Hendon wished to guard against over-fatiguing the boy; he judged that hard journeys, irregular meals, and illiberal7 measures of sleep would be bad for his crazed mind; whilst rest, regularity8, and moderate exercise would be pretty sure to hasten its cure; he longed to see the stricken intellect made well again and its diseased visions driven out of the tormented9 little head; therefore he resolved to move by easy stages toward the home whence he had so long been banished10, instead of obeying the impulse of his impatience11 and hurrying along night and day.
When he and the King had journeyed about ten miles, they reached a considerable village, and halted there for the night, at a good inn. The former relations were resumed; Hendon stood behind the King’s chair, while he dined, and waited upon him; undressed him when he was ready for bed; then took the floor for his own quarters, and slept athwart the door, rolled up in a blanket.
The next day, and the day after, they jogged lazily along talking over the adventures they had met since their separation, and mightily12 enjoying each other’s narratives13. Hendon detailed14 all his wide wanderings in search of the King, and described how the archangel had led him a fool’s journey all over the forest, and taken him back to the hut, finally, when he found he could not get rid of him. Then—he said—the old man went into the bedchamber and came staggering back looking broken-hearted, and saying he had expected to find that the boy had returned and laid down in there to rest, but it was not so. Hendon had waited at the hut all day; hope of the King’s return died out, then, and he departed upon the quest again.
“And old Sanctum Sanctorum was truly sorry your highness came not back,” said Hendon; “I saw it in his face.”
“Marry I will never doubt that!” said the King—and then told his own story; after which, Hendon was sorry he had not destroyed the archangel.
During the last day of the trip, Hendon’s spirits were soaring. His tongue ran constantly. He talked about his old father, and his brother Arthur, and told of many things which illustrated15 their high and generous characters; he went into loving frenzies16 over his Edith, and was so glad-hearted that he was even able to say some gentle and brotherly things about Hugh. He dwelt a deal on the coming meeting at Hendon Hall; what a surprise it would be to everybody, and what an outburst of thanksgiving and delight there would be.
It was a fair region, dotted with cottages and orchards17, and the road led through broad pasture lands whose receding18 expanses, marked with gentle elevations19 and depressions, suggested the swelling20 and subsiding21 undulations of the sea. In the afternoon the returning prodigal22 made constant deflections from his course to see if by ascending23 some hillock he might not pierce the distance and catch a glimpse of his home. At last he was successful, and cried out excitedly—
“There is the village, my Prince, and there is the Hall close by! You may see the towers from here; and that wood there—that is my father’s park. Ah, now thou’lt know what state and grandeur24 be! A house with seventy rooms—think of that!—and seven and twenty servants! A brave lodging25 for such as we, is it not so? Come, let us speed—my impatience will not brook26 further delay.”
All possible hurry was made; still, it was after three o’clock before the village was reached. The travellers scampered27 through it, Hendon’s tongue going all the time. "Here is the church—covered with the same ivy—none gone, none added.” "Yonder is the inn, the old Red Lion,—and yonder is the market-place.” "Here is the Maypole, and here the pump—nothing is altered; nothing but the people, at any rate; ten years make a change in people; some of these I seem to know, but none know me.” So his chat ran on. The end of the village was soon reached; then the travellers struck into a crooked28, narrow road, walled in with tall hedges, and hurried briskly along it for half a mile, then passed into a vast flower garden through an imposing29 gateway30, whose huge stone pillars bore sculptured armorial devices. A noble mansion31 was before them.
“Welcome to Hendon Hall, my King!” exclaimed Miles. "Ah, ’tis a great day! My father and my brother, and the Lady Edith will be so mad with joy that they will have eyes and tongue for none but me in the first transports of the meeting, and so thou’lt seem but coldly welcomed—but mind it not; ’twill soon seem otherwise; for when I say thou art my ward5, and tell them how costly32 is my love for thee, thou’lt see them take thee to their breasts for Miles Hendon’s sake, and make their house and hearts thy home for ever after!”
The next moment Hendon sprang to the ground before the great door, helped the King down, then took him by the hand and rushed within. A few steps brought him to a spacious33 apartment; he entered, seated the King with more hurry than ceremony, then ran toward a young man who sat at a writing-table in front of a generous fire of logs.
“Embrace me, Hugh,” he cried, “and say thou’rt glad I am come again! and call our father, for home is not home till I shall touch his hand, and see his face, and hear his voice once more!”
But Hugh only drew back, after betraying a momentary35 surprise, and bent36 a grave stare upon the intruder—a stare which indicated somewhat of offended dignity, at first, then changed, in response to some inward thought or purpose, to an expression of marvelling37 curiosity, mixed with a real or assumed compassion38. Presently he said, in a mild voice—
“Thy wits seem touched, poor stranger; doubtless thou hast suffered privations and rude buffetings at the world’s hands; thy looks and dress betoken39 it. Whom dost thou take me to be?”
“Take thee? Prithee for whom else than whom thou art? I take thee to be Hugh Hendon,” said Miles, sharply.
The other continued, in the same soft tone—
“And whom dost thou imagine thyself to be?”
“Imagination hath nought40 to do with it! Dost thou pretend thou knowest me not for thy brother Miles Hendon?”
An expression of pleased surprise flitted across Hugh’s face, and he exclaimed—
“What! thou art not jesting? can the dead come to life? God be praised if it be so! Our poor lost boy restored to our arms after all these cruel years! Ah, it seems too good to be true, it is too good to be true—I charge thee, have pity, do not trifle with me! Quick—come to the light—let me scan thee well!”
He seized Miles by the arm, dragged him to the window, and began to devour41 him from head to foot with his eyes, turning him this way and that, and stepping briskly around him and about him to prove him from all points of view; whilst the returned prodigal, all aglow42 with gladness, smiled, laughed, and kept nodding his head and saying—
“Go on, brother, go on, and fear not; thou’lt find nor limb nor feature that cannot bide43 the test. Scour and scan me to thy content, my good old Hugh—I am indeed thy old Miles, thy same old Miles, thy lost brother, is’t not so? Ah, ’tis a great day—I said ’twas a great day! Give me thy hand, give me thy cheek—lord, I am like to die of very joy!”
He was about to throw himself upon his brother; but Hugh put up his hand in dissent44, then dropped his chin mournfully upon his breast, saying with emotion—
“Ah, God of his mercy give me strength to bear this grievous disappointment!”
Miles, amazed, could not speak for a moment; then he found his tongue, and cried out—
“What disappointment? Am I not thy brother?”
Hugh shook his head sadly, and said—
“I pray heaven it may prove so, and that other eyes may find the resemblances that are hid from mine. Alack, I fear me the letter spoke45 but too truly.”
“What letter?”
“One that came from over sea, some six or seven years ago. It said my brother died in battle.”
“It was a lie! Call thy father—he will know me.”
“One may not call the dead.”
“Dead?” Miles’s voice was subdued46, and his lips trembled. "My father dead!—oh, this is heavy news. Half my new joy is withered47 now. Prithee let me see my brother Arthur—he will know me; he will know me and console me.”
“He, also, is dead.”
“God be merciful to me, a stricken man! Gone,—both gone—the worthy48 taken and the worthless spared, in me! Ah! I crave49 your mercy!—do not say the Lady Edith—”
“Is dead? No, she lives.”
“Then, God be praised, my joy is whole again! Speed thee, brother—let her come to me! An’ she say I am not myself—but she will not; no, no, she will know me, I were a fool to doubt it. Bring her—bring the old servants; they, too, will know me.”
“All are gone but five—Peter, Halsey, David, Bernard, and Margaret.”
So saying, Hugh left the room. Miles stood musing50 a while, then began to walk the floor, muttering—
“The five arch-villains have survived the two-and-twenty leal and honest—’tis an odd thing.”
He continued walking back and forth51, muttering to himself; he had forgotten the King entirely52. By-and-by his Majesty said gravely, and with a touch of genuine compassion, though the words themselves were capable of being interpreted ironically—
“Mind not thy mischance, good man; there be others in the world whose identity is denied, and whose claims are derided53. Thou hast company.”
“Ah, my King,” cried Hendon, colouring slightly, “do not thou condemn54 me—wait, and thou shalt see. I am no impostor—she will say it; you shall hear it from the sweetest lips in England. I an impostor? Why, I know this old hall, these pictures of my ancestors, and all these things that are about us, as a child knoweth its own nursery. Here was I born and bred, my lord; I speak the truth; I would not deceive thee; and should none else believe, I pray thee do not thou doubt me—I could not bear it.”
“I do not doubt thee,” said the King, with a childlike simplicity55 and faith.
“I thank thee out of my heart!” exclaimed Hendon with a fervency56 which showed that he was touched. The King added, with the same gentle simplicity—
“Dost thou doubt me?”
A guilty confusion seized upon Hendon, and he was grateful that the door opened to admit Hugh, at that moment, and saved him the necessity of replying.
A beautiful lady, richly clothed, followed Hugh, and after her came several liveried servants. The lady walked slowly, with her head bowed and her eyes fixed57 upon the floor. The face was unspeakably sad. Miles Hendon sprang forward, crying out—
“Oh, my Edith, my darling—”
But Hugh waved him back, gravely, and said to the lady—
“Look upon him. Do you know him?”
At the sound of Miles’s voice the woman had started slightly, and her cheeks had flushed; she was trembling now. She stood still, during an impressive pause of several moments; then slowly lifted up her head and looked into Hendon’s eyes with a stony58 and frightened gaze; the blood sank out of her face, drop by drop, till nothing remained but the grey pallor of death; then she said, in a voice as dead as the face, “I know him not!” and turned, with a moan and a stifled59 sob60, and tottered61 out of the room.
Miles Hendon sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. After a pause, his brother said to the servants—
“You have observed him. Do you know him?”
They shook their heads; then the master said—
“The servants know you not, sir. I fear there is some mistake. You have seen that my wife knew you not.”
“Thy wife!” In an instant Hugh was pinned to the wall, with an iron grip about his throat. "Oh, thou fox-hearted slave, I see it all! Thou’st writ34 the lying letter thyself, and my stolen bride and goods are its fruit. There—now get thee gone, lest I shame mine honourable62 soldiership with the slaying63 of so pitiful a mannikin!”
Hugh, red-faced, and almost suffocated64, reeled to the nearest chair, and commanded the servants to seize and bind65 the murderous stranger. They hesitated, and one of them said—
“He is armed, Sir Hugh, and we are weaponless.”
“Armed! What of it, and ye so many? Upon him, I say!”
But Miles warned them to be careful what they did, and added—
“Ye know me of old—I have not changed; come on, an’ it like you.”
“Then go, ye paltry67 cowards, and arm yourselves and guard the doors, whilst I send one to fetch the watch!” said Hugh. He turned at the threshold, and said to Miles, “You’ll find it to your advantage to offend not with useless endeavours at escape.”
“Escape? Spare thyself discomfort68, an’ that is all that troubles thee. For Miles Hendon is master of Hendon Hall and all its belongings69. He will remain—doubt it not.”
点击收听单词发音
1 constable | |
n.(英国)警察,警官 | |
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2 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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3 blithely | |
adv.欢乐地,快活地,无挂虑地 | |
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4 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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5 ward | |
n.守卫,监护,病房,行政区,由监护人或法院保护的人(尤指儿童);vt.守护,躲开 | |
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6 second-hand | |
adj.用过的,旧的,二手的 | |
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7 illiberal | |
adj.气量狭小的,吝啬的 | |
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8 regularity | |
n.规律性,规则性;匀称,整齐 | |
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9 tormented | |
饱受折磨的 | |
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10 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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12 mightily | |
ad.强烈地;非常地 | |
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13 narratives | |
记叙文( narrative的名词复数 ); 故事; 叙述; 叙述部分 | |
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14 detailed | |
adj.详细的,详尽的,极注意细节的,完全的 | |
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15 illustrated | |
adj. 有插图的,列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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16 frenzies | |
狂乱( frenzy的名词复数 ); 极度的激动 | |
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17 orchards | |
(通常指围起来的)果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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18 receding | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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19 elevations | |
(水平或数量)提高( elevation的名词复数 ); 高地; 海拔; 提升 | |
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20 swelling | |
n.肿胀 | |
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21 subsiding | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的现在分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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22 prodigal | |
adj.浪费的,挥霍的,放荡的 | |
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23 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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24 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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25 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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26 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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27 scampered | |
v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑,惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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29 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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30 gateway | |
n.大门口,出入口,途径,方法 | |
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31 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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32 costly | |
adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
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33 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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34 writ | |
n.命令状,书面命令 | |
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35 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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36 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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37 marvelling | |
v.惊奇,对…感到惊奇( marvel的现在分词 ) | |
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38 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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39 betoken | |
v.预示 | |
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40 nought | |
n./adj.无,零 | |
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41 devour | |
v.吞没;贪婪地注视或谛听,贪读;使着迷 | |
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42 aglow | |
adj.发亮的;发红的;adv.发亮地 | |
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43 bide | |
v.忍耐;等候;住 | |
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44 dissent | |
n./v.不同意,持异议 | |
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45 spoke | |
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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46 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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47 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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48 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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49 crave | |
vt.渴望得到,迫切需要,恳求,请求 | |
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50 musing | |
n. 沉思,冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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51 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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52 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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53 derided | |
v.取笑,嘲笑( deride的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54 condemn | |
vt.谴责,指责;宣判(罪犯),判刑 | |
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55 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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56 fervency | |
n.热情的;强烈的;热烈 | |
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57 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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58 stony | |
adj.石头的,多石头的,冷酷的,无情的 | |
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59 stifled | |
(使)窒息, (使)窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 ); 镇压,遏制; 堵 | |
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60 sob | |
n.空间轨道的轰炸机;呜咽,哭泣 | |
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61 tottered | |
v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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62 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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63 slaying | |
杀戮。 | |
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64 suffocated | |
(使某人)窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 ); (将某人)闷死; 让人感觉闷热; 憋气 | |
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65 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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66 reminder | |
n.提醒物,纪念品;暗示,提示 | |
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67 paltry | |
adj.无价值的,微不足道的 | |
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68 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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69 belongings | |
n.私人物品,私人财物 | |
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