I found my grandfather seated in a chair by the fire, and engaged in conversation with Mr. Bradbury. Mr. Craike had put off his gown for an old-fashioned coat of black, gold-braided and gold-buttoned, and a flapped waistcoat of p. 156black silk, flowered with gold; the red jewels glittered still upon his hands, and a brooch of red stones secured the fine laces at his throat. He presented a singular, almost barbaric figure in contrast to the precision of my uncle and Mr. Bradbury.
Waiving8 formality, all the company at dinner was assembled in the dining-room; two young folk were seated a little apart,—a girl of about my own years and a youth perhaps a year older—him I knew, by his dark likeness9 to my uncle, for his son Oliver, whom Mr. Bradbury had already mentioned to me; but he had not spoken to me of the girl. My uncle, leading me forward, presented me to her; I scarcely caught his words for my confusion, as I bowed awkwardly to her curtsy; but I gathered that she was his ward10, Miss Milne; and I recollected that Milne was his wife’s name. I remember that I was repelled11 by my impression of a dark, sullen12 face; her black hair fell in ringlets about thin white shoulders, her lips were pale, her grey eyes seemed sunken. Her grey gown became her ill, and she wore no ornament13.
My attention was claimed instantly by my uncle—“My dear John,—your cousin Oliver”—blandly making us known, yet his tone suggesting to me disfavour, if not actual dislike, for the p. 157ungainly figure of his son. Ungainly, yet built strongly, wholly lacking his father’s elegance,—his hair coarse and black, his brows black, his look sullen and lowering—Oliver Craike yet pleased me more than any of my kinsmen14 to whom I had been made known. I understood the sturdy strength of him for the rippling15 muscles displayed by the fine cut of his black clothes; his hand gripped mine with a force that was not hostile; his eyes looked as sullenly16 at me as Miss Milne’s. “You’re welcome, cousin,” he muttered, while my uncle smiled on us urbanely17, and expressed a polite wish that as kinsmen we might be friends.
But Mr. Bradbury claimed my immediate18 attention; with a word of apology to my grandfather, he rose from his chair, and drew me apart from them.
“I’ll be penning a letter to Chelton,” he said. “Have you any commission with which you care to entrust19 me? My letter to your mother at least will be delivered.”
“No more than a message to her,” I answered, with a sudden longing20 for the peace and happiness of Chelton and my mother’s cottage, and for the companionship of Tony Vining. “That I’m all eagerness to return to her. That I’ll not long remain here.”
“I shall assure her,” he said, smiling at me, p. 158“that you’re safe with your grandfather, and that you’ve commended yourself to his favour, and are happy.”
“You interpret me too freely, Mr. Bradbury,” I said.
“Nay, now,” he protested, smiling. “I’m anxious only to convey to your good mother a message that may allay21 her fears, and set her mind at rest.” Lowering his tone, that only I might hear him, he added, “You’re safe here, lad. Your grandfather’s will is law. I assure you that you have won his favour by your looks and speech, your resemblance to your father. You will be safe; a year or so, a few months—nay, days, maybe—and you’ll be rich and free to live your life where and how you will. And I’ll be accurately22 informed of your condition here; I’ll be at hand.”
He broke off, observing that from the hearth23 my grandfather and my uncle watched us closely. And at the moment Thrale stepped forward to announce that dinner was served; my uncle gave my grandfather his arm to assist him to his chair at the head of the table. The old man presided, with Mr. Bradbury on his right and my uncle on his left; I sat with the girl beside me, my cousin Oliver frowned darkly at us from across the board.
p. 159Mr. Bradbury had prepared me for my grandfather’s wealth—the neglect and disorder24 of house and grounds might have served to negative this; I wondered yet at the magnificence of the silver upon the table and at the luxury of the meal. I wondered at the richness, and the fantastic design and chasing of this massy plate, at the curious goblets25 of crystal, as at the rare wines and meats and fruits. But I was amazed and more concerned at my grandfather’s servants—old men, old rogues—I looked on wrinkled faces, brown as with the burning of tropic suns and the lashing26 of tropical seas; brown hands offered me dishes and filled my glass; a sleeve slipping back from a bony wrist showed me dull blue tattoo27 marks; glancing over my shoulder I saw an evil brown face, and believed that the old man leered at me. All the while the girl beside me uttered not a word; Oliver devoted28 himself to his dinner; and my grandfather conversed29 in low tones with Mr. Bradbury. Not till the girl had left us silently, and the cloth was drawn30, and we sat over our wine, did aught come to break the silence about me. My cousin, I saw, was drinking deeply; his face was flushed with wine; once, as he looked up suddenly, and our eyes met, he scowled31 blackly at me. My uncle was sitting watching his son, his look p. 160expressive of contempt; now, as if to divert my attention from Oliver’s intoxication32, he leaned forward, and with a tolerable show of cordiality, bade me draw in my chair, and take wine with him.
But my grandfather broke in, “I’ve a toast, Bradbury—a toast, Charles,” and rose unsteadily, and lifted his glass in a shaking hand. Mr. Bradbury raised his glass, my uncle watched the old man, smiling; Oliver was muttering thickly to himself; I saw the old brown men watching from the shadows.
“A toast,—I’ll drink few more, Bradbury—I’ll drink few more. I’ll give ye the fortunes of our family—Charles, and the rest of ye. I’ll drink to my son Dick’s home-coming—hey, Charles—hey, Bradbury? Or, if he’s dead, I’ll have ye drink to my heir—whosoever he may be!”
He laughed harshly, and drank his wine. The stem of the crystal snapped suddenly in my uncle’s fingers; the wine ran blood-red from his white hand. Oliver burst into a roar of drunken laughter.
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1
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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2
tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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3
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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4
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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5
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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6
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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8
waiving
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| v.宣布放弃( waive的现在分词 )；搁置；推迟；放弃（权利、要求等） | |
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9
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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10
ward
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| 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 | |
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11
repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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12
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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13
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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14
kinsmen
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| n.家属，亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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15
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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16
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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17
urbanely
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| adv.都市化地，彬彬有礼地，温文尔雅地 | |
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18
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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19
entrust
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| v.信赖，信托，交托 | |
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20
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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21
allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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22
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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23
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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24
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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25
goblets
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| n.高脚酒杯( goblet的名词复数 ) | |
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26
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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27
tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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28
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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29
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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30
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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31
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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