And now the whole house was in an uproar1, including not only the landlord, his wife and daughters, and all the servants, but also every other visitor at the hotel. Mrs. Greene was not a lady who hid either her glories or her griefs under a bushel, and, though she spoke2 only in English, she soon made her protestations sufficiently3 audible. She protested loudly that she had been robbed, and that she had been robbed since she left the steamer. The box had come on shore; of that she was quite certain. If the landlord had any regard either for his own character or for that of his house, he would ascertain4 before an hour was over where it was, and who had been the thief. She would give him an hour. And then she sat herself down; but in two minutes she was up again, vociferating her wrongs as loudly as ever. All this was filtered through me and Sophonisba to the waiter in French, and from the waiter to the landlord; but the lady’s gestures required no translation to make them intelligible5, and the state of her mind on the matter was, I believe, perfectly6 well understood.
Mr. Greene I really did pity. His feelings of dismay seemed to be quite as deep, but his sorrow and solicitude7 were repressed into more decorum. “What am I to do for money?” he said. “I have not a shilling to go on with!” And he still looked up at the ceiling.
“You must send to England,” said Sophonisba.
“It will take a month,” he replied.
“Mr. Robinson will let you have what you want at present,” added Sophonisba. Now I certainly had said so, and had meant it at the time. But my whole travelling store did not exceed forty or fifty pounds, with which I was going on to Venice, and then back to England through the Tyrol. Waiting a month for Mr. Greene’s money from England might be even more inconvenient8 to me than to him. Then it occurred to me that the wants of the Greene family would be numerous and expensive, and that my small stock would go but a little way among so many. And what also if there had been no money and no jewels in that accursed box! I confess that at the moment such an idea did strike my mind. One hears of sharpers on every side committing depredations9 by means of most singular intrigues10 and contrivances. Might it not be possible that the whole batch11 of Greenes belonged to this order of society. It was a base idea, I own; but I confess that I entertained it for a moment.
I retired12 to my own room for a while that I might think over all the circumstances. There certainly had been seven boxes, and one had had a hole in the canvas. All the seven had certainly been on board the steamer. To so much I felt that I might safely swear. I had not counted the seven into the small boat, but on leaving the larger vessel13 I had looked about the deck to see that none of the Greene trappings were forgotten. If left on the steamer, it had been so left through an intent on the part of some one there employed. It was quite possible that the contents of the box had been ascertained14 through the imprudence of Mrs. Greene, and that it had been conveyed away so that it might be rifled at Como. As to Mrs. Greene’s assertion that all the boxes had been put into the small boat, I thought nothing of it. The people at Bellaggio could not have known which box to steal, nor had there been time to concoct15 the plan in carrying the boxes up to the hotel. I came at last to this conclusion, that the missing trunk had either been purloined16 and carried on to Como,—in which case it would be necessary to lose no time in going after it; or that it had been put out of sight in some uncommonly17 clever way, by the Greenes themselves, as an excuse for borrowing as much money as they could raise and living without payment of their bills. With reference to the latter hypothesis, I declared to myself that Greene did not look like a swindler; but as to Mrs. Greene—! I confess that I did not feel so confident in regard to her.
Charity begins at home, so I proceeded to make myself comfortable in my room, feeling almost certain that I should not be able to leave Bellaggio on the following morning. I had opened my portmanteau when I first arrived, leaving it open on the floor as is my wont18. Some people are always being robbed, and are always locking up everything; while others wander safe over the world and never lock up anything. For myself, I never turn a key anywhere, and no one ever purloins19 from me even a handkerchief. Cantabit vacuus—, and I am always sufficiently vacuus. Perhaps it is that I have not a handkerchief worth the stealing. It is your heavy-laden, suspicious, mal-adroit Greenes that the thieves attack. I now found out that the accommodating Boots, who already knew my ways, had taken my travelling gear into a dark recess20 which was intended to do for a dressing-room, and had there spread my portmanteau open upon some table or stool in the corner. It was a convenient arrangement, and there I left it during the whole period of my sojourn21.
Mrs. Greene had given the landlord an hour to find the box, and during that time the landlord, the landlady22, their three daughters, and all the servants in the house certainly did exert themselves to the utmost. Half a dozen times they came to my door, but I was luxuriating in a washing-tub, making up for that four-o’clock start from Chiavenna. I assured them, however, that the box was not there, and so the search passed by. At the end of the hour I went back to the Greenes according to promise, having resolved that some one must be sent on to Como to look after the missing article.
There was no necessity to knock at their sitting-room23 door, for it was wide open. I walked in, and found Mrs. Greene still engaged in attacking the landlord, while all the porters who had carried the luggage up to the house were standing24 round. Her voice was loud above the others, but, luckily for them all, she was speaking English. The landlord, I saw, was becoming sulky. He spoke in Italian, and we none of us understood him, but I gathered that he was declining to do anything further. The box, he was certain, had never come out of the steamer. The Boots stood by interpreting into French, and, acting25 as second interpreter, I put it into English.
Mr. Greene, who was seated on the sofa, groaned26 audibly, but said nothing. Sophonisba, who was sitting by him, beat upon the floor with both her feet.
“Do you hear, Mr. Greene?” said she, turning to him. “Do you mean to allow that vast amount of property to be lost without an effort? Are you prepared to replace my jewels?”
“Her jewels!” said Sophonisba, looking up into my face. “Papa had to pay the bill for every stitch she had when he married her.” These last words were so spoken as to be audible only by me, but her first exclamation27 was loud enough. Were they people for whom it would be worth my while to delay my journey, and put myself to serious inconvenience with reference to money?
A few minutes afterwards I found myself with Greene on the terrace before the house. “What ought I to do?” said he.
“Go to Como,” said I, “and look after your box. I will remain here and go on board the return steamer. It may perhaps be there.”
“But I can’t speak a word of Italian,” said he.
“Take the Boots,” said I.
“But I can’t speak a word of French.” And then it ended in my undertaking28 to go to Como. I swear that the thought struck me that I might as well take my portmanteau with me, and cut and run when I got there. The Greenes were nothing to me.
I did not, however, do this. I made the poor man a promise, and I kept it. I took merely a dressing-bag, for I knew that I must sleep at Como; and, thus resolving to disarrange all my plans, I started. I was in the midst of beautiful scenery, but I found it quite impossible to draw any enjoyment29 from it;—from that or from anything around me. My whole mind was given up to anathemas30 against this odious31 box, as to which I had undoubtedly32 heavy cause of complaint. What was the box to me? I went to Como by the afternoon steamer, and spent a long dreary33 evening down on the steamboat quays35 searching everywhere, and searching in vain. The boat by which we had left Colico had gone back to Colico, but the people swore that nothing had been left on board it. It was just possible that such a box might have gone on to Milan with the luggage of other passengers.
I slept at Como, and on the following morning I went on to Milan. There was no trace of the box to be found in that city. I went round to every hotel and travelling office, but could hear nothing of it. Parties had gone to Venice, and Florence, and Bologna, and any of them might have taken the box. No one, however, remembered it; and I returned back to Como, and thence to Bellaggio, reaching the latter place at nine in the evening, disappointed, weary, and cross.
“In the name of the—, no. Has it not turned up here?”
“Monsieur,” said the Boots, “we shall all be mad soon. The poor master, he is mad already.” And then I went up to the house.
“My jewels!” shouted Mrs. Greene, rushing to me with her arms stretched out as soon as she heard my step in the corridor. I am sure that she would have embraced me had I found the box. I had not, however, earned any such reward. “I can hear nothing of the box either at Como or Milan,” I said.
“Then what on earth am I to do for my money?” said Mr. Greene.
I had had neither dinner nor supper, but the elder Greenes did not care for that. Mr. Greene sat silent in despair, and Mrs. Greene stormed about the room in her anger. “I am afraid you are very tired,” said Sophonisba.
“I am tired, and hungry, and thirsty,” said I. I was beginning to get angry, and to think myself ill used. And that idea as to a family of swindlers became strong again. Greene had borrowed ten napoleons from me before I started for Como, and I had spent above four in my fruitless journey to that place and Milan. I was beginning to fear that my whole purpose as to Venice and the Tyrol would be destroyed; and I had promised to meet friends at Innspruck, who,—who were very much preferable to the Greenes. As events turned out, I did meet them. Had I failed in this, the present Mrs. Robinson would not have been sitting opposite to me.
I went to my room and dressed myself, and then Sophonisba presided over the tea-table for me. “What are we to do?” she asked me in a confidential36 whisper.
“Wait for money from England.”
“But they will think we are all sharpers,” she said; “and upon my word I do not wonder at it from the way in which that woman goes on.” She then leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table and her face on her hand, and told me a long history of all their family discomforts37. Her papa was a very good sort of man, only he had been made a fool of by that intriguing38 woman, who had been left without a sixpence with which to bless herself. And now they had nothing but quarrels and misery39. Papa did not always got the worst of it;—papa could rouse himself sometimes; only now he was beaten down and cowed by the loss of his money. This whispering confidence was very nice in its way, seeing that Sophonisba was a pretty girl; but the whole matter seemed to be full of suspicion.
“If they did not want to take you in in one way, they did in another,” said the present Mrs. Robinson, when I told the story to her at Innspruck. I beg that it may be understood that at the time of my meeting the Greenes I was not engaged to the present Mrs. Robinson, and was open to make any matrimonial engagement that might have been pleasing to me.
On the next morning, after breakfast, we held a council of war. I had been informed that Mr. Greene had made a fortune, and was justified40 in presuming him to be a rich man. It seemed to me, therefore, that his course was easy. Let him wait at Bellaggio for more money, and when he returned home, let him buy Mrs. Greene more jewels. A poor man always presumes that a rich man is indifferent about his money. But in truth a rich man never is indifferent about his money, and poor Greene looked very blank at my proposition.
“Do you mean to say that it’s gone for ever?” he asked.
“I’ll not leave the country without knowing more about it,” said Mrs. Greene.
“It certainly is very odd,” said Sophonisba. Even Sophonisba seemed to think that I was too off-hand.
“It will be a month before I can get money, and my bill here will be something tremendous,” said Greene.
“I wouldn’t pay them a farthing till I got my box,” said Mrs. Greene.
“That’s nonsense,” said Sophonisba. And so it was. “Hold your tongue, Miss!” said the step-mother.
“Indeed, I shall not hold my tongue,” said the step-daughter. Poor Greene! He had lost more than his box within the last twelve months; for, as I had learned in that whispered conversation over the tea-table with Sophonisba; this was in reality her papa’s marriage trip.
Another day was now gone, and we all went to bed. Had I not been very foolish I should have had myself called at five in the morning, and have gone away by the early boat, leaving my ten napoleons behind me. But, unfortunately, Sophonisba had exacted a promise from me that I would not do this, and thus all chance of spending a day or two in Venice was lost to me. Moreover, I was thoroughly41 fatigued43, and almost glad of any excuse which would allow me to lie in bed on the following morning. I did lie in bed till nine o’clock, and then found the Greenes at breakfast.
“Let us go and look at the Serbelloni Gardens,” said I, as soon as the silent meal was over; “or take a boat over to the Sommariva Villa44.”
“I should like it so much,” said Sophonisba.
“We will do nothing of the kind till I have found my property,” said Mrs. Greene. “Mr. Robinson, what arrangement did you make yesterday with the police at Como?”
“The police at Como?” I said. “I did not go to the police.”
“Not go to the police? And do you mean to say that I am to be robbed of my jewels and no efforts made for redress45? Is there no such thing as a constable46 in this wretched country? Mr. Greene, I do insist upon it that you at once go to the nearest British consul47.”
“I suppose I had better write home for money,” said he.
“And do you mean to say that you haven’t written yet?” said I, probably with some acrimony in my voice.
“You needn’t scold papa,” said Sophonisba.
“I don’t know what I am to do,” said Mr. Greene, and he began walking up and down the room; but still he did not call for pen and ink, and I began again to feel that he was a swindler. Was it possible that a man of business, who had made his fortune in London, should allow his wife to keep all her jewels in a box, and carry about his own money in the same?
“I don’t see why you need be so very unhappy, papa,” said Sophonisba. “Mr. Robinson, I’m sure, will let you have whatever money you may want at present.” This was pleasant!
“And will Mr. Robinson return me my jewels which were lost, I must say, in a great measure, through his carelessness,” said Mrs. Greene. This was pleasanter!
“Upon my word, Mrs. Greene, I must deny that,” said I, jumping up. “What on earth could I have done more than I did do? I have been to Milan and nearly fagged myself to death.”
“Why didn’t you bring a policeman back with you?”
“You would tell everybody on board the boat what there was in it,” said I.
“I told nobody but you,” she answered.
“I suppose you mean to imply that I’ve taken the box,” I rejoined. So that on this, the third or fourth day of our acquaintance, we did not go on together quite pleasantly.
But what annoyed me, perhaps, the most, was the confidence with which it seemed to be Mr. Greene’s intention to lean upon my resources. He certainly had not written home yet, and had taken my ten napoleons, as one friend may take a few shillings from another when he finds that he has left his own silver on his dressing-table. What could he have wanted of ten napoleons? He had alleged48 the necessity of paying the porters, but the few francs he had had in his pocket would have been enough for that. And now Sophonisba was ever and again prompt in her assurances that he need not annoy himself about money, because I was at his right hand. I went upstairs into my own room, and counting all my treasures, found that thirty-six pounds and some odd silver was the extent of my wealth. With that I had to go, at any rate, as far as Innspruck, and from thence back to London. It was quite impossible that I should make myself responsible for the Greenes’ bill at Bellaggio.
We dined early, and after dinner, according to a promise made in the morning, Sophonisba ascended49 with me into the Serbelloni Gardens, and walked round the terraces on that beautiful hill which commands the view of the three lakes. When we started I confess that I would sooner have gone alone, for I was sick of the Greenes in my very soul. We had had a terrible day. The landlord had been sent for so often, that he refused to show himself again. The landlady—though Italians of that class are always courteous—had been so driven that she snapped her fingers in Mrs. Greene’s face. The three girls would not show themselves. The waiters kept out of the way as much as possible; and the Boots, in confidence, abused them to me behind their back. “Monsieur,” said the Boots, “do you think there ever was such a box?”
“Perhaps not,” said I; and yet I knew that I had seen it.
I would, therefore, have preferred to walk without Sophonisba; but that now was impossible. So I determined50 that I would utilise the occasion by telling her of my present purpose. I had resolved to start on the following day, and it was now necessary to make my friends understand that it was not in my power to extend to them any further pecuniary51 assistance.
Sophonisba, when we were on the hill, seemed to have forgotten the box, and to be willing that I should forget it also. But this was impossible. When, therefore, she told me how sweet it was to escape from that terrible woman, and leaned on my arm with all the freedom of old acquaintance, I was obliged to cut short the pleasure of the moment.
“I hope your father has written that letter,” said I.
“He means to write it from Milan. We know you want to get on, so we purpose to leave here the day after to-morrow.”
“Oh!” said I thinking of the bill immediately, and remembering that Mrs. Greene had insisted on having champagne53 for dinner.
“And if anything more is to be done about the nasty box, it may be done there,” continued Sophonisba.
“But I must go to-morrow,” said I, “at 5 a.m.”
“Nonsense,” said Sophonisba. “Go to-morrow, when I,—I mean we,—are going on the next day!”
“And I might as well explain,” said I, gently dropping the hand that was on my arm, “that I find,—I find it will be impossible for me—to—to—”
“To what?”
“To advance Mr. Greene any more money just at present.” Then Sophonisba’s arm dropped all at once, and she exclaimed, “Oh, Mr. Robinson!”
After all, there was a certain hard good sense about Miss Greene which would have protected her from my evil thoughts had I known all the truth. I found out afterwards that she was a considerable heiress, and, in spite of the opinion expressed by the present Mrs. Robinson when Miss Walker, I do not for a moment think she would have accepted me had I offered to her.
“You are quite right not to embarrass yourself,” she said, when I explained to her my immediate52 circumstances; “but why did you make papa an offer which you cannot perform? He must remain here now till he hears from England. Had you explained it all at first, the ten napoleons would have carried us to Milan.” This was all true, and yet I thought it hard upon me.
It was evident to me now, that Sophonisba was prepared to join her step-mother in thinking that I had ill-treated them, and I had not much doubt that I should find Mr. Greene to be of the same opinion. There was very little more said between us during the walk, and when we reached the hotel at seven or half-past seven o’clock, I merely remarked that I would go in and wish her father and mother good-bye. “I suppose you will drink tea with us,” said Sophonisba, and to this I assented54.
I went into my own room, and put all my things into my portmanteau, for according to the custom, which is invariable in Italy when an early start is premeditated, the Boots was imperative55 in his demand that the luggage should be ready over night. I then went to the Greene’s sitting-room, and found that the whole party was now aware of my intentions.
“So you are going to desert us,” said Mrs. Greene.
“I must go on upon my journey,” I pleaded in a weak apologetic voice.
“Go on upon your journey, sir!” said Mrs. Greene. “I would not for a moment have you put yourself to inconvenience on our account.” And yet I had already lost fourteen napoleons, and given up all prospect56 of going to Venice!
“Mr. Robinson is certainly right not to break his engagement with Miss Walker,” said Sophonisba. Now I had said not a word about an engagement with Miss Walker, having only mentioned incidentally that she would be one of the party at Innspruck. “But,” continued she, “I think he should not have misled us.” And in this way we enjoyed our evening meal.
I was just about to shake hands with them all, previous to my final departure from their presence, when the Boots came into the room.
“I’ll leave the portmanteau till to-morrow morning,” said he.
“All right,” said I.
“Because,” said he, “there will be such a crowd of things in the hall. The big trunk I will take away now.”
“Big trunk,—what big trunk?”
“The trunk with your rug over it, on which your portmanteau stood.”
I looked round at Mr., Mrs., and Miss Greene, and saw that they were all looking at me. I looked round at them, and as their eyes met mine I felt that I turned as red as fire. I immediately jumped up and rushed away to my own room, hearing as I went that all their steps were following me. I rushed to the inner recess, pulled down the portmanteau, which still remained in its old place, tore away my own carpet rug which covered the support beneath it, and there saw—a white canvas-covered box, with a hole in the canvas on the side next to me!
“It is my box,” said Mrs. Greene, pushing me away, as she hurried up and put her finger within the rent.
“It certainly does look like it,” said Mr. Greene, peering over his wife’s shoulder.
“There’s no doubt about the box,” said Sophonisba.
“Not the least in life,” said I, trying to assume an indifferent look.
“Mon Dieu!” said the Boots.
“Corpo di Baccho!” exclaimed the landlord, who had now joined the party.
“Oh—h—h—h—!” screamed Mrs. Greene, and then she threw herself back on to my bed, and shrieked57 hysterically59.
There was no doubt whatsoever60 about the fact. There was the lost box, and there it had been during all those tedious hours of unavailing search. While I was suffering all that fatigue42 in Milan, spending my precious zwanzigers in driving about from one hotel to another, the box had been safe, standing in my own room at Bellaggio, hidden by my own rug. And now that it was found everybody looked at me as though it were all my fault.
Mrs. Greene’s eyes, when she had done being hysterical58, were terrible, and Sophonisba looked at me as though I were a convicted thief.
“Who put the box here?” I said, turning fiercely upon the Boots.
“I did,” said the Boots, “by Monsieur’s express order.”
“By my order?” I exclaimed.
“Certainly,” said the Boots.
“Corpo di Baccho!” said the landlord, and he also looked at me as though I were a thief. In the mean time the landlady and the three daughters had clustered round Mrs. Greene, administering to her all manner of Italian consolation61. The box, and the money, and the jewels were after all a reality; and much incivility can be forgiven to a lady who has really lost her jewels, and has really found them again.
There and then there arose a hurly-burly among us as to the manner in which the odious trunk found its way into my room. Had anybody been just enough to consider the matter coolly, it must have been quite clear that I could not have ordered it there. When I entered the hotel, the boxes were already being lugged62 about, and I had spoken a word to no one concerning them. That traitorous63 Boots had done it,—no doubt without malice64 prepense; but he had done it; and now that the Greenes were once more known as moneyed people, he turned upon me, and told me to my face, that I had desired that box to be taken to my own room as part of my own luggage!
“My dear,” said Mr. Greene, turning to his wife, “you should never mention the contents of your luggage to any one.”
“One never can be sure of sharpers,” said Mr. Greene.
“That’s true,” said Mrs. Greene.
“After all, it may have been accidental,” said Sophonisba, on hearing which good-natured surmise66 both papa and mamma Greene shook their suspicious heads.
I was resolved to say nothing then. It was all but impossible that they should really think that I had intended to steal their box; nor, if they did think so, would it have become me to vindicate67 myself before the landlord and all his servants. I stood by therefore in silence, while two of the men raised the trunk, and joined the procession which followed it as it was carried out of my room into that of the legitimate68 owner. Everybody in the house was there by that time, and Mrs. Greene, enjoying the triumph, by no means grudged69 them the entrance into her sitting-room. She had felt that she was suspected, and now she was determined that the world of Bellaggio should know how much she was above suspicion. The box was put down upon two chairs, the supporters who had borne it retiring a pace each. Mrs. Greene then advanced proudly with the selected key, and Mr. Greene stood by at her right shoulder, ready to receive his portion of the hidden treasure. Sophonisba was now indifferent, and threw herself on the sofa, while I walked up and down the room thoughtfully,—meditating what words I should say when I took my last farewell of the Greenes. But as I walked I could see what occurred. Mrs. Greene opened the box, and displayed to view the ample folds of a huge yellow woollen dressing-down. I could fancy that she would not willingly have exhibited this article of her toilet, had she not felt that its existence would speedily be merged70 in the presence of the glories which were to follow. This had merely been the padding at the top of the box. Under that lay a long papier-maché case, and in that were all her treasures. “Ah, they are safe,” she said, opening the lid and looking upon her tawdry pearls and carbuncles.
Mr. Greene, in the mean time, well knowing the passage for his hand, had dived down to the very bottom of the box, and seized hold of a small canvas bag. “It is here,” said he, dragging it up, “and as far as I can tell, as yet, the knot has not been untied71.” Whereupon he sat himself down by Sophonisba, and employing her to assist him in holding them, began to count his rolls. “They are all right,” said he; and he wiped the perspiration72 from his brow.
I had not yet made up my mind in what manner I might best utter my last words among them so as to maintain the dignity of my character, and now I was standing over against Mr. Greene with my arms folded on my breast. I had on my face a frown of displeasure, which I am able to assume upon occasions, but I had not yet determined what words I would use. After all, perhaps, it might be as well that I should leave them without any last words.
“Greene, my dear,” said the lady, “pay the gentleman his ten napoleons.”
“Oh yes, certainly;” whereupon Mr. Greene undid73 one of the rolls and extracted eight sovereigns. “I believe that will make it right, sir,” said he, handing them to me.
I took the gold, slipped it with an indifferent air into my waistcoat pocket, and then refolded my arms across my breast.
“Papa,” said Sophonisba, in a very audible whisper, “Mr. Robinson went for you to Como. Indeed, I believe he says he went to Milan.”
“Do not let that be mentioned,” said I.
“By all means pay him his expenses,” said Mrs. Greene; “I would not owe him anything for worlds.”
“He should be paid,” said Sophonisba.
“Oh, certainly,” said Mr. Greene. And he at once extracted another sovereign, and tendered it to me in the face of the assembled multitude.
This was too much! “Mr. Greene,” said I, “I intended to be of service to you when I went to Milan, and you are very welcome to the benefit of my intentions. The expense of that journey, whatever may be its amount, is my own affair.” And I remained standing with my closed arms.
“We will be under no obligation to him,” said Mrs. Greene; “and I shall insist on his taking the money.”
“The servant will put it on his dressing-table,” said Sophonisba. And she handed the sovereign to the Boots, giving him instructions.
“Keep it yourself, Antonio,” I said. Whereupon the man chucked it to the ceiling with his thumb, caught it as it fell, and with a well-satisfied air, dropped it into the recesses74 of his pocket. The air of the Greenes was also well satisfied, for they felt that they had paid me in full for all my services.
And now, with many obsequious75 bows and assurances of deep respect, the landlord and his family withdrew from the room. “Was there anything else they could do for Mrs. Greene?” Mrs. Greene was all affability. She had shown her jewels to the girls, and allowed them to express their admiration76 in pretty Italian superlatives. There was nothing else she wanted to-night. She was very happy and liked Bellaggio. She would stay yet a week, and would make herself quite happy. And, though none of them understood a word that the other said, each understood that things were now rose-coloured, and so with scrapings, bows, and grinning smiles, the landlord and all his myrmidons withdrew. Mr. Greene was still counting his money, sovereign by sovereign, and I was still standing with my folded arms upon my bosom77.
“I believe I may now go,” said I.
“Good night,” said Mrs. Greene.
“Adieu,” said Sophonisba.
“I have the pleasure of wishing you good-bye,” said Mr. Greene.
And then I walked out of the room. After all, what was the use of saying anything? And what could I say that would have done me any service? If they were capable of thinking me a thief,—which they certainly did,—nothing that I could say would remove the impression. Nor, as I thought, was it suitable that I should defend myself from such an imputation78. What were the Greenes to me? So I walked slowly out of the room, and never again saw one of the family from that day to this.
As I stood upon the beach the next morning, while my portmanteau was being handed into the boat, I gave the Boots five zwanzigers. I was determined to show him that I did not condescend79 to feel anger against him.
He took the money, looked into my face, and then whispered to me, “Why did you not give me a word of notice beforehand?” he said, and winked80 his eye. He was evidently a thief, and took me to be another;—but what did it matter?
I went thence to Milan, in which city I had no heart to look at anything; thence to Verona, and so over the pass of the Brenner to Innspruck. When I once found myself near to my dear friends the Walkers I was again a happy man; and I may safely declare that, though a portion of my journey was so troublesome and unfortunate, I look back upon that tour as the happiest and the luckiest epoch81 of my life.
The End
The End
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uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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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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sufficiently
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ascertain
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intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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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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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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depredations
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| n.劫掠，毁坏( depredation的名词复数 ) | |
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intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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concoct
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| v.调合，制造 | |
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purloined
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| v.偷窃( purloin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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purloins
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| v.偷窃( purloin的第三人称单数 ) | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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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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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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anathemas
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| n.（天主教的）革出教门( anathema的名词复数 )；诅咒；令人极其讨厌的事；被基督教诅咒的人或事 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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quays
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| 码头( quay的名词复数 ) | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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intriguing
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| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
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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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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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redress
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| n.赔偿，救济，矫正；v.纠正，匡正，革除 | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend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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pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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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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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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lugged
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| vt.用力拖拉（lug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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traitorous
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| adj. 叛国的, 不忠的, 背信弃义的 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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repentant
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| adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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67
vindicate
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| v.为…辩护或辩解，辩明；证明…正确 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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grudged
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| 怀恨（grudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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72
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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73
Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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74
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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75
obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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76
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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77
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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78
imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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79
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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80
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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