The distant roar of the waves now made her shudder3; the occasional dismal4 cry of an owl5, or a sea-gull, filled her with unspeakable horror. She thought of the ravenous6 beasts—in human shape—who lay in wait for their prey7, and destroyed them, as mercilessly as any hungry wolf, for the satisfaction of their own appetite of hate. Marguerite was not afraid of the darkness, she only feared that man, on ahead, who was sitting at the bottom of a rough wooden cart, nursing thoughts of vengeance8, which would have made the very demons9 in hell chuckle10 with delight.
Her feet were sore. Her knees shook under her, from sheer bodily fatigue11. For days now she had lived in a wild turmoil12 of excitement; she had not had a quiet rest for three nights; now, she had walked on a slippery road for nearly two hours, and yet her determination never swerved13 for a moment. She would see her husband, tell him all, and, if he was ready to forgive the crime, which she had committed in her blind ignorance, she would yet have the happiness of dying by his side.
She must have walked on almost in a trance, instinct alone keeping her up, and guiding her in the wake of the enemy, when suddenly her ears, attuned14 to the slightest sound, by that same blind instinct, told her that the cart had stopped, and that the soldiers had halted. They had come to their destination. No doubt on the right, somewhere close ahead, was the footpath15 that led to the edge of the cliff and to the hut.
Heedless of any risks, she crept quite close up to where Chauvelin stood, surrounded by his little troop: he had descended16 from the cart, and was giving some orders to the men. These she wanted to hear: what little chance she yet had, of being useful to Percy, consisted in hearing absolutely every word of his enemy's plans.
The spot where all the party had halted must have lain some eight hundred mètres from the coast; the sound of the sea came only very faintly, as from a distance. Chauvelin and Desgas, followed by the soldiers, had turned off sharply to the right of the road, apparently18 on to the footpath, which led to the cliffs. The Jew had remained on the road, with his cart and nag19.
Marguerite, with infinite caution, and literally20 crawling on her hands and knees, had also turned off to the right: to accomplish this she had to creep through the rough, low shrubs21, trying to make as little noise as possible as she went along, tearing her face and hands against the dry twigs22, intent only upon hearing without being seen or heard. Fortunately—as is usual in this part of France—the footpath was bordered by a low, rough hedge, beyond which was a dry ditch, filled with coarse grass. In this Marguerite managed to find shelter; she was quite hidden from view, yet could contrive23 to get within three yards of where Chauvelin stood, giving orders to his men.
“Now,” he was saying in a low and peremptory24 whisper, “where is the Père Blanchard's hut?”
“About eight hundred mètres from here, along the footpath,” said the soldier who had lately been directing the party, “and half-way down the cliff.”
“Very good. You shall lead us. Before we begin to descend17 the cliff, you shall creep down to the hut, as noiselessly as possible, and ascertain25 if the traitor26 royalists are there? Do you understand?”
“I understand, citoyen.”
“Now listen very attentively27, all of you,” continued Chauvelin, impressively, and addressing the soldiers collectively, “for after this we may not be able to exchange another word, so remember every syllable28 I utter, as if your very lives depended on your memory. Perhaps they do,” he added drily.
“We listen, citoyen,” said Desgas, “and a soldier of the Republic never forgets an order.”
“You, who have crept up to the hut, will try to peep inside. If an Englishman is there with those traitors29, a man who is tall above the average, or who stoops as if he would disguise his height, then give a sharp, quick whistle as a signal to your comrades. All of you,” he added, once more speaking to the soldiers collectively, “then quickly surround and rush into the hut, and each seize one of the men there, before they have time to draw their firearms; if any of them struggle, shoot at their legs or arms, but on no account kill the tall man. Do you understand?”
“We understand, citoyen.”
“The man who is tall above the average is probably also strong above the average; it will take four or five of you at least to overpower him.”
There was a little pause, then Chauvelin continued,—
“If the royalist traitors are still alone, which is more than likely to be the case, then warn your comrades who are lying in wait there, and all of you creep and take cover behind the rocks and boulders31 round the hut, and wait there, in dead silence, until the tall Englishman arrives; then only rush the hut, when he is safely within its doors. But remember that you must be as silent as the wolf is at night, when he prowls around the pens. I do not wish those royalists to be on the alert—the firing of a pistol, a shriek32 or call on their part would be sufficient, perhaps, to warn the tall personage to keep clear of the cliffs, and of the hut, and,” he added emphatically, “it is the tall Englishman whom it is your duty to capture to-night.”
“You shall be implicitly33 obeyed, citoyen.”
“Then get along as noiselessly as possible, and I will follow you.”
“What about the Jew, citoyen?” asked Desgas, as silently like noiseless shadows, one by one the soldiers began to creep along the rough and narrow footpath.
“Ah, yes; I had forgotten the Jew,” said Chauvelin, and, turning towards the Jew, he called him peremptorily34.
“Here, you . . . Aaron, Moses, Abraham, or whatever your confounded name may be,” he said to the old man, who had quietly stood beside his lean nag, as far away from the soldiers as possible.
“It does not please me to hear your voice, but it does please me to give you certain orders, which you will find it wise to obey.”
“So it please your Honour . . .”
“Hold your confounded tongue. You shall stay here, do you hear? with your horse and cart until our return. You are on no account to utter the faintest sound, or even to breathe louder than you can help; nor are you, on any consideration whatever, to leave your post, until I give you orders to do so. Do you understand?”
“But your Honour—” protested the Jew pitiably.
“There is no question of 'but' or of any argument,” said Chauvelin, in a tone that made the timid old man tremble from head to foot. “If, when I return, I do not find you here, I most solemnly assure you that, wherever you may try to hide yourself, I can find you, and that punishment swift, sure and terrible, will sooner or later overtake you. Do you hear me?”
“But your Excellency . . .”
“I said, do you hear me?”
The soldiers had all crept away; the three men stood alone together in the dark and lonely road, with Marguerite there, behind the hedge, listening to Chauvelin's orders, as she would to her own death sentence.
“I heard your Honour,” protested the Jew again, while he tried to draw nearer to Chauvelin, “and I swear by Abraham, Isaac and Jacob that I would obey your Honour most absolutely, and that I would not move from this place until your Honour once more deigned36 to shed the light of your countenance37 upon your humble38 servant; but remember, your Honour, I am a poor old man; my nerves are not as strong as those of a young soldier. If midnight marauders should come prowling round this lonely road, I might scream or run in my fright! And is my life to be forfeit39, is some terrible punishment to come on my poor old head for that which I cannot help?”
The Jew seemed in real distress40; he was shaking from head to foot. Clearly he was not the man to be left by himself on this lonely road. The man spoke41 truly; he might unwittingly, in sheer terror, utter the shriek that might prove a warning to the wily Scarlet42 Pimpernel.
Chauvelin reflected for a moment.
“Will your horse and cart be safe alone, here, do you think?” he asked roughly.
“I fancy, citoyen,” here interposed Desgas, “that they will be safer without that dirty, cowardly Jew than with him. There seems no doubt that, if he gets scared, he will either make a bolt of it, or shriek his head off.”
“Will you send him back to Calais, citoyen?”
“No, for we shall want him to drive back the wounded presently,” said Chauvelin, with grim significance.
There was a pause again—Desgas, waiting for the decision of his chief, and the old Jew whining44 beside his nag.
“Well, you lazy, lumbering45 old coward,” said Chauvelin at last, “you had better shuffle46 along behind us. Here, Citoyen Desgas, tie this handkerchief tightly round the fellow's mouth.”
Chauvelin handed a scarf to Desgas, who solemnly began winding47 it round the Jew's mouth. Meekly48 Benjamin Rosenbaum allowed himself to be gagged; he, evidently, preferred this uncomfortable state to that of being left alone, on the dark St. Martin Road. Then the three men fell in line.
“Quick!” said Chauvelin, impatiently, “we have already wasted much valuable time.”
And the firm footsteps of Chauvelin and Desgas, the shuffling49 gait of the old Jew, soon died away along the footpath.
Marguerite had not lost a single one of Chauvelin's words of command. Her every nerve was strained to completely grasp the situation first, then to make a final appeal to those wits which had so often been called the sharpest in Europe, and which alone might be of service now.
Certainly the situation was desperate enough; a tiny band of unsuspecting men, quietly awaiting the arrival of their rescuer, who was equally unconscious of the trap laid for them all. It seemed so horrible, this net, as it were drawn50 in a circle, at dead of night, on a lonely beach, round a few defenceless men, defenceless because they were tricked and unsuspecting; of these one was the husband she idolised, another the brother she loved. She vaguely51 wondered who the others were, who were also calmly waiting for the Scarlet Pimpernel, while death lurked52 behind every boulder30 of the cliffs.
For the moment she could do nothing but follow the soldiers and Chauvelin. She feared to lose her way, or she would have rushed forward and found that wooden hut, and perhaps been in time to warn the fugitives53 and their brave deliverer yet.
For a second, the thought flashed through her mind of uttering the piercing shrieks54, which Chauvelin seemed to dread55, as a possible warning to the Scarlet Pimpernel and his friends—in the wild hope that they would hear, and have yet time to escape before it was too late. But she did not know how far from the edge of the cliff she was; she did not know if her shrieks would reach the ears of the doomed57 men. Her effort might be premature58, and she would never be allowed to make another. Her mouth would be securely gagged, like that of the Jew, and she, a helpless prisoner in the hands of Chauvelin's men.
Like a ghost she flitted noiselessly behind that hedge: she had taken her shoes off, and her stockings were by now torn off her feet. She felt neither soreness nor weariness; indomitable will to reach her husband in spite of adverse59 Fate, and of a cunning enemy, killed all sense of bodily pain within her, and rendered her instincts doubly acute.
She heard nothing save the soft and measured footsteps of Percy's enemies on in front; she saw nothing but—in her mind's eye—that wooden hut, and he, her husband, walking blindly to his doom56.
Suddenly, those same keen instincts within her made her pause in her mad haste, and cower60 still further within the shadow of the hedge. The moon, which had proved a friend to her by remaining hidden behind a bank of clouds, now emerged in all the glory of an early autumn night, and in a moment flooded the weird61 and lonely landscape with a rush of brilliant light.
There, not two hundred mètres ahead, was the edge of the cliff, and below, stretching far away to free and happy England, the sea rolled on smoothly62 and peaceably. Marguerite's gaze rested for an instant on the brilliant, silvery waters; and as she gazed, her heart, which had been numb63 with pain for all these hours, seemed to soften64 and distend65, and her eyes filled with hot tears: not three miles away, with white sails set, a graceful66 schooner67 lay in wait.
Marguerite had guessed rather than recognised her. It was the Day Dream, Percy's favourite yacht, with old Briggs, that prince of skippers, aboard, and all her crew of British sailors: her white sails, glistening68 in the moonlight, seemed to convey a message to Marguerite of joy and hope, which yet she feared could never be. She waited there, out at sea, waited for her master, like a beautiful white bird all ready to take flight, and he would never reach her, never see her smooth deck again, never gaze any more on the white cliffs of England, the land of liberty and of hope.
The sight of the schooner seemed to infuse into the poor, wearied woman the superhuman strength of despair. There was the edge of the cliff, and some way below was the hut, where presently, her husband would meet his death. But the moon was out: she could see her way now: she would see the hut from a distance, run to it, rouse them all, warn them at any rate to be prepared and to sell their lives dearly, rather than be caught like so many rats in a hole.
She stumbled on behind the hedge in the low, thick grass of the ditch. She must have run on very fast, and had outdistanced Chauvelin and Desgas, for presently she reached the edge of the cliff, and heard their footsteps distinctly behind her. But only a very few yards away, and now the moonlight was full upon her, her figure must have been distinctly silhouetted69 against the silvery background of the sea.
Only for a moment, though; the next she had cowered70, like some animal doubled up within itself. She peeped down the great rugged71 cliffs—the descent would be easy enough, as they were not precipitous, and the great boulders afforded plenty of foothold. Suddenly, as she gazed, she saw at some little distance on her left, and about midway down the cliffs, a rough wooden construction, through the walls of which a tiny red light glimmered73 like a beacon74. Her very heart seemed to stand still, the eagerness of joy was so great that it felt like an awful pain.
She could not gauge75 how distant the hut was, but without hesitation76 she began the steep descent, creeping from boulder to boulder, caring nothing for the enemy behind, or for the soldiers, who evidently had all taken cover since the tall Englishman had not yet appeared.
On she pressed, forgetting the deadly foe77 on her track, running, stumbling, foot-sore, half-dazed, but still on . . . When, suddenly, a crevice78, or stone, or slippery bit of rock, threw her violently to the ground. She struggled again to her feet, and started running forward once more to give them that timely warning, to beg them to flee before he came, and to tell him to keep away—away from this death-trap—away from this awful doom. But now she realised that other steps, quicker than her own, were already close at her heels. The next instant a hand dragged at her skirt, and she was down on her knees again, whilst something was wound round her mouth to prevent her uttering a scream.
Bewildered, half frantic79 with the bitterness of disappointment, she looked round her helplessly, and, bending down quite close to her, she saw through the mist, which seemed to gather round her, a pair of keen, malicious80 eyes, which appeared to her excited brain to have a weird, supernatural green light in them.
She lay in the shadow of a great boulder; Chauvelin could not see her features, but he passed his thin, white fingers over her face.
“A woman!” he whispered, “by all the Saints in the calendar.”
“We cannot let her loose, that's certain,” he muttered to himself. “I wonder now . . .”
Suddenly he paused, and after a few seconds of deadly silence, he gave forth81 a long, low, curious chuckle, while once again Marguerite felt, with a horrible shudder, his thin fingers wandering over her face.
“Dear me! dear me!” he whispered, with affected82 gallantry, “this is indeed a charming surprise,” and Marguerite felt her resistless hand raised to Chauvelin's thin, mocking lips.
The situation was indeed grotesque83, had it not been at the same time so fearfully tragic84: the poor, weary woman, broken in spirit, and half frantic with the bitterness of her disappointment, receiving on her knees the banal85 gallantries of her deadly enemy.
Her senses were leaving her; half choked with the tight grip round her mouth, she had no strength to move or to utter the faintest sound. The excitement which all along had kept up her delicate body seemed at once to have subsided86, and the feeling of blank despair to have completely paralysed her brain and nerves.
Chauvelin must have given some directions, which she was too dazed to hear, for she felt herself lifted from off her feet: the bandage round her mouth was made more secure, and a pair of strong arms carried her towards that tiny, red light, on ahead, which she had looked upon as a beacon and the last faint glimmer72 of hope.
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收听单词发音
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1
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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2
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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10
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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11
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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13
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
attuned
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| v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 )；调音 | |
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15
footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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16
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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17
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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18
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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21
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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23
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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24
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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29
traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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30
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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32
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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36
deigned
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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40
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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41
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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42
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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43
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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44
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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45
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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46
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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47
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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48
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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49
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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50
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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51
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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52
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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53
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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54
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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55
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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56
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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57
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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58
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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59
adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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60
cower
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| v.畏缩，退缩，抖缩 | |
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61
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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62
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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63
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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distend
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| vt./vi.（使）扩大，（使）扩张 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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69
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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70
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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73
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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84
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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banal
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| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；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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