“And we’ve the advantage of hearing at one end of the house everything that passes at the other,” said Vincent;—“while I was dressing I did not lose a note of the song that Martha was singing in the kitchen. I think that there was an earthquake last night, or else I dreamed that I felt one.”
“It was a train passing,” said Clemence; “it was too dark yesterday when we arrived for us to notice how close to our house the line runs.”
“So half-a-dozen times a day we’ll have the earthquake of Lisbon, without paying our shilling—so much to treat the ear; and as for the eye—is there anything in the Royal Academy brighter than that famous patch-work table-cover, which I see displayed in all its glory? I’m sure that you are determined5 to make our cottage gay with every colour of the rainbow!”
The mind of Clemence was wandering to graver subjects. How the anxious wife pined for a letter with the foreign post-mark! It came not, and her heart was full of uneasy forebodings, which she struggled, however, to hide from her young companion. Clemence even chatted merrily with the boy, as, after herself putting up the dinner which he was to carry with him to M——, she accompanied him to the town, to introduce him to his new master. Clemence was not aware that an entrance fee had been required, still less that it had been already paid from the slender purse of her friend, Mr. Gray.
In quiet routine sped the lives of Clemence and Vincent; the simple meal, the social prayer, the reading the Word of consolation6, ever preceding hours of busy study to the one—to the other a long day of quiet occupation and anxious thought. The evening was always cheerful; Vincent returned home full of all that had happened either to himself or his companions, and made his step-mother laugh at his tales out of school. She knew all the fun that the boys had had at football, and the hopes of a famous cricket-match to come off between M—— and B——. With pleasant converse7 and plenty of occupation, no wonder that Vincent cared not that the evening meal was but a basin of porridge. The pressure of poverty, indeed, fell far more heavily on the lady, whose health had been much shaken by sorrows, and who required the comforts which a rigid8 sense of duty induced her to deny herself. All her ingenuity9 was taxed to prevent Vincent from feeling its weight. Little did he dream that the fire which blazed so merrily in the evening was never kept in during the day, that the small stock of fuel might be husbanded; and that when the chill of the parlour was no more to be endured, Mrs. Effingham carried her work to the kitchen for the sake of its kindly10 warmth. Little did he dream how different the meal which was packed up so neatly11 for him every morning, was from that which his kind provider reserved for herself in the cottage, till one day Vincent unexpectedly made his appearance in the parlour two or three hours earlier than usual.
“The academy’s broken up!” he cried, as he entered, “and when we shall meet again no one can say. There are three cases of scarlet12 fever amongst the boys!”
“Not alarming ones, I trust?” said Clemence.
Vincent went on without appearing to notice the question. “So I’d better begin the profession of gardener at once, and learn about English roots instead of Greek ones. As I knew I’d be back in time for dinner, I gave my sandwiches away to a beggar—I prefer something hot in such weather as this! But how’s this?” he continued, seating himself at the table: “you’ve come to your cheese-course already!”
“Did you consider meat as a matter of course?” said Mrs. Effingham playfully, as she cut a slice of bread for her unexpected guest.
“You don’t mean to say that you are going to dine upon nothing but bread and cheese?”
Clemence only smiled in reply.
“And what was your dinner yesterday?”
“Nay, I am not going to let you into the secrets of my establishment,” Mrs. Effingham gaily13 answered.
“And the fire’s out!”
“We shall try your skill in re-lighting it, dear Vincent,” said his mother.
The boy gazed thoughtfully into her pale thin face, and for the first time since he had come to Willow14 Cottage, Vincent heaved a sigh. “Poverty is a trial—a great trial,” was his silent reflection; “but when I am old enough to earn my own living and hers, she shall never know its bitterness more.”
Clemence regretted less the pause in her step-son’s attendance at school, as the weather had become unusually severe. Winter, who for a few days had seemed on the point of yielding up his empire to his smiling successor, now with fiercer fury than ever resumed his iron sway. Standing-water froze even within the cottage, the windows were dim with frost, the little garden was one sheet of snow, and even the postman made his way with difficulty along the road. It was seldom that he stopped at the gate of Willow Cottage, and he never did so without sending a thrill of hope, not unmingled with fear, through the bosom15 of Clemence Effingham. The morning after the breaking up of the academy he brought a letter for Vincent.
“It is Louisa’s hand,” called out the boy, as he tramped back through the snow to the cottage door, at which Clemence was impatiently waiting; “I’m glad that she has answered my note at last. She is such a lazy girl with her pen!”
“Come and read it comfortably by the fire,” said his step-mother, concealing16 her own disappointment.
“Pro bono publico, I suppose, you and I being all the public at hand.” Vincent threw himself down in front of the cheerful blaze. “Now for a young lady’s epistle—written on dainty pink paper and perfumed—to be given with sundry17 notes and annotations18 by the learned Vincent Effingham:—
“My dear Vincent,
“You ask me how I like our new house. What a question! Beaumont Street after Belgrave Square! I feel as if I were imprisoned19 in a band-box! [I wish she could see our cottage!] Our grand piano blocks up half our sitting-room—a miserable20 relic21 of grandeur22, which only serves to incommode us, since none of us have the heart to touch it. The furniture of the house is wretched—fancy chintz-covered chairs and a horse-hair sofa! [Fancy rush-bottomed chairs, and no sofa at all!] Aunt Selina is in shocking spirits [alias temper], has not appetite for food [while we have not food for our appetite], and is always painfully recurring23 to the past. Our horse—you know we have now only one—has fallen lame24 [a misfortune which can’t happen to us]; and, as Arabella says that she detests25 walking, I am quite shut up in the house. It is dull work looking out of the window, with nothing for view but the brick houses on the opposite side of the street, scarce anything passing but those wretched grinding organs which murder my favourite opera airs! It is strange how our friends seem to have forgotten us: we have hardly a visitor here. I suppose that this is caused by the change in our position—which gives one a very bad opinion of the world. But I hope that things may look brighter when this long, miserable winter is past, and the London season commences.
“Pray give my love to dear Mrs. Effingham. I miss both her and you very much. I am sure that she will let me know if she receives any tidings of papa.”
“Well!” exclaimed Vincent, as he folded up the note, and replaced it in its rose-tinted envelope, “I would rather leave the world as we have done, than find out that the world was leaving me!”
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1
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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8
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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12
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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annotations
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| n.注释( annotation的名词复数 )；附注 | |
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19
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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detests
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的第三人称单数 ) | |
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