Hugh’s hero, the great surgeon who gave his services to the Blue-friars Hospital, had come down to see St. Quentin, and perform on him the operation which had saved the life of the man Duncombe.
Under these circumstances Lady Frederica declined absolutely remaining at the Castle.
“My nerves really wouldn’t stand it,” she explained. “I hate anything to do with illness, but hitherto St. Quentin’s has been kept comparatively in the background: in fact, it has been possible to forget it. But an operation—with doctors and nurses hovering1 round—and bulletins upon the door, and people expecting one to have a full, true, and particular account of how the patient is at one’s finger’s ends! No, thank you. I shall go to town, and Sydney shall come with me.”
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But Sydney rebelled, and appealed against the verdict to her cousin.
“If I must go away, let me go to the Deanery!” she implored3. “I can’t go with Lady Frederica! I must go to somebody who cares too!”
A flush swept over St. Quentin’s face.
“Who cares too?” he muttered, then with an effort turned to her and spoke4 aloud.
“Sydney, I’ll tell you this. If, in God’s mercy, I get through the operation, I am going to follow your advice, and tell the girl I love just everything, as I told you.”
Sydney got her way, and went to the Deanery, accompanied by Miss Osric, leaving Lady Frederica to go off to town alone.
The third day of her absence from the Castle had come—a long dreary5 day, which seemed unending. It was to relieve the strain of that waiting time that Katharine suggested, when the shadows were falling long about the Close, that they should go across to Oliver’s, to choose a gold chain as a birthday present for the little cousin Sylvia, whose birthday was to be on the morrow.
Action of any kind was something of a comfort, and Sydney came.
A shabbily-dressed man was just concluding
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some bargain with the jeweller as the two girls came into the shop—some bargain with which he seemed very much dissatisfied. “It’s worth ever so much more, confound you for a screw!” they heard him say. “Why, that’s two quid less than you gave the parson for it. I only brought it here because I thought you’d give a better price for your own thing.”
Sydney started violently, for the voice was Sir Algernon’s, and on the counter between him and Oliver there lay her little watch.
Katharine had recognised him also, and her eyes flashed. “Come away, Sydney dear,” she said.
Low as she spoke, he caught the words and turned. But for his voice, Sydney hardly would have known him.
The light of a pale spring evening fell upon his face through the open doorway6 of the jeweller’s shop, and showed up pitilessly the wreck7 he had made of it. His eyes were bloodshot and furtive8, and the lines had deepened round them, while his hair showed very grey above the ears. He looked to-day far older than his forty-one years warranted.
He made an uncertain movement forward. Katharine drew away: “Come, Sydney!”
[264]
They left the shop, but, once outside, the younger girl paused, looking back.
Sir Algernon had followed them into the street, and was gazing after them as though he wished to speak. Sydney noted9 the shabbiness of his dress and the fact that he had not shaved that morning.
“Katharine,” she said, “won’t you hear what he has to say?”
He heard her and came forward. The hand with which he lifted his hat shook. Katharine drew herself away from him, but Sydney stood her ground.
“Thank you,” he said, “I only want you to give Quin a message from me. He wrote to me, you know, to tell me that he had Duncombe’s written confession10 of the part I’d played after that miserable11 race, but didn’t mean to publish it, or show me up. He’s treating me a long way better than I treated him. I want you to tell him that, if you will, and also tell him that he won’t be bothered by me any more. That evening I left St. Quentin Castle I had had a wire to tell me that I was practically ruined. The man of business to whom I had pinned my faith—as far as I ever pinned it upon anybody—had taken a leaf out of my book, and gone in for gambling—speculation
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rather. When he’d finished his own money he used mine, relying on the fact that I was too busy screwing poor old Quin to attend to my own affairs. Of course he thought he’d get it back; they always do! But he didn’t, and the shock killed him. That was what the wire told me, and it was that that made me so hard on Quin. To make him pay up then was my last chance, you see; but you baulked that! You won the game, and I drop it for the future. I’m going abroad somewhere now; tell Quin he’s done with me for good and all, and I have sold the watch I bought for you to pay my passage out. Good-bye, Miss Lisle.”
“I will tell St. Quentin,” Sydney answered gravely, holding out her hand. “Good-bye.”
Sir Algernon took the little hand.
“Good-bye,” he said again, then added, as though half against his will, “After all, I’m not particularly sorry that you won the game.”
He walked off quickly in the opposite direction, and passed from Sydney’s life as suddenly as he had entered it.
“I hope you did not mind my speaking to him, Katharine,” she said, as the two went through the cool, green, peaceful Close together. “I could not have done it, if—if—he had
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not been so shabby. But I think if—when he gets well, and we tell him, that St. Quentin will be glad.”
“I believe you were right,” Katharine said quietly, and the two passed into the Deanery together.
A great hush12 seemed upon everything, and as the girls sat in the deep window of the drawing-room when dinner was over, the whole world seemed to wear a look of listening. It was one of those wonderfully mild spring evenings which March sometimes gives us as a foretaste of the summer that is coming. Katharine let the fire burn low, and did not close the window.
There was no breeze to stir the daffodils and tulips, which had lost their colour in the fading of the light: across the Close the grey Cathedral stood silent and solemn, looking down with grave, infinite pity upon the fleeting13 troubles and anxieties of the people living their little lives around its walls.
To and fro across the shadowy turf the Dean walked, with his hands behind him, deep in thought. The soft, sweet-scented spring darkness had fallen, but Katharine would not ring for lights. The girls sat quietly together, their hands clasped in the dimness.
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Into the silence came the mellow14 chime of the cathedral clock: the four quarters, which had passed while they were sitting there, pealed2 out one after another, and then the nine deep strokes of the hour.
“There must be news of some kind by now,” Sydney cried.
It was too dark to see her companion’s face, and Katharine did not answer her.
Hard upon her words there came a sound of quick, sharp footsteps ringing out upon the flagged path running through the Close. The Dean raised his head and stood still.
“Canon Molyneux returning,” Katharine said, but she rose, with a strained expectancy15 in her position.
The steps came nearer. Sydney darted16 down the stairs, and was flinging back the heavy front door in a moment. “Hugh!”
“Sir Anthony thinks he is going to pull round!” was all Hugh said.
Katharine had followed Sydney to the hall, but when a moment later the girl looked round for her, she had gone.
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收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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2
pealed
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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6
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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7
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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8
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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9
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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10
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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11
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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12
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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13
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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14
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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15
expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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16
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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