As Harriet asked him this question, she unconsciously assumed her former manner. Something told her that the cause of Routh's conduct, and of the distress2 of mind which she read in his face, was not connected with the subject that was torturing her. Anything apart from that, any misfortune, any calamity3 even, might draw them together again; might teach him anew his need of her, her worth to him--she felt some alarm, but it was strangely mingled4 with satisfaction. The sharp agony she had endured had impaired5 her faculties6 so far, had dulled her clear understanding so far, that the proportions of the dangers in her path had changed places, and the first and greatest danger was this stranger--this beautiful, dreadful woman. In that direction was the terrible impotence, the helpless horror of weakness, which is the worst attribute of human suffering; in every other, there was the power to exercise her faculties, to rally her presence of mind, to call on her fertility of resource, to act for and with him. With him at her side, and in his cause, Harriet was consciously strong; out from a trouble in which he should be arrayed against her, in which he should be her enemy, she shrank, like a leaf from the shrivelling touch of fire.
She was standing7 by his side as she asked him the question, in the familiar attitude which she had discarded of late. Her composed figure and pale calm face, the small firm white hand, which touched his shoulder with the steady touch he knew so well, the piercing clear blue eyes, all had the old promise in them, of help that had never failed, of counsel that had never misled. He thought of all these things, he felt all these things, but he no longer thought of, or remembered, or looked for the love which had been their motive9 and their life. He sat moodily10, his face pale and frowning, one clenched11 hand upon his knee, the other restlessly drumming upon the table; his eyes were turned away from her, and for some time after she had spoken he kept a sullen13 silence.
"Tell me, Stewart," she repeated, in a softer voice, while the hand that touched his shoulder moved gently to his neck and clasped it. "I know there is something wrong, very wrong. Tell me what it is."
He turned and looked full at her.
"Do you remember what you said, Harriet, when that letter came from Poynings--what you said about the hydra14 and its heads?"
"I remember," she answered. Her pale cheek grew paler; but she drew nearer to his side, and her fingers clasped his neck more closely and more tenderly. "I remember. Another head has sprung up, and is menacing you."
"Yes," he said, half fiercely, half wearily. "This cursed thing is never to be escaped nor forgotten. I believe. I can hardly tell you what has happened, Harry15, and even you will hardly see your way out of this."
A touch of feeling for her was in his voice. He really did suffer in the anticipation16 of the shock she would have to sustain.
"Tell me--tell me," she repeated, faintly, and with a quick involuntary closing of her eyes, which would have told a close observer of constant suffering and apprehension17.
"Sit down, Harry." He rose as he spoke12, placed her in his chair, and stood before her, holding both her hands in his.
"I have found out that the man we knew as Philip Deane was--was Arthur Felton, George Dallas's cousin, the man they are inquiring about, whom they are expecting here."
She did not utter a cry, a groan18, or any sort of sound. She shrank into the chair she was sitting in, as if she cowered19 for life in a hiding-place, her outstretched hands turned cold and clammy in her husband's grasp. Into her widely opened blue eyes a look of unspeakable horror came, and the paleness of her cheeks turned to ashen20 gray. Stewart Routh, still standing before her holding her hands, looked at her as the ghastly change came over her face, telling--what words could never tell--of the anguish21 she was suffering, and thought for a moment that she was dying before his face. The breath came from her lips in heavy gasps22, and her low white brow was damp with cold sluggish23 drops.
"Harriet," said Routh--"Harriet, don't give way like this. It's awful--it's worse than anything I ever thought of, or feared. But don't give way like this."
"I am not giving way," she said. Drawing her hands from his hold, she raised them to her head, and held them pressed to her temples while she spoke. "I will not give way. Trust me, as you have done before. This, then, is what I have felt coming nearer and nearer, like a danger in the dark--this--this dreadful truth. It is better known than vague. Tell me how you have discovered it."
He began to walk up and down the room, and she still sat cowering24 in her chair, her hands pressing her temples, her eyes, with their horror-stricken looks, following him.
"I discovered it by an extraordinary accident. I have not seen much of Dallas, as you know, and I know nothing in particular about Mr. Felton and his son. But there is a lady here--an American widow--who knows Felton well."
"Yes," said Harriet, with distinctness; and now she sat upright in her chair, and her low white brow was knitted over her horror-stricken eyes. "Yes, I have seen her."
"Have you indeed? Ah! well, then, you know who I mean. She and he were great friends--lovers, I fancy," Routh went on, with painful effort; "and when they parted in Paris, it was with an understanding that they were to meet here just about this time. She met George Dallas, and told him, not that, but something which made him understand that information was to be had from her, and she has appointed an interview with Mr. Felton for to-morrow."
"Yes," repeated Harriet, "I understand. When she and he meet, she will tell him his son is coming here. His son will not come. How did you discover what you have discovered?"
He took out of his pocket a large locket like a golden egg, and opened it by touching25 a spring. It opened lengthwise, and held it towards Harriet. She looked at one of the photographs which it enclosed, and then, pushing it from her, covered her face with her hands.
"She showed me that yesterday," Routh continued, his throat drier, his voice more hesitating with every word he spoke, "when she told me she was expecting him--and I contrived26 to secure it."
"Don't you see, Harriet," he said, earnestly, "that it is quite plain Dallas has never seen a likeness28 of his cousin, or he must have recognized the face? Evidently Mr. Felton has not one with him. Dallas might not have seen this; but then, on the other hand, he might; and to prevent his seeing it, even for a few hours, until we had time to talk it over, to gain ever so little time, was a great object."
"You took a strange way of gaining time, Stewart," said Harriet. "Had you come home last night in a state to tell me the truth, time would really have been gained. We might have got away this morning."
"Got away!" said Routh. "What do you mean? What good could that do?"
"Can you seriously ask me?" she returned. "Does any other course suggest itself to you?"
"I don't know, Harry. I am bewildered. The shock was so great that the only thing I could think of was to try and forget it for a little. I don't know that I ever in my life deliberately29 drank for the purpose of confusing my thoughts, or postponing30 them, before; but I could not help it, Harry. The discovery was so far from any apprehension or fancy I had ever had."
"The time was, Stewart," said Harriet, slowly and with meaning, "when, instead of 'confusing' or 'postponing' any trouble, dread8, or difficulty, you would have brought any or all of them to me at once; unhappily for us both, I think that time is past."
He glanced at her sharply and uneasily, and an angry flush passed over his face.
"What cursed folly31 have you got in your head? Is it not enough that this fresh danger has come down upon me--"
"Upon us, you mean," she interrupted, calmly.
"Well, upon us, then--but you must get up an injured air, and go on with I don't know what folly? Have done with it; this is no time for womanish nonsense--"
"There is so much womanish nonsense about me! There is such reasonableness in your reproach!"
Again he looked angrily at her, as he walked up and down the room with a quicker step. He was uneasy, amazed at the turn she had taken, at the straying of her attention from the tremendous fact he had revealed; but, above and beyond all this, he was afraid of her.
He shrugged32 his shoulders impatiently, and said, "Let it drop, let it drop; let me be as unreasonable33 as you like, and blame me as much as you please, but be truer to yourself, Harriet, to your own helpful nature, than to yield to such fancies now. This is no time for them. We must look things in the face, and act."
"It is not I, but you, who refuse to look things in the face, Stewart. This woman, whom I do not know, who has not sought my acquaintance, whose name you have not once mentioned before me, but who makes you the confidant of her flirtations and her appointments--she is young and beautiful, is she not?"
"What the devil does it matter whether she is or not?" said Routh, fiercely. "I think you are bent34 on driving me mad. What has come to you? I don't know you in this new character. I tell you, this woman--"
"Mrs. Bembridge," said Harriet, calmly.
"Mrs. Bembridge, then, has been the means of my making a discovery which is of tremendous importance, and thus she has unconsciously saved me from an awful danger.
"By preventing George Dallas from finding out this fact for a little longer?"
"Precisely35 so. Now I hope you have come to yourself, Harriet, and will talk rationally about this."
"I will," she said, rising from her chair and approaching him. She placed her hands upon his shoulders, and looked at him with a steady, searching look. "We will talk this out, Stewart, and I will not shrink from anything there is to be said about it; but you must hear me then, in my turn. We are not like other people, Stewart, and our life is not like theirs. Only ruin can come of any discord36 or disunion between us."
Then she quietly turned away and sat down by the window, with her head a little averted37 from him, waiting for him to speak. Her voice had been low and thrilling as she said those few words, without a tone of anger in it, and yet the callous38 man to whom they were addressed heard in them something which sounded like the warning or the menace of doom39.
"When Dallas knows what we now know, Harriet," said Routh, "he will come to us and tell us his discovery, and then the position of affairs will be that for which we were prepared, if we had not succeeded in inducing him to be silent about Deane's identity."
"Exactly so," said Harriet; "with the additional difficulty of his having concealed40 his knowledge."
"Yes," said Routh; "but that is his affair, not ours. He concealed his knowledge because he was compromised. There is nothing to compromise me. I neglected a public duty, certainly, in favour of a private friendship; but that is a venial42 offence."
It was wonderful to see how the callousness43 of the man asserted itself. As he arranged the circumstances, and stated them, he began to regain44 his accustomed ease of manner.
"It is unfortunate that he should be compromised in this double way, and, of course, there will be a great deal to go through, which will be hard to bear, and not easy to manage; but, after all, the thing is only as bad as it was when Dallas came back. Don't you see that, Harriet?"
"I see that, Stewart, but I also see that he will now have a tenfold interest in finding out the truth. Hitherto he might have been content with clearing himself of suspicion, but now he will be the one person most deeply interested in discovering the truth."
"But how can he discover it?" said Routh: his face darkened, and he dropped his voice still lower. "Harriet, have you forgotten that if there be danger from him, there is also the means of turning that danger on himself? Have you forgotten that I can direct suspicion against him tenfold stronger than any that can arise against me?"
She shivered, and closed her eyes again. "No, I have not forgotten," she said; "but oh, Stewart, it is an awful thing to contemplate--a horrible expedient45."
"Yet you arranged it with a good deal of composure, and said very little about its being horrible at the time," said Routh, coarsely. "I hope you are not going to be afflicted46 with misplaced and ill-timed scruples47 now. It's rather late in the day, you know, and you'll have to choose, in that case, between Dallas and me."
She made him no answer.
"The thing is just this," he continued: "Dallas cannot come to any serious grief, I am convinced; but, if the occasion arises, he must be let come to whatever grief there may be--a trial and an acquittal at the worst. The tailor's death, and his mother's recovery, will tell in his favour, though I've no doubt he will supply all the information Evans would have given, of his own accord. I think there is no real risk; but, Harriet, much, very much, depends on you."
"On me, Stewart! How?"
"In this way. When Dallas comes to see you, you must find out whether any other clue to the truth exists; if not, there is time before us. You must keep up the best relations with him, and find out all he is doing. Is it not very odd that he has not mentioned his uncle's solicitude48 about his son to you?"
"I don't think so, Stewart. I feel instinctively49 that Mr. Felton dislikes and distrusts us (what well-founded dislike and distrust it was!" she thought, mournfully, with a faint pity for the unconscious father)--"and George knows it, I am sure, and will not talk to me about his uncle's affairs. He is right there; there is delicacy50 of feeling in George Dallas."
"There are not many to understand," replied Harriet, simply. "The good and the evil in him are easily found, being superficial. However, we are not talking of his character, but of certain irreparable harm which we must do him, it seems, in addition to that which we have done. Go on with what you were saying."
"I was saying that you must find out what you can, and win his confidence in every way. I shall keep as clear of him as possible, under any circumstances. If the interview of to-morrow goes off without any discovery, there will be a chance of its not being made at all."
"Impossible, Stewart--quite impossible," said Harriet, earnestly. "Do not nourish any such expectation. How long, do you suppose, will Mr. Felton remain content with expecting his son's arrival, and hearing no news of him? How soon will he set inquiries52 on foot which must end in discovery? Remember, hiding is possible only when there is no one seeking urged by a strong motive to find. Listen to me, now, in your turn, and listen to me as you used to do, not to cavil53 at my words, or sneer at them, but to weigh them well. This is a warning to us, Stewart. I don't talk superstition54, as you know. I don't believe any nonsense of the kind; but this I do believe, because experience teaches it, that there are combinations of circumstances in which the wise may read signs and tokens which do not mislead. Here is just such a case. The first misfortune was George's return; it was confirmed by his uncle's arrival; it is capped by this terrible discovery. Stewart, let us be warned and wise in time; let us return to England at once--to-morrow. I suppose you will have the means of learning the tenor55 of Mr. Felton's interview with this lady who knew his son so well. If no discovery be then made, let us take it as another indication of luck, circumstance, what you will, and go."
"What for?" said Routh, in amazement56. "Are you returning to that notion, when all I have said is to show you that you must not lose sight of Dallas?"
"I know," she said--"I know; but you are altogether wrong. George Dallas must make the discovery some time, and must bear the brunt of the suspicion. I don't speak in his interests, but in yours--in mine. Let it come when it may, but let us be away out of it all. We have money now, Stewart--at least, we are not so poor but that we may make our way in another country--that we may begin another life. Have I ever talked idly, Stewart, or given you evil counsel? No, surely not. In all the years for which you have been all the world to me, I have never spoken vainly; let me not speak vainly now. I might implore57, I might entreat," she went on, her eyes now bright with eagerness and her hands clasped. "I might plead a woman's weakness and natural terror; I might tell you I am not able for the task you dictate58 to me; but I tell you none of these things. I am able to do and to suffer anything, everything, that may or must be done, or suffered for you. I don't even speak of what I have suffered; but I say to you, be guided by me in this--yield to me in this. There is a weak spot in our stronghold; there is a flaw in our armour59. I know it. I cannot tell, I cannot guess where it is. An instinct tells me that ruin is threatening us, and this is our way of escape. Oh, my husband, listen to me!"
He was standing opposite to her, leaning against an angle of the wall, mingled fury and amazement in his face, but he did not interrupt her by a word or a sign.
"There is no power in me," she went on, "to tell you the strength of my conviction that this is the turning-point in our fate. Let us take the money we have, and go. Why should you stay in England, Stewart, more than in any other country? We have no ties but one another." She looked at him more sharply here, through all her earnestness. "Friendships and the obligations they bring are not for us. The world has no home bonds for us, Where money is to be made you can live, in such content as you can ever have; and where you are I am as content as I can ever be."
"You are a cheerful counsellor," Routh broke out, in uncontrollable passion. "Do you think I am mad, woman, when I have played so desperate a game, and am winning it so fast, that I should throw up my cards now? Let me hear no more of this. Come to your senses, if you can, and as soon as you can, for I will not stand this sort of thing, I can tell you. I will not leave this place an hour sooner than I intended to leave it. And as to leaving England, if the worst came to pass that could happen, I should hardly be driven to that extremity60. What devil is in you, Harriet, to prompt you to exasperate61, me, when I looked to you for help?"
"What devil is in you," she answered him, rising as she spoke, "that is prompting you to your ruin? What devil, do I say? Words, mere62 words. What do I know or believe of God, or devil, or any ruling power but the wicked will of men and women, to waylay63, and torture, and destroy? The devil of blindness is in you, the devil of wilfulness64, the devil of falsehood and ingratitude65; and a blacker devil still, I tell you. See that it does not rend66 you, as I read in the old book--for ever closed for me."
Her breast was heaving violently, and her eyes were unnaturally67 bright, but there was not a ray of colour in her face, and her voice was rapid and unfaltering in its utterance68. Routh looked at her, and hated her. Hated her, and feared her, and uttered never a word.
"The madness that goes before destruction is coming fast upon you," she said; "I see it none the more clearly because that destruction must involve me too. Let it come; I am ready for it, as I have been ready for any evil for a long time now. You speak idle words to me when you reproach me, Stewart. I am above and beyond reproach from you. I am as wicked a woman, if the definition of good and evil be true, as ever lived upon this earth; but I have been, and am, to you what no good woman could be--and look to it, if you requite69 me ill. I don't threaten you in saying this--no threats can come from me, nor would any avail--but in your treachery to me, its own punishment will be hidden, ready to spring out upon and destroy you. Scorn my influence, slight my counsel, turn a deaf ear to the words that are inspired by love such as only a wretch70 like me, with no hope or faith at all in Heaven, and only this hope and faith on Earth, can feel--and see the end."
He stepped forward and was going to speak, but she put out her hand and stopped him.
"Not now. Don't say anything to me, don't ask me anything now. Don't speak words that I must be doomed71 for ever to remember--for ever to long to forget. Have so much mercy on me, for the sake of the past and for the sake of the present. Ruin is impending72 over us; if you will, you may escape it; but there is only one way."
Left him in a most unenviable state of bewilderment, rage, and confusion. The emotion which had overpowered him when he had made the discovery of yesterday was almost forgotten in the astonishment74 with which Harriet's words had filled him. An uneasy sense, which was not anything so wholesome75 as shame, was over him. What did she know of his late proceedings76? Had she watched him? Had any of the gossiping tongues of the place carried the tidings of the beautiful American's openly paraded conquest? No, that could hardly be, for Harriet knew no one at Homburg but George, and George knew nothing about him. Was he not always with either his mother, or his uncle, or with Harriet herself? Besides, George would not say anything to Harriet that could hurt her. The fellow was a fool and soft-hearted, his quondam friend thought, with much satisfaction. He must set it right with Harriet, however; under any circumstances he must not quarrel with her; in this fresh complication particularly. It could only be a general notion that she had taken, and he must endeavour to remove it; for though he was horribly weary of her, though he hated her at that moment, and felt that he should very likely continue to hate her, even at that moment, and while resolved to disregard her advice, and utterly77 unmoved by her appeal, he knew he could not afford to lose her aid.
If the beautiful American could have seen the visions of probabilities or possibilities in which she was concerned, that floated through Stewart Routh's mind as he stood gazing out of the window when his wife had left him, she might, perhaps, have felt rather uneasy at the revelation. Mrs. Ireton P. Bembridge was not an adept78 at reading character, and sometimes, when a disagreeable impression that her new admirer was a man of stronger will and tougher material than she altogether liked to deal with, crossed her mind, she would dismiss it with the reflection that such earnestness was very flattering and very exciting for a time, and the duration of that time was entirely79 within her choice and discretion80.
Stewart Routh stood at the window thinking hurriedly and confusedly of these things. There was a strange fear over him, with all his assurance, with all the security which he affirmed over and over again to himself, and backed up with a resolution which he had determined81 from the first to conceal41 from Harriet.
"If my own safety positively82 demands it," he thought, "Jim's evidence about the note will be useful, and the payment to the landlady83 will be tolerably conclusive84. Dallas told Harriet the initials were A.F. I wonder it never occurred to me at the time."
Presently he heard Harriet's step in the corridor. It paused for a moment at the sitting-room85, then passed on, and she went out. She was closely veiled, and did not turn her head towards the window as she went by. Routh drew nearer and watched her, as she walked swiftly away. Then he caught sight of George Dallas approaching the house. He and Harriet met and shook hands, then George turned and walked beside her. They were soon out of sight.
"I don't think I shall see much more of Homburg," George was saying. "My mother has taken an extraordinary longing86 to get back to Poynings. Dr. Merle says she must not be opposed in anything not really injurious. She is very anxious I should go with her, and Mr. Carruthers is very kind about it."
"You will go, George, of course?"
"I don't quite know what to do, Mrs. Routh. I don't like to let my mother go without me, now that things are so well squared; I don't like to persuade her to put off her journey, and yet I feel I ought, if possible, to remain with my uncle until his truant87 son turns up."
"Has--has nothing been heard of him yet?"
"Not a word. I was awfully88 frightened about it, though I hid it from my uncle, until I met Mrs. Ireton P. &c. But though she didn't say much, I could see by her manner it was all right. Bless you, she knows all about him, Mrs. Routh. I dare say he'll appear next week, and be very little obliged to us all for providing a family party for him here."
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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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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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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faculties
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standing
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dread
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motive
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moodily
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clenched
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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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sullen
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hydra
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harry
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anticipation
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apprehension
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groan
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cowered
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gasps
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sluggish
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cowering
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touching
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contrived
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hoarsely
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likeness
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deliberately
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postponing
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folly
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shrugged
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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venial
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| adj.可宽恕的；轻微的 | |
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43
callousness
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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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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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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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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cavil
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| v.挑毛病，吹毛求疵 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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exasperate
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| v.激怒，使（疾病）加剧，使恶化 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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waylay
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| v.埋伏，伏击 | |
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wilfulness
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| 任性；倔强 | |
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ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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rend
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| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
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unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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requite
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| v.报酬，报答 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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truant
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| n.懒惰鬼，旷课者；adj.偷懒的，旷课的，游荡的；v.偷懒，旷课 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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