The number of really satisfying meals the girl Teresa had had in her time could be counted on her fingers and toes, almost. Life had been maintained by a crust here and a bone there. She was only half gypsy; her mother had been an itinerant4 herbalist, her father a Basque bear-leader, and she was born at Blyth Fair. Her twenty-two years had been spent on the highways, singing and dancing from tavern5 to tavern, harried6 by the law on one side and hunger on the other. She had no love for the Open Road; her feet were sore from trudging7 it and she knew it led nowhere but to starvation; her mother had died in a ditch and her father had been hanged. For years she had been waiting a chance to get out of the dust, and when John came along, knocked out the tumbler and jerked her a florin she saw that possible chance.
A sober farmer who tossed silver so freely should be a bachelor, she argued, and a man who could fight like that must have a good deal of the lusty animal about him. She knew the type, and of all men they were the easiest to handle. She followed up the clew hot foot, and now here she was in a land of plenty. She had no intention of leaving in a fortnight, a month, or ever, if she could help it, no desire to exchange three meat meals daily, smoking hot, for turnips8; or a soft bed for the lee of a haystack. She would sit on the floor after supper, basking9 at the roaring hearth10, her back propped11 against John’s knees, and listen to the drip of the eaves, the sough of the treetops, the echoed organ crashes of the sea, snuggle closer to the farmer and laugh.
When he asked her why she did that she shrugged12 her shoulders. But she laughed to think of what she was escaping, laughed to think that the tumbler was out in it. But for that flung florin and the pricking13 of her thumbs she would have been out in it too, crouched14 under a hedge, maybe, soaked and shivering. Penhale need have had no fears she would leave him; on the contrary she was afraid he would tire of her, and strove by every means to bind15 him to her irrevocably. She practiced all her wiles16 on John, ran to him when he came in, fondled and kissed him, rubbed her head on his shoulder, swore he didn’t care for her, pretended to cry, any excuse to get taken in his arms; once there she had him in her power. The quarter strain of gitano came uppermost then, the blood of generations of ardent17 southern women, professional charmers all, raced in her veins18 and prompted her, showed her how and when. It was all instinctive19 and quite irresistible20; the simple northern yeoman was a clod in her hands.
Martha had found Teresa some drugget clothes, rummaging21 in chests that lay, under the dust of twenty years, in the neglected west wing—oak chests and mahogany with curious iron clasps and hinges, the spoil of a score of foundered22 ships. Teresa had been close behind the woman when the selection was made and she had glimpsed many things that were not drugget. When she gave up following John abroad she took to spending most of her time, between meals, in the west wing, bolting the doors behind her so that Martha could not see what she was doing.
John was lurching home down the valley one autumn evening, when, as he neared Bosula, he heard singing and the tinkling24 of melodious25 wires. There was a small grove26 of ashes close ahead, encircling an open patch of ground supposed to be a fairy ring, in May a purple pool of bluebells27, but then carpeted with russet and yellow leaves. He stepped nearer, peered round an oak bole and saw a sight which made him stagger and swear himself bewitched. There was a marvelous lady dancing in the circlet, and as she danced she sang, twanging an accompaniment on a little guitar.
“Then, Lovely Boy, bring hither
Steep’d in the various Juices
The Cluster’d Vine produces;
The Cluster’d Vine produces.”
She was dressed in a straight-laced bodice stitched with silver and low cut, leaving her shoulders bare; flowing daffodil sleeves caught up at the elbows and a cream-colored skirt sprigged with blue flowers and propped out at the hips23 on monstrous29 farthingales. On her head she wore a lace fan-tail—but her feet were bare. She swept round and round in a circle, very slow and stately, swaying, turning, curtseying to the solemn audience of trees.
“So mix’t with sweet and sour,
Life’s not unlike the flower;
And gather’d ’tis with anguish.”
The glare of sunset shot through gaps in the wood in quivering golden shafts32, fell on the smooth trunks of the ashes transforming them into pillars of gold. In this dazzle of gold the primrose33 lady danced, in and out of the beams, now glimmering34, now in hazy35 and delicate shadow. A puff36 of wind shook a shower of pale leaves upon her, they drifted about her like confetti, her bare feet rustled38 among them, softly, softly.
“This, round my moisten’d Tresses,
The use of Life expresses:
Wine blunts the thorn of Sorrow,
Our Rose may fade to-morrow:
Our Rose—may—fade—to-morrow.”
The sun went down behind the hill; twilight39, powder-blue, swept through the wood, quenching40 the symphony in yellows. The lady made a final fritter of strings41, bowed to the biggest ash and faded among the trees, towards Bosula. John clung to his oak, stupefied. Despite his Grammar School education he half believed in the crone’s stories of Pixies and “the old men,” and if this was not a supernatural being what was it? A fine lady dancing in Bosula woods at sundown—and in the fairy circle too! If not a sprite where did she come from? There was not her match in the parish, or hundred even. He did not like it at all. He would go home by circling over the hill. He hesitated. That was a long detour42, he was tired and his own orchard43 was not a furlong distant. His common sense returned. Damme! he would push straight home, he was big and strong enough whatever betide. He walked boldly through the woods, whistling away his fears, snapping twigs44 beneath his boots.
He came to a dense45 clump46 of hollies47 at the edge of the orchard and heard the tinkle48-tinkle again, right in front of him. He froze solid and stared ahead. It was thick dusk among the bushes; he could see nothing. Tinkle-tinkle—from the right this time. He turned slowly, his flesh prickling. Nothing. A faint rustle37 of leaves behind his back and the tinkle of music once more. John began to sweat. He was pixie-led for certain—and only fifty yards from his own door. If one listened to this sort of thing one was presently charmed and lost forever, he had heard. He would make a dash for it. He burst desperately49 through the hollies and saw the primrose lady standing50 directly in front of him on the orchard fringe. He stopped. She curtsied low.
“Oh, Jan, Jan,” she laughed. “Jan, come here and kiss me.”
“Teresa!”
“Where did you get these—these clothes?” he asked.
“Out of the old chests,” said she. “You like me thus? . . . love me?”
For answer he hugged her to him and they went on into the kitchen linked arm in arm. Martha in her astonishment52 let the cauldron spill all over the floor and the idiot daughter threw a fit.
The drugget dress disappeared after that. Teresa rifled the chests and got some marvelous results. The chests held the hoardings of a century, samples of every fashion, washed in from wrecks53 on the Twelve Apostles, wardrobes of officers’ mistresses bound for the garrison54 at Tangier, of proud ladies that went down with Indiamen, packet ships, and vessels55 sailing for the Virginia Colony. Jackdaw pickings that generations of Penhale women had been too modest to wear and too feminine to part with. Gowns, under gowns, bodices, smocks and stomachers of silk, taffeta, sarsenet and satin of all hues56 and shapes, quilted, brocaded, embroidered57, pleated, scalloped and slashed58; cambric and holland ruffs, collars, bands, kerchiefs and lappets; scarves, trifles of lace pointed59 and godrooned; odd gloves of cordovan leather, heavily fringed; vamped single shoes, red heeled; ribbons; knots; spangled garters; feathers and fans.
The clothes were torn and faded in patches, eaten by moth3, soiled and rusted60 by salt water, but Teresa cared little; they were treasure-trove to her, the starveling. She put them all on in turn (as the Penhale wives had done before her—but in secret) without regard to fit, appropriateness or period and with the delight of a child dressing61 up for a masquerade. She dressed herself differently every evening—even wearing articles with showy linings62 inside out—aiming only at a blaze of color and spending hours in the selection.
The management of the house she left entirely63 to Martha, which was wise enough, seeing she knew nothing of houses. John coming in of an evening never knew what was in store for him; it gave life an added savour. He approached Adam and Eve, his heart a-flutter—what would she be like this time?—opened the low door and stepped within. And there she would be, standing before the hearth waiting for him, mischievous64 and radiant, brass65 earrings66 winking67, a knot of ribbons in her raven68 curls, dressed in scarlet69, cream, purple or blue, cloth of gold or silver lace—all worn and torn if you came to examine closely, but, in the leaping firelight, gorgeous.
Sometimes she would spend the evening wooing him, sidling into his arms, rubbing with her cheek and purring in her cat fashion; and sometimes she would take her guitar and, sitting cross-legged before the hearth, sing the songs by which she had made her living. Pretty, innocent twitters for the most part, laments70 to cruel Chloes, Phyllises and Celias in which despairing Colins and Strephons sang of their broken hearts in tripping, tuneful measures; morris and country airs she gave also and patriotic72 staves—
???“Tho’ the Spaniards invade
????Our Int’rest and Trade
????Give us but command
????Their force to withstand,
We’ll soon make the slaves truckle under.”
Such stuff stirred John. As the lyrics74 lulled75 him, he would inflate76 his chest and tap his toe on the flags in time with the tune71, very manful.
All this heady stuff intoxicated77 the recluse78. He felt a spell on the place, could scarcely believe it was the same dark kitchen in which he had sat alone for seventeen years, listening to the stream, the rain and the wind. It was like living in a droll-teller’s story where charcoal79 burners fell asleep on enchanted80 barrows and woke in fairy-land or immortals81 put on mortal flesh and sojourned in the homes of men. Reared on superstition82 among a race that placed balls on their roofs and hung rags about holy wells to keep off witches, he almost smelt83 magic now. At times he wondered if this strange creature he had met on the high moors84 under the moon were what she held to be, if one day she would not get a summons back to her own people, the earth gape85 open for her and he would be alone again. There had been an authentic86 case in Zennor parish; his own grandmother had seen the forsaken87 husband. He would glance at Teresa half fearfully, see her squatting88 before the blaze, lozenges of white skin showing through the rips in her finery, strong fingers plucking the guitar strings, round throat swelling89 as she sang—
“I saw fair Clara walk alone;
The feathered snow came softly down . . .”
—and scout90 his suspicions. She was human enough—and even if she were not, sufficient for the day. . . .
As for the girl, with the unstinted feeding, she put on flesh and good looks. Her bones and angles disappeared, her figure took on bountiful curves, her mouth lost its defiant91 pout92. She had more than even she wanted to eat, a warm bed, plenty of colorful kickshaws and a lover who fell prostrate93 before her easiest artifices94. She was content—or very nearly so. One thing remained and that was to put this idyllic95 state of affairs on a permanent basis. That accomplished96, her cup of happiness would brim, she told herself. How to do it? She fancied it was more than half done already and that, unless she read him wrong, she would presently have such a grip on the farmer he would never throw her off. By January she was sure of herself and laid her cards on the table.
According to her surmise97 John took her forthwith into St. Gwithian, a-pillion on the bay mare98, and married her, and on the third of July a boy was born. It was a great day at Bosula; all the employees, including Martha, got blind drunk, while John spent a delightful99 afternoon laboriously100 scratching a letter to Carveth Donnithorne apprising101 him of the happy event.
Upstairs, undisturbed by the professional chatter102 of wise women, Teresa lay quietly sleeping, a fluffy103 small head in the crook104 of her arm, a tired smile on her lips—she was in out of the rain for good.
It is to be presumed that in the Donnithorne vault105 of Cury Church the dust of old Selina at length lay quiet—the Penhales would go on and on.
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1
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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2
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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moth
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| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
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itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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5
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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6
harried
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| v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
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7
trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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8
turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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9
basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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10
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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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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12
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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13
pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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14
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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16
wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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17
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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18
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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19
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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20
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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21
rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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22
foundered
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| v.创始人( founder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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24
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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25
melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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26
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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27
bluebells
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| n.圆叶风铃草( bluebell的名词复数 ) | |
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28
wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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29
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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30
languish
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| vi.变得衰弱无力，失去活力，（植物等）凋萎 | |
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31
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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32
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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33
primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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34
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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35
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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36
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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37
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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38
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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40
quenching
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| 淬火，熄 | |
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41
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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42
detour
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| n.绕行的路，迂回路；v.迂回，绕道 | |
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43
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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44
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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45
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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46
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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47
hollies
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| n.冬青（常绿灌木，叶尖而硬，有光泽，冬季结红色浆果）( holly的名词复数 )；（用作圣诞节饰物的）冬青树枝 | |
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48
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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49
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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50
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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51
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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52
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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53
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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54
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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55
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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56
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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57
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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58
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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59
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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60
rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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62
linings
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| n.衬里( lining的名词复数 )；里子；衬料；组织 | |
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63
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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64
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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65
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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66
earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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67
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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68
raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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69
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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70
laments
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| n.悲恸，哀歌，挽歌( lament的名词复数 )v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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lyrics
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| n.歌词 | |
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lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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inflate
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| vt.使膨胀，使骄傲，抬高（物价） | |
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intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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immortals
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| 不朽的人物( immortal的名词复数 )； 永生不朽者 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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gape
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| v.张口，打呵欠，目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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pout
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| v.撅嘴；绷脸；n.撅嘴；生气，不高兴 | |
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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artifices
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| n.灵巧( artifice的名词复数 )；诡计；巧妙办法；虚伪行为 | |
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idyllic
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| adj.质朴宜人的，田园风光的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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apprising
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| v.告知，通知( apprise的现在分词 )；评价 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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103
fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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104
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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