Son devoir m'a trahi, mon malheur, et son père.—Polyeucte.
Morton's evening with Mrs. Ashland, and the story which she told him, removed at least one pain from his breast. He learned that Edith Leslie was not in fault; and that, great as his misfortune might be, his idol1 was not turned to clay.
His friend's narrative3, however, was very defective4. She could give results merely, not knowing, or suspecting, the hidden springs which produced them; and Morton was left to form his own conclusions. The following is a more explicit5 statement.
Morton embarked6 for Europe, and the return steamer brought, in due course, a letter to Edith Leslie. With the next steamer came another; with the next, a third; all as absurd epistles as the most exacting7 mistress could desire. The succeeding mail was silent. She wondered and hoped; but when the next arrived, and brought no tidings, her heart began to fail. The winter wore away, and still no letter came. She was living, at that time, with her father, at his country seat. Leslie's health was declining, and when Vinal returned from his short European tour, he consigned8 to his hands the care of his affairs, and spent the greater part of his time at Matherton; for he had a strong love for the home of his boyhood.
Spring returned, and blossomed into summer; but nothing was heard of Morton. The season ripened9; the fringed gentian sprang in the meadow, and the aster10 by the roadside; but no word came. In the forests, the October frosts began their gorgeous work. The ash put on its purple; the oak its varied11 coloring; the sumach its blood-red glare; and at evening, the sun went down in cold, stern splendors12 behind the painted mountains. Dry leaves whirled upon the ground; chill clouds mustered13 in the sky; and flakes14 of snow, the harbingers of storm, were blown along the frozen road. Then winter sank upon the landscape, and deeper winter on the heart of the unhappy girl.
Time passed on, and the hope of Morton's return grew fainter. Leslie, seeing his daughter's deep distress15, made a journey to Europe; but his search was fruitless. Meredith, who spent a year on the continent, pursued the same inquiries16, but could trace his friend no farther than the town of Neuburg, in Bavaria. Morton, before his departure, had made his will, and in the ardor17 of his attachment18, had left the bulk of his property to his betrothed19, distributing a comparatively small residue20 among a number of poor relations, none of whom had either the means or the worldly knowledge to take measures for ascertaining21 his fate.
Meanwhile, Leslie had fallen into a decline; and there was no hope that his life could be protracted22 beyond a year or two. He became more than ever dependent upon Vinal, who now assumed nearly the whole charge of his affairs, acquitting23 himself with great ability, and, in this instance, with entire faithfulness. A rickety manufacturing concern, which for years had been a drain upon Leslie's purse, began, under Vinal's control, to yield a good profit; and the former saw all his resources quickened and replenished24, as if by an infusion25 of new life.
Vinal was mounting very high in the general esteem26. His polished address,—a little too precise, however,—his acknowledged scholarship, his character for honor and integrity, and his energy and capacity for business, commended him to all classes. He passed current alike in ball rooms and on change. Men of the world never doubted him; and, after all, this confidence was not quite groundless, for Vinal, who had a sage27 eye to his own interest, had embraced the maxim28 that, in matters of business, a course of absolute integrity is, under all ordinary circumstances, the only wise policy.
As, in process of time, the conviction of Morton's death was confirmed, Leslie's old wish for a union between his daughter and Vinal began again to grow strong within him. Some two years after her lover's disappearance29, he ventured to speak to her of this favorite plan; but it was long before he dared allude31 to it again. Meanwhile, Vinal's attentions had been assiduous and constant, yet so tempered as to convey the idea that he despaired of any other reward than the continuance of her friendship. At length, however, certain of her father's countenance32, and assuming Morton's death as now beyond a doubt, he began, with all possible delicacy33 and caution, to renew his former addresses. He was not long in discovering that his cause was quite hopeless, unless he could produce some positive proof that Morton was no longer alive.
During the third summer of the latter's absence, Vinal went, for two or three months, to Europe, the state of his health being the alleged34 motive35. While in Paris, he tried to find his former confederate, Speyer, but could only learn that he was no longer in that city. On returning to America, he told Leslie that he had inquired after Morton, on all sides, without the least success, but had taken measures which, he thought it not impossible, might in time lead to some discovery. In various parts of Germany, there was, as he affirmed, a class of travelling merchants and commercial agents, who, from the nature of their avocations36, had every facility for making inquiries within the districts which they frequented. He had taken pains, he said, to become acquainted with a large number of these men, to whom he had stated the case of Morton's disappearance, and promised a reward for any information concerning him.
Some time after this, he told Leslie that he had had word from one of these correspondents. The latter, he affirmed, had heard that a young man, said to be an Englishman, had died very suddenly three or four years before, in an unfrequented part of Bohemia. The German declared himself ready, if desired, to go to the district in question, and inquire into the matter. Leslie was anxious that the inquiry37 should be made; upon which Vinal, though seeming not at all sanguine38 as to any result, gave him the name of his imaginary correspondent, and advised that he should write to him. Leslie, however, as Vinal had foreseen, desired that the latter should carry on the correspondence. He accordingly wrote a letter, directed to Jacob Hatz. This he showed to Leslie, and mailed it in his presence, consigning39 it to a long repose40 in some continental41 dead letter office. At the same time, he secretly despatched another letter, directed to Henry Speyer; for he had meanwhile discovered the address of this serviceable person. This letter was as follows:—
Dear Sir: You cannot have forgotten some interviews and correspondence which formerly42 passed between us concerning a person who soon after was unfortunate enough to fall under the notice of the Austrian police. Nothing has since been heard of him, and it is commonly believed here that he is dead. It is my desire to have this opinion confirmed; and having found you honorable and efficient on another occasion, I cannot doubt that I shall find you so in this. May I beg your services in the following particulars?
1st. To take an imaginary journey into Bohemia, Moravia, or parts adjacent.
2d. To discover that, three years or more ago, a young man, an American, named —— ——, travelling alone on horseback in an unfrequented part of the country, (this was his habit,) was attacked by cholera43, or any other violent disease prevalent thereabouts, which carried him off in less than three days.
3d. That he died at a small village inn; that a Lutheran clergyman took charge of his effects, and wrote to his friends; but that the letter may have miscarried, or the clergyman may have played false, and kept the windfall that had come to him.
4th. That two years ago, the clergyman removed into Hungary, but that the innkeeper, a stupid, beetle-headed fellow, showed you a headstone in the Protestant burial ground, with ——'s name upon it. The innkeeper may describe him as a young man of twenty-four, or less, but must not remember too much, as this might attract further inquiry.
This is the outline, and will serve to indicate the kind of thing required. Vary it, in respect to details, as your judgment44 and your knowledge of the customs of the country may suggest. Names are omitted. Please observe the ciphers45 which stand in their places. You will soon receive, through another channel, means to supply the deficiency, if, indeed, your memory will not do so unaided.
Sign your letter Jacob Hatz. There is another point, which I beg you to observe particularly. Mention that on the gravestone, besides the name, was carved a figure, like an urn2 or cup, with a large ball above it. Date of death, also;—December 7, 1841.
I herewith enclose five hundred francs. On receiving your reply, with this letter enclosed, I shall immediately send you five hundred more. If I were not a poor man, and expecting always to be so, I could remunerate your services better.
With the fullest reliance on your honor and discretion46, I remain,
Yours, truly, —— ——.
P. S. For your better direction, I subjoin a formula to be followed in the beginning of your letter. You can word the rest in your own way. Write in French.
Vinal, if he had dared, would gladly have forged such a letter as he required, instead of trusting to another person; but art or nature had not gifted him with the needful skill; and he was anxious, moreover, to have the foreign postmarks stamped upon it in form.
In due time, Speyer's answer came. He had neglected to return Vinal's letter, as desired; but in other respects, his performance gave his employer ample satisfaction. The latter showed it to Leslie, who seemed convinced by it; while his daughter, on reading it, abandoned at once the hope to which she had hitherto clung, that Morton might still be living.
"I remember this Hatz very well," said Vinal; "he seemed to be a plain, honest sort of man,—an agent, I believe, of a merchant in Strasburg. And yet the reward I promised might have been too great a temptation."
"Then," said Leslie, "you would not receive this as a proof of Mr. Morton's death?"
"No, I would not: that is, I should not but for one thing;—it is so very much like Vassall Morton to be travelling alone, on horseback, in an out-of-the-way part of the country."
"Did you observe," pursued Leslie, "what he says of figures of an urn and ball cut on the gravestone?"
"I saw it, but did not observe it particularly."
Leslie gave him the letter, and Vinal read the part referred to.
"What can it mean?" asked Leslie.
"I can't conceive," replied Vinal.
"It is the vase and sun," said Edith Leslie; "the device of his mother's family, the Vassalls."
"Ah," exclaimed Vinal, looking up with a face of mournful interest, "you must be right; the same figures are carved on the tomb of the Vassalls, in the old churchyard at Cambridge."
"They were cut," pursued Miss Leslie, "on a garnet ring, which he always used as a seal."
"I remember his showing me that ring," said her father, "and telling me that it was older than the voyage of the Mayflower. It was a kind of heirloom, which his mother had left him."
"Yes," suggested the sympathizing Vinal, who had long known that Morton used no other seal than this ring; "and the device on it was supposed to be his armorial bearing, and so cut on the gravestone, as it is on the Vassall tomb at Cambridge."
All doubt of Morton's death was now dispelled47. His betrothed stored his image in her thoughts, as that of one lost for this world; and Vinal saw the field clear before him. Leslie was failing fast; and, as his life ebbed48, his wish for his daughter's marriage with Vinal grew and strengthened. He urged her, daily, to listen to his suit; extolling49 his favorite's talents, energy, acquirements, and unimpeachable50 character—praises which she believed to be wholly just. Vinal, on his part, seconded these parental51 efforts with most earnest, beseeching52, not to say abject53 importunities. The compassion54 which he contrived55 to excite, an idea of duty, and an urgent wish to gratify her dying father, at length prevailed with her; and laying before Vinal the true state of her feelings, she consented, on such terms, to accept his suit.
Vinal had gained his point; but he had scarcely done so, when his spirits were dashed by an untoward56 incident, the nature of which may be guessed hereafter. And, as it never rains but it pours, this reverse of luck was soon followed by a second, of another kind.
One afternoon, returning from his customary constitutional ride, he was in the act of turning the upper corner of a street which slopes downward somewhat steeply till it meets a main thoroughfare of the town. A small ragamuffin boy was standing57 on the curbstone, with a blade of grass between his thumbs, through which he blew with might and main, evidently to startle Vinal's horse, whose head was within a yard of him. He succeeded to his complete satisfaction. Vinal switched at the youngster with his whip; but this only made matters worse. The horse galloped58 down the street at a rate which his rider's weak arm could not check; and, at the corner of the main street, wheeling suddenly to the left, he slipped on the wet pavement, and fell with a crash on his side. Horse and man lay motionless, till a city teamster, running up, raised the former by the bridle59. Two or three passers by came to Vinal's aid; but as they lifted him, he set his teeth with pain. The horse had fallen on his left leg, breaking it above the knee.
Vinal was timid to excess in time of danger; but he could bear pain with the firmness of a stoic60. While he felt himself run away with, and at the moment of his fall, he had been greatly confused. He no sooner saw that the worst was over, than he rallied his faculties61, and asserted his usual self-mastery. His face was fast growing pale with violence of pain; but he was quite himself again.
A crowd gathered about him, as he lay leaning on the steps of the neighboring church.
"Shall we carry you to the —— Hotel?" asked a gentleman.
"Yes, if you please. But first be kind enough to bring a shutter62. They will give you one at the school round the corner. When a man is killed, drunk, or maimed, there is nothing like a shutter. How do you do, Edwards?"—to a man whom he recognized in the crowd.
"I hope you are not badly hurt."
"My leg is broken."
"Are you in great pain?"
"Yes; a bad business, I think. Will you oblige me by seeing that my horse is led to the stable in —— Street?"
The shutter was soon brought.
"Thank you. Lift me very gently."
"All right. Now one take the shutter at the head, and one at the feet. You'll find me a light weight."
And thus, between two men, escorted by a procession of schoolboys just let loose, Vinal was carried to the hotel.
The event justified64 his presage65. He was forced to lie motionless for weeks, suffering greatly from bodily pain, and no less from certain anxieties which of late had harassed66 him. Leslie, on his part, was in great distress at the disaster. He felt, or fancied himself, near his end; and the wish next his heart was to see the marriage accomplished67 before he died. It was therefore determined68 that, notwithstanding the inauspicious plight69 of the bridegroom, it should take place at the time before fixed70 upon, four months after the beginning of the engagement.
The ceremony was very private. None were present but two or three friends of Miss Leslie, the dying father, borne thither71 in a chair, the disabled bridegroom, and the pale and agitated72 bride; for that morning, standing before Morton's picture, a strange misgiving73 and a dark foreboding had fallen upon her, and the sun never shone on a bride more wretched. Her nearest friend, Mrs. Ashland, was at her side. She was the only person, besides her father and Vinal, who knew of her engagement to Morton, and, indeed, had been her confidante from first to last. Soon after Morton's disappearance, an accident had brought them together, reviving an old school intimacy74; and Edith Leslie, in her suspense75 and misery76, was but too glad to find a friend in whom she could trust without reserve.
The rite30 was ended, and Edith Leslie was Edith Vinal. Days and weeks passed; Leslie slowly declined, and Vinal slowly recovered. She divided her time between them, passing the greater part of the day with the latter, and returning at evening to watch by her father's bed or rest within sound of his voice. At length, three weeks after her marriage, on a morning the horror of which remained scarred always in her memory, Morton's letter from Genoa was put into her hands; and the long-disciplined patience with which she had armed herself, the religion which she had called to her aid, all the guards and defences of her mind, were borne down, for a time, by the resistless flood of passion, which, like a river bursting its barriers, swept all before it.
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1
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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urn
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| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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7
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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aster
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| n.紫菀属植物 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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splendors
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| n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 )；壮丽；光辉；显赫 | |
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mustered
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的过去式和过去分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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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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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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residue
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| n.残余，剩余，残渣 | |
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ascertaining
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的现在分词 ) | |
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protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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acquitting
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的现在分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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replenished
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| 补充( replenish的过去式和过去分词 )； 重新装满 | |
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infusion
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| n.灌输 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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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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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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avocations
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| n.业余爱好，嗜好( avocation的名词复数 )；职业 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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consigning
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的现在分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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cholera
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| n.霍乱 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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ciphers
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| n.密码( cipher的名词复数 )；零；不重要的人；无价值的东西 | |
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46
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
ebbed
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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49
extolling
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| v.赞美( extoll的现在分词 )；赞颂，赞扬，赞美( extol的现在分词 ) | |
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50
unimpeachable
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| adj.无可指责的；adv.无可怀疑地 | |
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51
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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52
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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53
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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54
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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55
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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56
untoward
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| adj.不利的，不幸的，困难重重的 | |
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57
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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58
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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59
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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stoic
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| n.坚忍克己之人，禁欲主义者 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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62
shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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63
clinched
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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64
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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presage
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| n.预感，不祥感；v.预示 | |
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66
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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67
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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68
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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69
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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70
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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71
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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72
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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73
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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74
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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75
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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