they stood for a while without further speech. He still held both her hands, and the tears still stood in his eyes. Her eyes were turned to the ground, and from them the tears were running fast. At first they ran silently, without audible sobbing78, and Sir Peregrine, with his own old eyes full of salt water, hardly knew that she was weeping. But gradually the drops fell upon his hand, one by one at first, and then faster and faster; and soon there came a low sob79, a sob all but suppressed, but which at last forced itself forth80, and then her head fell upon his shoulder. "My dear," he said, himself hardly able to speak; "my poor dear, my ill-used dear!" and as she withdrew one hand from his, that she might press a handkerchief to her face, his vacant arm passed itself round her waist. "My poor, ill-used dear!" he said again, as he pressed her to his old heart, and leaning over her he kissed her lips.
So she stood for some few seconds, feeling that she was pressed close by the feeble pressure of his arm, and then she gradually sank through from his embrace, and fell upon her knees at his feet. She knelt at his feet, supporting herself with one arm upon the table, and with the other hand she still held his hand over which her head was bowed. "My friend," she said, still sobbing, and sobbing loudly now; "my friend, that God has sent me in my trouble." And then, with words that were wholly inaudible, she murmured some prayer on his behalf.
"I am better now," she said, raising herself quickly to her feet when a few seconds had passed. "I am better now," and she stood erect81 before him. "By God's mercy I will endure it; I think I can endure it now."
"If I can lighten the load—"
"You have lightened it—of half its weight; but, Sir Peregrine, I will leave this—"
"Leave this! go away from The Cleeve!"
"Yes; I will not destroy the comfort of your home by the wretchedness of my position. I will not—"
"Lady Mason, my house is altogether at your service. If you will be led by me in this matter, you will not leave it till this cloud shall have passed by you. You will be better to be alone now;" and then before she could answer him further, he led her to the door. She felt that it was better for her to be alone, and she hastened up the stairs to her own chamber62.
"And why should I not?" said Sir Peregrine to himself, as he again walked the length of the library.
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1
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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7
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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harass
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| vt.使烦恼，折磨，骚扰 | |
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10
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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cupidity
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| n.贪心，贪财 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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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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15
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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dastard
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| n.卑怯之人，懦夫；adj.怯懦的，畏缩的 | |
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jeopardy
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| n.危险；危难 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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iniquitous
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| adj.不公正的；邪恶的；高得出奇的 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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concur
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| v.同意，意见一致，互助，同时发生 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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meekness
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| n.温顺，柔和 | |
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dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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proneness
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| n.俯伏，倾向 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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codicil
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| n.遗嘱的附录 | |
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furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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bolster
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| n.枕垫；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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transacted
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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advisers
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| 顾问，劝告者( adviser的名词复数 )； （指导大学新生学科问题等的）指导教授 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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hoop
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| n.（篮球）篮圈，篮 | |
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withers
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| 马肩隆 | |
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decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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