“Fear not the lions, for they are chained, and are placed there for trial of faith where it is; and for the discovery of those that have none: keep in the midst of the path, and no hurt shall come unto thee.”—Pilgrim’s Progress.
It was long before Mark could get to sleep, and he awoke almost before it was light. He felt a heavy oppression which was new to him, and rose to open the window. The sky was now of that deep exquisite1 blue which it wears the hour before dawn; the few stars that studded the heavens were growing pale at the approach of morning. The street was perfectly2 quiet, not a vehicle was moving about, and the sleepy sound of a cock crowing at some distance was the only noise that broke the stillness.
“I feel as though I could not rest,” said Mark, “the sun will rise before long; I will dress myself and go out, and have a quiet time before I am required to work. I have been keeping too little watch over myself lately, I have been too easily contented3 with the little knowledge
[80]
to which I have attained4. Oh, what if I should have been deceiving myself all the time—if I have never entered the strait gate at all!” Mark had lost for a time that sweet assurance which had afforded him such joy amidst trials.
Putting his Bible in his bosom5 that he might read it as he walked, Mark opened the door of his attic6. The instant that he did so he became sensible of a most powerful smell of fire, and the next moment a volume of smoke came rolling up from below!
Mark sprang down the staircase with anxious haste, every step making him more certain of the fearful fact that the house of his master was on fire! He rushed first to the sleeping apartment of Radley, then roused up the servant of the house, and bidding her throw up the window and call loudly for assistance, hurried to the bedroom of Mr. Lowe.
Startled from deep sleep, hardly able to comprehend what had happened, only with a terrible consciousness that it was something dreadful, the wretched man rose from his pillow, and was half dragged by Mark from his apartment, which being immediately over the place of the fire, was becoming very hot, and full of smoke. Such an awakening7 is terrible here—but oh, what will it be to the hypocrite hereafter, when the trumpet8 of the angel shall rouse him from his grave to behold9 a universe in flames!
[81]
Assistance was speedily given; the cry of “fire!” brought crowds of neighbours around; pails of water were passed from hand to hand, and the fire-engine soon came rattling10 up the street. The cries and shouts, the crackling and roaring of the devouring11 element, the suffocating12 dense13 clouds, through which little could be seen but tongues of fierce flame, now darting14 curling round the wood-work, now streaming upwards15 and reddening the black canopy16 of smoke—the stifling17 heat, the occasional glimpse of burning rafters, which looked as if glowing red hot in the fire, all formed a scene which time could never efface18 from the memory of those who beheld19 it!
Half wild with terror, anxiety, and grief, Lowe pushed his way here and there through the crowd, sometimes urging on the firemen, sometimes trying to assist them, sometimes standing20 still, to witness in helpless misery21 the destruction of his property. Well might he look on in misery, for that property was his all! The hypocrite had not laid up his treasure in heaven, and he now beheld, consuming before his eyes, that for which he had been daily bartering22 his soul!
Before the sun had reached his mid-day height, the fire had been entirely23 subdued24. The efforts of the firemen had prevented it from spreading, but a charred25 and blackened shell of a house, floors, rafters, windows, all entirely destroyed, alone remained of the habitation of Lowe!
[82]
The unhappy man was offered shelter in the house of a sympathizing neighbour, and thither26 Mark went to see him. He found him in a pitiable state, his mind almost crushed by his misfortune, yet still, true to his character, he professed27 submission28 to the decree of Providence29, even while his excessive grief showed how little he felt it, and intermixed his lamentations with various texts, thereby30 edifying31 his neighbours, perhaps, but shocking one who knew him better than they did.
He received his errand-boy with great kindness. “One of the most bitter parts of my trial,” said the really kind-hearted though unprincipled man, “is that my ruin will throw you and poor Radley upon the world. I suppose that you will return home directly.”
“I thought that I would go first to Mr. Ewart, and ask his advice.”
“I grieve to say that will no longer be in your power. That excellent minister was to leave Marshdale for Yorkshire yesterday.”
This piece of information fell like a heavy blow upon Mark, and his face showed how much he felt it. “Then I must return to the cottage at once,” said he, in a low tone.
“I can understand your reluctance32, my boy, to become a burden upon your poor parents.”
There was not a particle of hypocrisy33 in Mark; he wanted no praise for motives34 which were not his. “I was not thinking about that,” said he.
[83]
“Ah! I understand,” said Lowe, in his own peculiar35 tone; “you feel being deprived of the spiritual advantages which you enjoyed while under my roof.”
“Not exactly that,” replied Mark, hesitating and looking embarrassed, for there was a mixture of this regret in his reluctance to return home, though it was not his principal feeling.
The truth was, that Mark dreaded36 not so much the poverty and discomfort37 of Ann’s cottage—though he did not like that—as the positive cruelty which he would probably have to endure if he returned. Having for some time slipped his neck from the yoke38, he shrank exceedingly from having to bear it again. A soldier who fights bravely on the battle-field, if he leave it for a while till his blood cools and his wounds begin to stiffen39 and smart, finds it a much greater trial of courage to return to his post than to stay there without ever quitting it.
But Mark seemed to have no other resource, and bidding a friendly farewell to his late master, who, whatever he was in the sight of Heaven, had ever been kind to him, he walked slowly up the street. The gloomy, threatening clouds above him, seemed like types of his darkened fate, and the forerunners40 of a storm. As he proceeded, pondering over the difficulties of his position, he was startled by the sight of a lady, who was standing at a door at which she had just knocked. Mark
[84]
had seen her but once before, but her face was imprinted41 on a memory naturally good, especially as the most important event of his life, his repentance42 and turning to God, was in some way connected with her. She was the lady who had dropped the bag by the stile which contained Mark’s precious Bible.
Now, it had often weighed upon the conscience of the boy, that his dearest possession was not his by right; and that if ever he met with its lawful43 owner, common honesty bound him to restore it. And yet, to give that away which had been his life—to walk on in darkness, without that light which had been his comfort and solace44 till now—Mark felt almost as though he could not do it, and stood hesitating and arguing in his own mind till the lady entered the house, and the door closed behind her.
“She is rich, she can buy many others,” whispered the Tempter in his bosom. “She is certain to have supplied its loss long ago; but you, where will you find another? You will lose all your religion with your Bible, and fall under the temptations which you will be certain to meet.” Was not this mistrust of God’s sustaining power? “And what disgrace,” added the Tempter, “will it be to own taking and using that which was not yours! Notwithstanding your care, the book has been injured; it is not worth returning to a lady. She may question you about the other things in the
[85]
bag—the purse, the money, the handkerchief with lace; of course you cannot betray your family; you will be looked upon, perhaps punished, as a thief!” These were the suggestions of a timorous45 spirit, magnifying every danger by the way.
But against all this was the plain word of God, Thou shalt not steal. To keep anything from its owner that might be restored, was clearly to break the commandment. So, after a short inward prayer for the help which he so much needed, with a heart so low, and a frame so much exhausted46 by the excitement and fatigue47 of the morning, that it would have been a relief to him to have sat down and cried, Mark gently rang the bell.
He felt embarrassed when the servant-maid opened the door, and inquired what it was that he wanted. But, recovering himself, he asked if he might speak with the lady who had just entered the house. He said that he had something which he believed that she had lost; and the servant, without making any difficulty, ushered48 him into the parlour.
A silver-haired old gentleman and the lady were there; she had just opened a piano, and was sitting down to play. Her face looked so gentle and bright that Mark was somewhat reassured49, though most reluctant to part with his treasure.
“What did you want with me, my good boy,” said
[86]
the lady, turning round without quitting her seat, her fingers resting on the silent notes of the instrument.
MARK RESTORING THE LOST BIBLE.
Mark drew from his bosom the Bible. “I believe, ma’am, that this is yours,” said he.
[87]
“My long-lost Bible!” exclaimed the lady, rising with an expression of joy. “Oh! I never thought to see it again. Where could you have found it?”
“Near a stile, where you had dropped it as you went to church.”
“It was in my bag with other things; have you anything else?”
“I have nothing else,” replied Mark, feeling very uneasy.
“What is your name?” said the old gentleman, looking up from his paper.
“Mark Dowley, sir,” answered the boy.
“Mark Dowley! Ellen, have we not heard that name before?”
“Oh yes; ’tis the name of the boy in whom dear Mr. Ewart was interested. Do you not remember his speaking about him?”
“I remember it perfectly well, my dear; it is easy to imagine what became of the other contents of the bag.”
“And where are you staying now?” said Ellen, with a look of interest; “I hope that you have a good situation.”
“I had a good situation last night, but the fire that happened to-day burned down the house of my master, and now I am abroad in the world.”
Ellen glided50 to her father, and whispered something in his ear. Mark’s heart beat very quickly, he scarcely
[88]
knew why; but it was with a sensation of hope. After a few minutes of conversation which he could not hear, Mr. Searle—for that was the gentleman’s name—said aloud, “As you please, my dear; we certainly were looking out for such a boy. We could take him with us to Yorkshire; there could be no difficulty about that.”
“Would you like,” said Ellen, bending her kind eyes upon Mark, “to become one of our household, to accompany us to Silvermere? Your work would be light, and your situation comfortable. We live scarcely two miles from Castle Fontonore.”
With a rebound51 of joy all the greater from the depth of his late depression, Mark eagerly accepted the offer. Profiting, however, by the remembrance of past regrets, and desirous to be more faithful to his duty in future, he added that he must first obtain the consent of his mother.
“You are quite right, my boy,” said Mr. Searle, kindly52; “let nothing ever come between you and your duty to a parent. Her will, next to God’s, should be your law; you never can do too much for her.”
“But it is not desirable to go till to-morrow,” said Ellen; “those heavy clouds have burst; only see how it rains! The poor boy looks quite knocked up already; he could occupy the little room here to-night.”
This arrangement was finally concluded upon, and the weary but thankful boy again found a haven53 of rest.
[89]
A comfortable meal was set before him, to which he was inclined to do full justice. He enjoyed deep untroubled sleep that night, and awoke in the morning refreshed and rejoicing. How the difficulties that he feared had melted away before him! How one painful effort made had brought its own rich reward!
“I feel as though I could not rest,” said Mark, “the sun will rise before long; I will dress myself and go out, and have a quiet time before I am required to work. I have been keeping too little watch over myself lately, I have been too easily contented3 with the little knowledge
[80]
to which I have attained4. Oh, what if I should have been deceiving myself all the time—if I have never entered the strait gate at all!” Mark had lost for a time that sweet assurance which had afforded him such joy amidst trials.
Putting his Bible in his bosom5 that he might read it as he walked, Mark opened the door of his attic6. The instant that he did so he became sensible of a most powerful smell of fire, and the next moment a volume of smoke came rolling up from below!
Mark sprang down the staircase with anxious haste, every step making him more certain of the fearful fact that the house of his master was on fire! He rushed first to the sleeping apartment of Radley, then roused up the servant of the house, and bidding her throw up the window and call loudly for assistance, hurried to the bedroom of Mr. Lowe.
Startled from deep sleep, hardly able to comprehend what had happened, only with a terrible consciousness that it was something dreadful, the wretched man rose from his pillow, and was half dragged by Mark from his apartment, which being immediately over the place of the fire, was becoming very hot, and full of smoke. Such an awakening7 is terrible here—but oh, what will it be to the hypocrite hereafter, when the trumpet8 of the angel shall rouse him from his grave to behold9 a universe in flames!
[81]
Assistance was speedily given; the cry of “fire!” brought crowds of neighbours around; pails of water were passed from hand to hand, and the fire-engine soon came rattling10 up the street. The cries and shouts, the crackling and roaring of the devouring11 element, the suffocating12 dense13 clouds, through which little could be seen but tongues of fierce flame, now darting14 curling round the wood-work, now streaming upwards15 and reddening the black canopy16 of smoke—the stifling17 heat, the occasional glimpse of burning rafters, which looked as if glowing red hot in the fire, all formed a scene which time could never efface18 from the memory of those who beheld19 it!
Half wild with terror, anxiety, and grief, Lowe pushed his way here and there through the crowd, sometimes urging on the firemen, sometimes trying to assist them, sometimes standing20 still, to witness in helpless misery21 the destruction of his property. Well might he look on in misery, for that property was his all! The hypocrite had not laid up his treasure in heaven, and he now beheld, consuming before his eyes, that for which he had been daily bartering22 his soul!
Before the sun had reached his mid-day height, the fire had been entirely23 subdued24. The efforts of the firemen had prevented it from spreading, but a charred25 and blackened shell of a house, floors, rafters, windows, all entirely destroyed, alone remained of the habitation of Lowe!
[82]
The unhappy man was offered shelter in the house of a sympathizing neighbour, and thither26 Mark went to see him. He found him in a pitiable state, his mind almost crushed by his misfortune, yet still, true to his character, he professed27 submission28 to the decree of Providence29, even while his excessive grief showed how little he felt it, and intermixed his lamentations with various texts, thereby30 edifying31 his neighbours, perhaps, but shocking one who knew him better than they did.
He received his errand-boy with great kindness. “One of the most bitter parts of my trial,” said the really kind-hearted though unprincipled man, “is that my ruin will throw you and poor Radley upon the world. I suppose that you will return home directly.”
“I thought that I would go first to Mr. Ewart, and ask his advice.”
“I grieve to say that will no longer be in your power. That excellent minister was to leave Marshdale for Yorkshire yesterday.”
This piece of information fell like a heavy blow upon Mark, and his face showed how much he felt it. “Then I must return to the cottage at once,” said he, in a low tone.
“I can understand your reluctance32, my boy, to become a burden upon your poor parents.”
There was not a particle of hypocrisy33 in Mark; he wanted no praise for motives34 which were not his. “I was not thinking about that,” said he.
[83]
“Ah! I understand,” said Lowe, in his own peculiar35 tone; “you feel being deprived of the spiritual advantages which you enjoyed while under my roof.”
“Not exactly that,” replied Mark, hesitating and looking embarrassed, for there was a mixture of this regret in his reluctance to return home, though it was not his principal feeling.
The truth was, that Mark dreaded36 not so much the poverty and discomfort37 of Ann’s cottage—though he did not like that—as the positive cruelty which he would probably have to endure if he returned. Having for some time slipped his neck from the yoke38, he shrank exceedingly from having to bear it again. A soldier who fights bravely on the battle-field, if he leave it for a while till his blood cools and his wounds begin to stiffen39 and smart, finds it a much greater trial of courage to return to his post than to stay there without ever quitting it.
But Mark seemed to have no other resource, and bidding a friendly farewell to his late master, who, whatever he was in the sight of Heaven, had ever been kind to him, he walked slowly up the street. The gloomy, threatening clouds above him, seemed like types of his darkened fate, and the forerunners40 of a storm. As he proceeded, pondering over the difficulties of his position, he was startled by the sight of a lady, who was standing at a door at which she had just knocked. Mark
[84]
had seen her but once before, but her face was imprinted41 on a memory naturally good, especially as the most important event of his life, his repentance42 and turning to God, was in some way connected with her. She was the lady who had dropped the bag by the stile which contained Mark’s precious Bible.
Now, it had often weighed upon the conscience of the boy, that his dearest possession was not his by right; and that if ever he met with its lawful43 owner, common honesty bound him to restore it. And yet, to give that away which had been his life—to walk on in darkness, without that light which had been his comfort and solace44 till now—Mark felt almost as though he could not do it, and stood hesitating and arguing in his own mind till the lady entered the house, and the door closed behind her.
“She is rich, she can buy many others,” whispered the Tempter in his bosom. “She is certain to have supplied its loss long ago; but you, where will you find another? You will lose all your religion with your Bible, and fall under the temptations which you will be certain to meet.” Was not this mistrust of God’s sustaining power? “And what disgrace,” added the Tempter, “will it be to own taking and using that which was not yours! Notwithstanding your care, the book has been injured; it is not worth returning to a lady. She may question you about the other things in the
[85]
bag—the purse, the money, the handkerchief with lace; of course you cannot betray your family; you will be looked upon, perhaps punished, as a thief!” These were the suggestions of a timorous45 spirit, magnifying every danger by the way.
But against all this was the plain word of God, Thou shalt not steal. To keep anything from its owner that might be restored, was clearly to break the commandment. So, after a short inward prayer for the help which he so much needed, with a heart so low, and a frame so much exhausted46 by the excitement and fatigue47 of the morning, that it would have been a relief to him to have sat down and cried, Mark gently rang the bell.
He felt embarrassed when the servant-maid opened the door, and inquired what it was that he wanted. But, recovering himself, he asked if he might speak with the lady who had just entered the house. He said that he had something which he believed that she had lost; and the servant, without making any difficulty, ushered48 him into the parlour.
A silver-haired old gentleman and the lady were there; she had just opened a piano, and was sitting down to play. Her face looked so gentle and bright that Mark was somewhat reassured49, though most reluctant to part with his treasure.
“What did you want with me, my good boy,” said
[86]
the lady, turning round without quitting her seat, her fingers resting on the silent notes of the instrument.
MARK RESTORING THE LOST BIBLE.
Mark drew from his bosom the Bible. “I believe, ma’am, that this is yours,” said he.
[87]
“My long-lost Bible!” exclaimed the lady, rising with an expression of joy. “Oh! I never thought to see it again. Where could you have found it?”
“Near a stile, where you had dropped it as you went to church.”
“It was in my bag with other things; have you anything else?”
“I have nothing else,” replied Mark, feeling very uneasy.
“What is your name?” said the old gentleman, looking up from his paper.
“Mark Dowley, sir,” answered the boy.
“Mark Dowley! Ellen, have we not heard that name before?”
“Oh yes; ’tis the name of the boy in whom dear Mr. Ewart was interested. Do you not remember his speaking about him?”
“I remember it perfectly well, my dear; it is easy to imagine what became of the other contents of the bag.”
“And where are you staying now?” said Ellen, with a look of interest; “I hope that you have a good situation.”
“I had a good situation last night, but the fire that happened to-day burned down the house of my master, and now I am abroad in the world.”
Ellen glided50 to her father, and whispered something in his ear. Mark’s heart beat very quickly, he scarcely
[88]
knew why; but it was with a sensation of hope. After a few minutes of conversation which he could not hear, Mr. Searle—for that was the gentleman’s name—said aloud, “As you please, my dear; we certainly were looking out for such a boy. We could take him with us to Yorkshire; there could be no difficulty about that.”
“Would you like,” said Ellen, bending her kind eyes upon Mark, “to become one of our household, to accompany us to Silvermere? Your work would be light, and your situation comfortable. We live scarcely two miles from Castle Fontonore.”
With a rebound51 of joy all the greater from the depth of his late depression, Mark eagerly accepted the offer. Profiting, however, by the remembrance of past regrets, and desirous to be more faithful to his duty in future, he added that he must first obtain the consent of his mother.
“You are quite right, my boy,” said Mr. Searle, kindly52; “let nothing ever come between you and your duty to a parent. Her will, next to God’s, should be your law; you never can do too much for her.”
“But it is not desirable to go till to-morrow,” said Ellen; “those heavy clouds have burst; only see how it rains! The poor boy looks quite knocked up already; he could occupy the little room here to-night.”
This arrangement was finally concluded upon, and the weary but thankful boy again found a haven53 of rest.
[89]
A comfortable meal was set before him, to which he was inclined to do full justice. He enjoyed deep untroubled sleep that night, and awoke in the morning refreshed and rejoicing. How the difficulties that he feared had melted away before him! How one painful effort made had brought its own rich reward!
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1
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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2
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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3
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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4
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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5
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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7
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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8
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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9
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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10
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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11
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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12
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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14
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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15
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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efface
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| v.擦掉，抹去 | |
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19
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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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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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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22
bartering
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| v.作物物交换，以货换货( barter的现在分词 ) | |
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23
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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subdued
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| 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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25
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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27
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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28
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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29
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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30
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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31
edifying
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| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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32
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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33
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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34
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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35
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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36
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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37
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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38
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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39
stiffen
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| v.(使)硬，(使)变挺，(使)变僵硬 | |
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forerunners
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| n.先驱( forerunner的名词复数 )；开路人；先兆；前兆 | |
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imprinted
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| v.盖印（imprint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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42
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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43
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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timorous
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| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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48
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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50
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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51
rebound
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| v.弹回；n.弹回，跳回 | |
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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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haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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