‘This is the very best girl in the world, Colonel Hayward,’ said Mrs. Bellendean, with a hand upon Joyce’s shoulder. ‘I don’t wonder she interested you. She has taught herself every sort of thing—Latin and mathematics, and I don’t know all what. Our school is always at the head in all the examinations, and she really raises quite an enthusiasm among the children. I don’t know what we should do without her. Whenever we come here, Joyce is my right hand, and has been since she was quite a child.’
If it was condescension3, it was of the most gracious kind. Mrs. Bellendean kept patting Joyce on the shoulder as she spoke4, with a caressing5 touch: and her eyes and her voice were both soft. The girl responded with a look full of tenderness and pleasure. ‘Oh, mem, it is you who are always so good to me,’ she said.
The schoolmistress then! That was how the ploughman’s daughter had got her superior look. When he saw her closer, he thought he saw (enlightened by this knowledge) that it was only a superior look, not the aspect of a lady as he had supposed. Her dress had not the dainty perfection of the young ladies’ dresses; her hands were not delicate like theirs: and she said ‘mem’ to
{11}
her patroness with an accent which—— Ah! but what did that accent remind him of? and the face? and, good heavens! the name? These criticisms passed like a cloud across his mind; the bewilderment and anxiety remained. He rose up from the bench, nobody having thought anything of his sudden subsidence, except that perhaps the old Colonel was tired with standing about. Oh that Elizabeth had been here! but in her absence he must do what he could for himself.
‘Young lady,’ he said, ‘would you tell me how you got your name? It is a very uncommon6 name: and your face is not a common face,’ he added, with nervous haste. ‘I knew some one once——’
His voice seemed to go away from him into his throat. It was curious to see him, at his age, so unsteady and agitated7, swaying from one foot to another, stammering8, flushing under the limpid9 modest eyes of this country girl, who, on her part, coloured suddenly, looked at him, and then at Mrs. Bellendean, with a faint cry, ‘Oh, sir!’
‘Where she got her name?’ said Mrs. Bellendean. ‘It is not so easily answered as perhaps you think. I will tell you afterwards. It is a very uncommon name. Joyce, my dear, what is the little secret you have been plotting, and when is it to be made known?’
The young woman stood for a moment without replying. ‘How can I help wondering?’ she said, with a long-drawn breath. ‘How can I think of common things? Nobody has ever asked me that question before.’ Then, with a sudden effort, she recovered her self-control. ‘It will be nothing,’ she said quickly, as if to herself; ‘it will be some fancy: I’ll go back to my work. It was no secret worth calling a secret, Mrs. Bellendean—only some poems they learned to please me—to say to you and the other ladies, if you will take your seats.’
‘Where would you like us to take our seats, Joyce?’
‘Yonder, under the big ash-tree. It’s very bonnie there. You can see the Firth, and the ships sailing, and St. Margaret’s Hope; and you will look like the Queen herself, with her ladies, under the green canopy10. Will I put the chair for you?’ cried the girl, in a Scotch11 confusion of verbs. She gave the Colonel one glance, and then hurried off, as if determined12 to distract her own attention. There were a few garden-chairs already scattered13 about under a clump14 of trees, which crowned a little platform of green—a very slight eminence15, just enough to serve as a dais. She drew them into place with a rapid and cunning hand, and caught quickly at
{12}
a Turkish rug of brilliant colour, which lay beside the tea-table, placing it in front of the presiding chair. Her movements were very swift and certain, and full of the grace of activity and capacity. Meantime the Colonel stood by the side of Mrs. Bellendean, surveying all.
‘She is excited,’ said the lady. ‘She is a strange girl: your question—which I have no doubt is a very simple question—has set her imagination going. See what a picture she has made! and she could sketch16 it too, if there was time. She is a sort of universal genius. And now she is all on fire, hoping to find out something.’
‘Hoping to find out—what?’
‘Oh, my dear Colonel, it is a long story. I will tell you afterwards—not a word more now, please. I don’t want her to form expectations, poor girl—— Well Joyce—is that where I am to sit? I shall feel quite like the Queen——’
‘With the young ladies behind,’ said Joyce, breathless. Her eyes were full of impatient light, her sensitive lips quivering even while they smiled—a rapid coming and going of expression, of movement and colour, in her usually pale face. The Colonel stood gazing at her, his mouth slightly open, his eyes fixed17. Oh, if Elizabeth were but here, who would know what to do!
The scene that followed was very pretty, if his mind had been sufficiently18 free to take it in. The little girls, in their bright summer frocks, subdued19 by the darker costumes of the boys, poured forth20 from their eclipse under the tent, and gathered in perpetually moving groups round the little slope. The ladies took their places, smiling and benignant—Mrs. Bellendean in the centre, two of the prettiest girls behind her chair, the others seated about. They all submitted to Joyce, asking, ‘Shall I sit here?’ ‘Shall I stand?’ ‘What am I to do?’ with gay docility21. When it was all arranged to her liking22, Joyce turned towards the children. She stood at one side, pointing towards the pretty group under the trees, holding her own fine head high, with a habit of public speaking, which the Colonel thought—and perhaps also Norman Bellendean, who was looking on—one of the prettiest sights he ever saw.
‘Children,’ said the young schoolmistress, lifting her arm, with simple natural eloquence23, ‘this is a tableau24—a beautiful tableau for you to see. If you ever read the word in a book, or in the papers, you will know what it means. It is a French word. It means a living group—that is like a picture. This is our Scots Queen Margaret—a far grander Queen than her they call the
{13}
Queen of Scots in your history-books—Margaret that was the Atheling, that married Malcolm Canmore, that was the son of King Duncan, who was murdered by—who was murdered by—— Speak quick! What do you mean, you big girls? Why, it’s in Shakespeare!’ cried Joyce, with a ring of indignant wonder in her voice, as if the possibility of a mistake in such a case was beyond belief.
There was a movement among a group of girls, and some whispering and hasty consultation25: then one put forth a nervous hand, and cried, but faltering26, ‘Macbeth.’
‘I thought you would not put me to shame before all the ladies!’ cried Joyce, with a suffusion27 of sudden colour: for she had been pale with suspense28. Then she added, in a business-like tone: ‘It is you, Jean, that are to say Portia. The Queen will hear you. Come well forward, and speak out.’
It was not a masterpiece of elocution. The speaker blushed and fumbled29, and clasped and unclasped her fingers in agonies of shyness—while Joyce stood by with her head on one side, prompting, encouraging, her lips forming the words, but only twenty times more quickly, as her pupil spoke them. The Colonel was so absorbed in this sight that he started when a voice spoke suddenly at his elbow, and recoiling30 a step or two instinctively31, saw that it was the young man, evidently a schoolmaster, who had been with Joyce in the tent. He was looking at her with a mixture of tenderness and pride.
‘It is quite wonderful how she does it,’ he said. ‘I’ve no reason to think I’m unsuccessful myself with my big boys; but I have not got them under command like that. They will make very acute remarks, sir, that would surprise you, in the Shakespeare class—but answer like that, no. It is personal influence that does it—and I never saw anybody in that respect to equal Joyce.’
It gave the Colonel a sensation of anger to hear this fellow call her Joyce. He turned and looked at him again. But there was nothing to object to in him. He was not a gentleman; but he was what is called in his own class quite a gentleman—a young fellow of very tolerable appearance, whose clothes were of the most respectable description, and who wore them as if he were used to them. He had as good a necktie as Norman’s, and a flower in his coat. But when he stood by Norman it was apparent that there was a good deal wanting. He was in all probability much cleverer than Norman. He spoke of Shakespeare with an awe-striking familiarity as if he knew all about him—which was
{14}
more than the Colonel did. All the same he felt a sensation of offence at the use by this man of the girl’s Christian32 name.
‘Miss Joyce—is evidently a young lady of unusual gifts,’ he said.
The face of the young man flushed with pleasure. ‘Sir,’ he cried, ‘you never said a truer word. She is just running over with capability33. She can do anything she sets her hand to. I sometimes feel as if I grudged34 her to be in the line of public tuition all her life. But when there are two of us,’ he added proudly, ‘we will see what we can do.’
What did the fellow mean? two of them! and one this wonderful girl? the Colonel turned his back upon him in indignation, then turned again in curiosity. ‘Is it common,’ he said, ‘in Scotch parish schools to have a Shakespeare class?’
‘Our common people, sir,’ said the young man quietly, with a look of self-complacence which made the Colonel long to knock him down—‘our common people are far more educated as a rule than you find them in England. But no—I would not say it was common. There are many of my friends that have poetry classes, which are optional, you know, on a Saturday afternoon or other free moment. I’m not ashamed to say that it was from her I took the hint—though you will think it is seldom a woman takes the lead in such a matter. She started it, and several of us have followed her example. She is, as you say, a creature of most uncommon gifts.’
‘And yet a ploughman’s daughter in a Scotch village: with that face—and that name!’
The young schoolmaster gave a sort of doubtful cough, the meaning of which the Colonel could not divine. ‘That is how she has been brought up,’ he said; ‘but you are perhaps not aware, sir, that many a wonderful character has come from a Scotch ploughman’s house. Not to speak of Burns, there was——’
‘Oh, I am aware the Scotch are a most superior nation,’ cried the Colonel, with a laugh.
‘That is just the simple truth,’ the young man said.
Meanwhile the recitations were going on, which perhaps were not equal in quality to the rest of Joyce’s arrangements. She was in extreme earnest about it all, it was evident to see, and eager that everything should produce the best effect. A few mothers, who had known what was going to happen, had gathered about, listening with proud delight yet anxiety lest they should break down, each to her own child. Among them was a little old woman, sunburnt and rosy35 as a winter apple, with an old-fashioned black bonnet36 tied down over her ears, and a huge Paisley shawl almost
{15}
covering her dark cotton gown. ‘You think but of your own bairns,’ she was saying, ‘but I think of them a’; for it’s a’ my J’yce’s doing, and she will just break her heart if there’s any failure.’
‘There will be nae failure; they’re owre weel trained for that.’
‘I’ve no a word to say against J’yce; but she’s awfu’ fond of making a show,’ another woman said.
‘If she’s fond of making a show, it’s never of hersel’,—it’s always your bairns she puts to the front; and if you dinna like it,’ cried the old woman, ‘what brings ye here?’
The Colonel, who had the best of manners, stepped forward and took off his hat. ‘I guess by what you say, ma’am, that you are Miss Joyce’s mother?’ he said.
The old woman was a little startled and fluttered by this unexpected address. She, too, hesitated, as they all seemed to do. ‘Weel,’ she said, ‘sir, I’m all the poor thing has had for one; but no so good as she deserved.’
‘Ma’am,’ said the Colonel, ‘the result of your training speaks for itself, and that is the best practical test. Will you let me ask you a question—and that is, whether the name Joyce is a family name?’
The old woman’s mouth and her eyes opened in astonishment37. ‘Joyce,’ she said feebly, ‘a family name?’
‘I mean—does she take it from a relation, as I have always heard was the admirable Scotch way?’
‘Weel, sir,’ said the old lady, ‘if that is all, I have little doubt ye are quite right. She would get it, it’s mair than probable, from her mither.’
The Colonel gazed upon her with surprise. More than probable! what did she mean? ‘Then it is your name too,’ he said, with a little disappointment. There arose from the group a sudden burst of laughter and explanation and denials, of which he could not make out a word. ‘Na, na,’—that was all that reached him clearly. But what was meant by it—whether that it was not the old mother’s name, or what other negative—he could not make out: and just at this moment Mr. Bellendean and Norman came up to him and drew him away.
‘You have had enough of this, I am sure, Colonel. Come along, we are going down to the Ferry to see what Essex and the rest are after. It’s very good of you to give us your countenance38 to the last.’
‘My countenance! nothing of the sort, Norman. I’m very much interested.
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’
‘In the little girls and their “pieces?"’ said Mr. Bellendean.
‘In the young lady there who has taken so much trouble.’
‘What young lady?’ said the elder gentleman, looking about. Then he added, in a careless tone, ‘Oh, Joyce! Yes, she’s an interesting creature, isn’t she! It will please my wife if you admire Joyce.’
‘I think then, sir,’ said Norman, ‘I’ll please Mrs. Bellendean too.’
‘Oh, you! you’re a different matter. You had better keep to your own set, my boy,’ said the father. ‘If you are so absorbed, Colonel, we’ll leave you till you have had enough. You’ll find us at the Ferry. Come, Norman, and look after your friends.’
The two gentlemen went away, the Colonel stayed. He was becoming accustomed to the name and the face which had so much disturbed him. If indeed it was a family name—and likenesses, we know, are very fantastic—still for the sake of the name and face, he would like, he thought, to see something more of her; he would like to give her some token of his interest, if she would let him. He did not think that he had ever been so much interested in any one before. He thought he could never forget this little scene. Perhaps, on the whole, he was tired of the recitations. He took a little stroll about, but came back always to a point where he could see her. If Elizabeth were but here! She would have known in a moment what to do. She would have found out all about it; how the girl got that name at least, if not how she got that face. By and by the little performance came to an end, and Mrs. Bellendean made a gracious little speech praising every one, and got up from the place under the trees where she had been posing as Queen Margaret; and the children began to get into movement, to arrange themselves in their respective bands, and to prepare for going away.
‘How good of you to stay all the time, Colonel Hayward! They did their best, poor things; but even Joyce cannot create a soul in the Jeanies and Jennys. Now I think we had better go in; it is almost time to dress,’ Mrs. Bellendean said.
The Colonel could not but follow, but he cast wistful looks behind him. ‘I suppose it would only annoy her: but I should like to see more of her,’ he said.
‘Of Joyce? Colonel Hayward, I am afraid you are a dangerous person. I can’t have you turning the head of the best girl in the world.’
He looked round again, lingering, unable to quit the spot. The little procession was marshalled and ready to set out. But on the
{17}
spot where she had stood prompting and directing her pupils the young schoolmistress was still standing, lingering like himself. She was looking after him with wistful eyes, with a look of wondering disappointment, as if she had expected something more. That look awakened40 all the old excitement, which had partially41 calmed down in the Colonel’s heart. The attitude, the raised head, the wistful look in the eyes, all moved him again as at the first, with an overpowering sense of likeness39, almost identity. ‘What does it mean?’ he said; ‘I feel as if I could not tear myself away. Who is she? There must be something in a resemblance like that.’
‘Whom does she resemble, Colonel Hayward?’
The Colonel turned round again and gave his questioner a look. He looked at her as if he wanted to know how far he could trust her. And then his eyebrows42 and his mouth worked. ‘Of some one—a lady—who has been long dead,’ he replied, ‘and her name—her name!’
‘You are very serious, Colonel; it is not only a passing interest? It is really something—something! Oh, forgive me. I cannot have her disturbed. She is all quivering with imagination and wonder.’
‘Mrs. Bellendean, there is some mystery about this girl. Why should she wonder, why should she be disturbed? Me, yes. I am much disturbed. It is something—of which I have not spoken for years. Oh, if Elizabeth were only here!’
‘Then come with me to my room,’ Mrs. Bellendean said; ‘if we stay here we shall be interrupted every moment. I am beginning to get excited myself. Come this way. The window is always open, and nobody will know we are there.’
She turned for a moment and waved her hand to Joyce, who had just taken her place at the head of the band; then, turning up a side path, led Colonel Hayward round an angle of the house to the open window of a little morning-room. ‘Here,’ she said,—‘we can talk in quiet here.
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1
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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2
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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3
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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4
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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5
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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6
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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7
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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8
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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9
limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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10
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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11
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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12
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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13
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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14
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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15
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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16
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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17
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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18
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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19
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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20
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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22
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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23
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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24
tableau
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| n.画面，活人画（舞台上活人扮的静态画面） | |
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25
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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26
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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27
suffusion
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| n.充满 | |
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28
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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29
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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30
recoiling
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| v.畏缩( recoil的现在分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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31
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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32
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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33
capability
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| n.能力；才能；(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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34
grudged
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| 怀恨（grudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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35
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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36
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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37
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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38
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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39
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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40
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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41
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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42
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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