His wife’s eyes were hollow and glazed13 from want of sleep; she stood in her Sunday gown and white cap, receiving condolences without a tear, and with the invariable reply, “Sure it couldn’t be helped.”
She hardly knew whether it were night or day, or how often the evening light in the doorway14 had turned to blackness, and the blackness quickened to cold blue-grey dawn since they had pulled the feather-bed from under her husband in order that he might, in accordance with ancient custom, breathe his last on the mattress15. Her two married daughters dispensed16 the whisky and the punch at a table near the door; in the bed-room behind the kitchen the more honourable17 visitors sat with their hats on, and became sapiently18 and solemnly tipsy.{19} The room was set out for company; a brand new counterpane covered the mountainous bed, a naked mahogany table stood in the centre, bearing a black bottle, a loaf of bread, and a two-pound lump of butter on a plate. A dazzling three-and-sixpenny hearthrug was placed on the earthen floor in front of a fire-place without a grate.
“I had not the pleasure of the—the—the dead gentleman’s acquaintance,” said one of the visitors, a stout19 and greasy20 public-house keeper, who had driven over to the entertainment with a mutual21 friend, from a town twelve miles away. “But I undherstand he was greatly respected in this neighbourhood, and all his family the same.”
The eyes of the speaker were of a moist redness befitting the occasion; his voice had a husky roll in it, and the raw and tepid22 reek23 of bad whisky accompanied the eulogy24.
“As for respect,” rejoined the mutual friend, addressing the hearthrug with slow determination, “he had it, the Lord have{20} mercy on him, and more than he’d ax of it. Ye needn’t be talking of respect.”
Several of the party remarked, “that’s thrue,” and the publican felt that he had said the right thing. Danny Quin’s son here rose and went round the circle with the bottle. The attention was accepted with protests, or with groans25 that betokened26 indifference27 to all earthly affairs. Young Quin sat down again. He was not drunk, but he had been drinking and crying on and off for three days and nights, and his big limbs felt tremulous and his brain hot.
“A nice, dacent little man as ever was in the barony,” said an old woman glibly28; “the Lord have mercy on him, ’tis he got the death very sudden”—she crossed herself—“and very quare, the Lord save us.”
“I undherstand,” said the publican, conscious of leading the conversation with ability, “that he sustained fatal injuries from a fall.”
“Arrah, what fatal injuries!” returned the old woman with scorn; “no, but to{21} break his neck was what he done. Didn’t he walk out over the brink29 o’ the big sandpit in Cashel the same as one that wouldn’t have the sighth, an’ he a fine soople man no more than seventy years? ’Twas like a reelin’ in the head the crayture got.”
The tone was that of cautious supposition, and it was easy to discern the desire of contradiction.
“’Twas no reeling,” said Tom Quin, suddenly addressing the company in a loud voice. “I know well what was on him, and so do thim that was lookin’ at him. ’Twas a start he took, the same as if he seen somethin’ followin’ him. And I hope in God I’ll be dead to-morrow if it isn’t thrue what I’m sayin’, that if he didn’t put his hand to the Park-na-Moddhera to sell it he’d be dhrinkin’ his glass in the fair of Letter Kyle this day.”
His auditors30 exclaimed, groaned31, and crossed themselves. All present, except the publican, knew every detail connected with Danny Quin’s death, but they knew{22} even better what was due to the dramatic moments in a story.
There was a stir in the kitchen outside, and Quin’s youngest daughter pushed her way into the room, crying and clapping her hands.
“The priest is come—they’re closin’ the coffin32 on him—oh, dada, dada!” she wailed33, and flung herself half-across the table without an effort at self-control.
The women proffered34 consolation35, and raised her red head from where it lay beside the butter. Swaying and lolling, she was propped36 against their shoulders, with the light full on her convulsed face, and the whole party crushed forth into the kitchen. There was some delay, while a plate, with a heap of silver upon it, was taken from a table outside the door of the house and handed over to the priest, and many faces peered in a circle round the counting of the money. There was more than eight pounds, subscribed37 in silver and two half-sovereigns by the visitors to the funeral, as payment{23} to the priest for masses for the soul of the deceased. It is an institution known as “the altar,” and happily combines a politeness to the dead man and his family, with a keen sense of the return that will be made in kind when it becomes the donor’s turn to have a funeral. The sight of the gold was balm to the dazed spirit of the Widow Quin.
“Thank God, they showed that much respect for him,” she said, as congratulations were passed round. “’Twas a great althar.”
A windy sunset of January was set forth that afternoon in cold orange and green behind the bogs38 near Tully Lake. The new railway line ran across them, away in the north-west, and the rails gleamed along a track that seemed to end against the breast of the evening sky. Coming from the east, the line emerged from a cutting in a wooded hill, where blocks of stone, overturned trucks, and stumps39 of trees with twisted, agonized40 roots, littered the yellow sand. The wood ran to the lips of the cutting on either side, and the strong fir-trees on the{24} height could look down the tawny41 slants42 upon their fallen comrades.
Standing43 below, the jaws44 of the ugly cleft45 let in the winter sunset and the twin glitter of the rails, while above, the fir-trees strove against the evening wind. It was worth remaining still to look at, in spite of the cold, and Mr. Wilfrid Glasgow, with two long account-books under his arm, and the peak of his cap over his eyes, stood for at least a minute surveying alternately his own handiwork and that of his Creator. He felt a proper admiration46 for both; impartially47 he perhaps thought that his own was more deserving of credit. At length, turning his back upon the sunset, he walked along the line to where a road crossed it. As he climbed some bars and swung himself down into the road it could be seen that he was active, with the skilled and wary48 activity of forty. He was tall and slight; when his hat was on, his fair thin moustache and light figure made short-sighted people place him in the early thirties.{25}
Voices and footsteps were on the road, and groups of people straggled towards him in the twilight49. They were the remnant of Danny Quin’s funeral cortége, and even at a distance of a hundred yards the blatant50 drawl of drunkenness was discernible in their conversation. He passed quickly through them, and walked fast till he was clear of the reek of whisky, tobacco, and stale turf smoke that followed them.
“What swine they are,” he thought, drawing a long breath. He was walking in a bend of the road where trees stood up on either side, and in the shelter the twilight seemed to fall as heavily as dew. A cold, sharp moon came forlornly from behind a wisp of cloud; the road glistened51 pallidly52 in its light, and he saw a tall man walking unsteadily towards him.
“Good-evening, Quin,” said Mr. Glasgow, recognizing as he neared him the young man’s white face and dark beard; “I was sorry to hear of your trouble. Only four days ago I was talking to your father, and I{26} was very much shocked to hear how sudden his death was.”
Quin stood still in the middle of the road, with his soft black hat pulled over his brows. He breathed hard, and Glasgow thought he was going to cry. Instead of doing so, however, Quin caught him by the arm.
“How dar’ ye bring up me father’s name to me?” he said, in a loud voice. “If it wasn’t for you and yer railway the stones wouldn’t be over his head this night!”
Glasgow shook his hand off.
“Go home, Quin, go home,” he said, not unkindly. “I’ll talk to you to-morrow.”
“What do I want o’ yer talk when ye have the bad luck dhrew down on us! God knows ye talked enough to me father, blasht ye!” Quin here unloosed his terrified angry soul by the simple channel of bad language. “I’ll have satisfaction out o’ ye, ye English hound,” he raved53 on, seeing that Glasgow was turning impassively away. “You that laughed when I axed ye to let me father out o’ the bargain! Well I knew that there was{27} none of us’d do a day’s good afther it——” he faltered54 and sobbed55.
Glasgow knew enough of the man to take him quietly. He looked at him as he stood in the moonlight with the tears running down his hairy cheeks, and walked away. He had not gone far when the imperative56 sting of a bicycle bell made him move to one side with the resentment57 inevitably58 roused in the pedestrian by that sound. Looking back he saw Lady Susan French skimming past Tom Quin; a wheeled apparition59 that must have been as startling to him as an Apocalyptic60 vision. Glasgow had dined at French’s Court the night before, and, as he took off his cap, Lady Susan recognized him.
“How-de-do?” she called out, and jumped off, “I must take things easy and give my husband a chance. He was pounded by that awful hill outside Letter Kyle. Would you lead my bike? Thanks, awfully61.”
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1
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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garish
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| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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teller
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| n.银行出纳员；(选举)计票员 | |
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repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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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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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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13
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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sapiently
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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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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tepid
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| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
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reek
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| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
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eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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glibly
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| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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auditors
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| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
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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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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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38
bogs
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| n.沼泽，泥塘( bog的名词复数 )；厕所v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的第三人称单数 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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40
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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slants
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| （使）倾斜，歪斜( slant的第三人称单数 )； 有倾向性地编写或报道 | |
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43
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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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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impartially
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| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
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48
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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50
blatant
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| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
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51
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pallidly
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| adv.无光泽地，苍白无血色地 | |
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raved
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| v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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54
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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55
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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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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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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apocalyptic
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| adj.预示灾祸的，启示的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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