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auspices of her brothers. When she proved too timid for much progress, they put her in a chair and drew her carriage from end to end of the pond, growing more and more rosy1 and bright. Mrs. Blencarrow herself came down in the afternoon to see them at their play, and since the pond at Blencarrow was famed, there was a wonderful gathering2 of people whom Reginald and Bertie had invited, or who were used to come as soon as it was known that the pond ‘was bearing.’
When the lady of the house came on to this cheerful scene, everybody hurried to do her homage3. The scandal had not taken root, or else they meant to show her that her neighbours would not turn against her. Perhaps the cessation of visits had been but an accident, such as sometimes happens in those wintry days when nobody
{151}
cares to leave home; or perhaps public opinion, after the first shock of hearing the report against her, had come suddenly round again, as it sometimes does, with an impulse of indignant disbelief. However that might be, she received a triumphant4 welcome from everybody. To be sure, it was upon her own ground. People said to each other that Mrs. Blencarrow was not looking very strong, but exceedingly handsome and interesting; her dark velvet5 and furs suited her; her eyes were wonderfully clear, almost like the eyes of a child, and exceptionally brilliant; her colour went and came. She spoke6 little, but she was very gracious and made the most charming picture, everybody said, with her children about her: Emmy, rosy with unusual excitement and exercise, clinging to her arm, the boys making circles round her.
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‘Mamma, come on the chair—we will take you to the end of the pond.’
‘Put mamma on the chair,’ they shouted, laying hold upon her.
She allowed herself to be persuaded, and they flew along, pushing her before them, their animated7, glowing faces full of delight, showing over her shoulders.
‘Brown, come and give us a hand with mamma. Brown, just lay hold at this side. Brown! Where’s Brown? Can’t he hear?’ the boys cried.
‘Never mind Brown,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow; ‘I like my boys best.’
‘Ah! but he is such a fellow,’ they exclaimed. ‘He could take you over like lightning. He is far the best skater on the ice. Turn mamma round, Rex, and let her see Brown.’
‘No, my darlings, take me back to the
{153}
bank; I am getting a little giddy,’ she said.
But, as they obeyed her, they did not fail to point out the gyrations of Brown, who was certainly, as they said, the best skater on the ice. Mrs. Blencarrow saw him very well—she did not lose the sight—sweeping in wonderful circles about the pond, admired by everybody. He was heavy in repose8, but he was a picture of agile9 strength and knowledge there.
And so the afternoon passed, all calm, bright, tranquil10, and, according to every appearance, happy, as it had been for years. A more charming scene could scarcely be, even summer not brighter—the glowing faces lit up with health and that invigorating chill which suits the hardy11 North; the red sunset making all the heavens glow in emulation12; the grace
{154}
ful, flying movements of so many lively figures; the boyish shouts and laughter in the clear air; the animation13 of everything. Weakness or trouble do not come out into such places; there was nothing but pleasure, health, innocent enjoyment14, natural satisfaction there. Quite a little crowd stood watching Brown, the steward15, as he flew along, making every kind of circle and figure, as if he had been on wings—far the best skater of all, as the boys said. He was still there in the ruddy twilight16, when the visitors who had that privilege had streamed into the warm hall for tea, and the nimble skaters had disappeared.
The hall was almost as lively as the pond had been, the red firelight throwing a sort of enchantment17 over all, rising and falling in fitful flames. Blencarrow had
{155}
not been so brilliant since the night of the ball. Several of the young Birchams were there, though not their mother; and Mrs. Blencarrow had specially18, and with a smile of meaning, inquired for Kitty in the hearing of everybody. They all understood her smile, and the inquiry19 added a thrill of excitement to the delights of the afternoon.
‘The horrid20 little thing! How could she invent such a story?’ people said to each other; though there were some who whispered in corners that Mrs. Blencarrow was wise, if she could keep it up, to ‘brazen21 it out.’
Brazen it out! A woman so dignified22, so proud, so self-possessed; a princess in her way, a queen-mother. As the afternoon went on, her strength failed a little; she began to breathe more quickly, to change colour instantaneously from red
{156}
to pale. Anxiety crept into the clear, too clear eyes. She looked about her by turns with a searching look, as if expecting someone to appear and change everything. When the visitors’ carriages came to take them away, the sound of the wheels startled her.
‘I thought it might be your uncles coming back,’ she said to Emmy, who always watched her with wistful eyes.
Mr. Germaine had gone back to his parsonage through the moonlight with a more troubled mind than he had perhaps ever brought before from any house in his parish. A clergyman has to hear many strange stories, but this, which was in the course of being enacted23, and at a crisis so full of excitement, occupied him as no tale of erring24 husband or wife, or son or daughter going to the bad—such
{157}
as are also so common everywhere—had ever done. But the thing which excited him most was the recollection of the silent figure behind, sitting bowed down while the penitent25 made her confession26, listening to everything, but making no sign. The clergyman’s interest was all with Mrs. Blencarrow; he was on her side. To think that she—such a woman—could have got herself into a position like that, seemed incredible, and he felt with an aching sympathy that there was nothing he would not do to get her free—nothing that was not contrary to truth and honour. But, granted that inconceivable first step, her position was one which could be understood; whereas all his efforts could not make him understand the position of the other—the man who sat there and made no sign. How could
{158}
any man sit and hear all that and make no sign?—silent when she made the tragical27 suggestion that she might be contradicted—motionless when she herself did the servant’s part and opened the door to the visitor—giving neither support, nor protest, nor service—taking no share in the whole matter except the silent assertion of his presence there? Mr. Germaine could not forget it; it preoccupied28 him more than the image, so much more beautiful and commanding, of the woman in her anguish29. What the man could be thinking, what could be his motives30, how he could reconcile himself to, or how he could have been brought into, such a strange position, was the subject of all his thoughts. It kept coming uppermost all day; it became a kind of fascination31 upon him; wherever
{159}
he turned his eyes he seemed to see the strange image of that dark figure, with hidden face and shaggy hair pushed about, between his supporting hands.
Just twenty-four hours after that extraordinary interview these thoughts were interrupted by a visitor.
‘A gentleman, sir, wishing to see you.’
It was late for any such visit, but a clergyman is used to being appealed to at all seasons. The visitor came in—a tall man wrapped in a large coat, with the collar up to his ears. It was a cold night, which accounted sufficiently32 for any amount of covering. Mr. Germaine looked at him in surprise, with a curious sort of recognition of the heavy outline of the man; but he suddenly brightened as he recognised the stranger and welcomed him cheerfully.
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‘Oh! it is you, Brown; come to the fire, and take a chair. Did you ever feel such cold?’
Brown sat down, throwing back his coat and revealing his dark countenance33, which was cloudy, but handsome, in a rustic34, heavy way. The frost was wet and melting on his crisp, curly brown beard; he had the freshness of the cold on his face, but yet was darkly pale, as was his nature. He made but little response to the Vicar’s cheerful greeting, and drew his chair a little distance away from the blaze of the fire. Mr. Germaine tried to draw him into conversation on ordinary topics, but finding this fail, said, after a pause:
‘You have brought me, perhaps, a message from Mrs. Blencarrow?’
He was disturbed by a sort of presenti
{161}
ment, an uneasy feeling of something coming, for which he could find no cause.
‘No, I have brought no message. I come to you,’ said Brown, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and his head supported by his hands, ‘on my own account.’
Mr. Germaine uttered a strange cry.
‘Good heavens!’ he said, ‘it was you!’
‘Last night?’ said Brown, looking up at him with his deep-set eyes. ‘Didn’t you know?’
Mr. Germaine could not contain himself. He got up and pushed back his chair. He looked for a moment, being a tall man also and strong, though not so strong as the Hercules before him, as if he would have seized upon him and shaken him, as one dog does another.
‘You!’ he cried. ‘The creature of her
{162}
bounty! For whom she has done everything! Obliged to her for all you are and all you have!’
Brown laughed a low, satirical laugh. ‘I am her husband,’ he said.
The Vicar stood with rage in his face, gazing at this man, feeling that he could have torn him limb from limb.
‘How dared you?’ he said, through his clenched35 teeth; ‘how dared you? I should like to kill you. You to sit there and let her appeal to you, and let her open to me and close the door, and do a servant’s office, while you were there!’
‘What do you mean?’ said Brown. ‘I am her husband. She told you so. It’s the woman’s place in my class to do all that; why shouldn’t she?’
‘I thought,’ said the Vicar, ‘that however much a man stood by his class, it was
{163}
thought best to behave like a gentleman whatever you were.’
‘There you were mistaken,’ said Brown. He got up and stood beside Mr. Germaine on the hearth36, a tall and powerful figure. ‘I am not a gentleman,’ he said, ‘but I’ve married a lady. What have I made by it? At first I was a fool. I was pleased whatever she did. But that sort of thing don’t last. I’ve never been anything but Brown the steward, while she was the lady and mistress. How is a man to stand that? I’ve been hidden out of sight. She’s never acknowledged me, never given me my proper place. Brought up to supper at the ball by those two brats37 of boys, spoken to in a gracious sort of way, “My good Brown.” And I her husband—her husband, whom it was her business to obey!
{164}
’
‘It is a difficult position,’ said Mr. Germaine, averting38 his eyes.
‘Difficult! I should think it was difficult, and a false position, as you said. You spoke to her like a man last night; I’m glad she got it hot for once. By——! I am sick and tired of it all.’
‘I hope,’ said the Vicar, not looking at him, ‘that you will not make any sudden exposure, that you will get her consent, that you will respect her feelings. I don’t say that you have not a hard part to play; but you must think what this exposure will be for her.’
‘Exposure!’ he said. ‘I can’t see what shame there is in being my wife; naturally I can’t see it. But you need not trouble your head about that. I don’t mean to expose her. I am sick and tired of
{165}
it all; I’m going off to begin life anew——’
‘You are going off?’ Mr. Germaine’s heart bounded with sudden relief; he could scarcely believe the man meant what he said.
‘Yes, I’m going off—to Australia. You can go and tell her. Part of the rents have been paid in this week; I have taken them for my expenses.’
He took out a pocket-book, and held it out to the Vicar, who started and laid a sudden hand on his arm.
‘You will not do that—not take money?’ he cried. ‘No, no, that cannot be!’
‘Why not? You may be sure she won’t betray me. I am going for her good and my own; I don’t make any pretence39; it’s been a failure all round. I want a wife of my own age and my own kind, not a grand lady who is disgusted
{166}
with all my natural ways. A man can’t stand that,’ he cried, growing darkly red. ‘She kept it under at first. But I am not a brute40, whatever you think. I have done all I can for her, to save her from what you call the exposure, and I take this money fairly and above-board; you can tell her of it. I wouldn’t have chosen even you for a confidant if she hadn’t begun. You can go and tell her I sail for Australia from Liverpool to-morrow, and shall never see her more.’
‘Brown,’ said the Vicar, still with his hand on the other’s arm, ‘I don’t know that I can let you go.’
‘You’ll be a great fool, then,’ Brown said.
The two men stood looking at each other, the one with a smile, half of contempt, half of resolution, the other troubled and uncertain. ‘They will say
{167}
you have gone off with the money—absconded.’
‘She’ll take care of that.’
‘Brown, are you sure she wishes you to go? The exposure will come, all the same; everything is found out that is true; and she will be left to bear it alone without any support.’
‘There will be no exposure,’ he said with a short laugh; ‘I’ve seen to that, though you think me no gentleman. There’s no need for another word, Mr. Germaine; I’ve a great respect for you, but I’m not a man that is to be turned from his purpose. You can come and see me off if you please, and make quite sure. I’m due at the station in an hour to catch the up-train. Will you come?—and then you can set her mind quite at ease and say you have seen me go.
{168}
’
Mr. Germaine looked at his comfortable fire, his cosy41 room, his book, though he had not been reading, and then at the cold road, the dreary42 changes of the train, the sleepless43 night. After a time he said, ‘I’ll take your offer, Brown. I’ll go with you and see you off.’
‘If you like, you can give me into custody44 on the way for going off with Mrs. Blencarrow’s money. Mrs. Blencarrow’s money? not even that!’ he cried, with a laugh of bitterness. ‘She is Mrs. Brown; and the money’s the boy’s, not hers, or else it would be lawfully45 mine.’
‘Brown,’ said the Vicar tremulously, ‘you are doing a sort of generous act—God help us!—which I can’t help consenting to, though it’s utterly46 wrong; but you speak as if you had not a scrap47 of feeling for her or anyone.
{169}
’
‘I haven’t!’ he cried fiercely, ‘after three years of it. Half the time and more she’s been ashamed of me, disgusted with me. Do you think a man can stand that? By——! I neither can nor will. I’m going,’ he continued, buttoning his coat hastily; ‘you can come or not, as you please.’
‘You had better have some supper first,’ said the Vicar.
‘Ah! that’s the most sensible word you have said,’ cried Brown.
Was it bravado48, was it bitterness, was it relief in escaping, or the lightness of despair? Mr. Germaine could never tell. It was something of all of these feelings, mingled49 with the fierce pride of a peasant slighted, and a certain indignant contemptuous generosity50 to let her go free—the woman who was ashamed of him. All these were in Brown’s thoughts.
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收听单词发音
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1
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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2
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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3
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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4
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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5
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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6
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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7
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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8
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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9
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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10
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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11
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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12
emulation
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| n.竞争；仿效 | |
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13
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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14
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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15
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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16
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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17
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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18
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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19
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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20
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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21
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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22
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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23
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
erring
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| 做错事的，错误的 | |
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25
penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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26
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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27
tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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28
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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29
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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30
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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31
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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32
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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33
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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34
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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35
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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37
brats
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| n.调皮捣蛋的孩子( brat的名词复数 ) | |
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38
averting
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| 防止，避免( avert的现在分词 )； 转移 | |
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39
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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40
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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41
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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42
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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43
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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44
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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45
lawfully
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| adv.守法地，合法地；合理地 | |
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46
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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47
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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48
bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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49
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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50
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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