"Another gift for you, Sylvia. I don't know the writing, but it smells like flowers," said Mark, as a smiling maid brought in a package on Christmas morning.
Sylvia tore off the wrapper, lifted a cover, and exclaimed with pleasure, though it was the simplest present she had received that day. Only an osier basket, graceful1 in design and shape, lined with moss2, and filled with holly3 sprays, the scarlet4 berries glowing beautifully among the polished green. No note, no card, no hint of its donor5 anywhere appeared, for none of them recognized the boldly written address. Presently a thought came to Sylvia; in a moment the mystery seemed to grow delightfully6 clear, and she said to herself with a glow of joy, "This is so like Adam I know he sent it."
"I must say it is the most peculiar7 present I ever saw, and it is my belief that the boy who brought it stole whatever article of value it contained, for it was very carelessly done up. No person in their senses would send a few sprigs of common holly to a young lady in this odd way," said Prue, poking8 here and there in hopes of finding some clue.
"It is not common, but very beautiful; we seldom see any so large and green, and full of berries. Nor is it odd, but very kind, because from the worn look of the wrapper I know it has been sent a long way to please me. Look at the little ferns in the moss, and smell the sweet moist odor that seems to take us into summer woods in spite of a snowstorm. Ah, he knew what I should like."
"Who knew?" asked Mark, quickly.
"You must guess." And fearing that she had betrayed herself, Sylvia hurried across the room to put the holly in water.
"Ah, ha, I see," said Mark, laughing.
"Who is it?" asked Prue, looking mystified.
"Geoffrey," whispered Mr. Yule, with an air of satisfaction.
Then all three looked at one another, all three nodded sagely9, and all three glanced at the small person bending over the table with cheeks almost as rosy10 as the berries in her hand.
Every one knows what a Christmas party is when a general friendliness11 pervades12 the air, and good wishes fly about like _confetti_ during Carnival13. To such an one went Sylvia and Mark that night, the brother looking unusually blithe14 and debonair15, because the beloved Jessie had promised to be there if certain aunts and uncles would go away in time; the sister in a costume as pretty as appropriate, for snow and holly made her a perfect Yule. Sylvia loved dancing, and knew "wall flowers" only by sight; therefore she was busy; her lover's gift shone greenly in bosom16, hair, and fleecy skirts; therefore she was beautiful, and the thought that Adam had not forgotten her lay warm at her heart; therefore she was supremely18 happy. Mark was devoted19, but disappointed, for Jessie did not come, and having doomed20 the detaining aunts and uncles to a most unblessed fate, he sought consolation21 among less fair damsels.
"Now go and enjoy yourself. I shall dance no more round dances, for I'd rather not with any one but you, and you have been a martyr22 long enough."
Mark roamed away, and finding a cool corner Sylvia watched the animated23 scene before her till her wandering glance was arrested by the sight of a new comer, and her mind busied with trying to recollect24 where she had seen him. The slender figure, swarthy face, and vivacious25 eyes all seemed familiar, but she could find no name for their possessor till he caught her eye, when he half bowed and wholly smiled. Then she remembered, and while still recalling that brief interview one of their young hosts appeared with the stranger, and Gabriel Andre was duly presented.
"I could hardly expect to be remembered, and am much flattered, I assure you. Did you suffer from the shower that day, Miss Yule?"
The speech was nothing, but the foreign accent gave a softness to the words, and the southern grace of manner gave an air of romance to the handsome youth. Sylvia was in the mood to be pleased with everybody, everything, and was unusually gracious as they merrily pursued the subject suggested by his question. Presently he asked--
"Is Warwick with you now?"
"He was the gentleman who pulled so well that day?"
"Yes."
"Is Warwick with him still?"
"Oh, no, he went away three months ago."
"I wonder where!"
"So do I!"
The wish had been impulsively28 expressed, and was as impulsively echoed. Young Andre smiled, and liked Miss Yule the better for forgetting that somewhat lofty air of hers.
"You have no conjecture29, then? I wish to find him, much, very much, but cannot put myself upon his trail. He is so what you call peculiar that he writes no letters, leaves no address, and roves here and there like a born gitano."
"Have you ill news for him?"
"I have the best a man could desire; but fear that while I look for him he has gone to make a disappointment for himself. You are a friend, I think?"
"I am."
"Then you know much of him, his life, his ways?"
"Yes, both from himself and Mr. Moor."
"Then you know of his betrothal30 to my cousin, doubtless, and I may speak of it, because if you will be so kind you may perhaps help us to find him."
"I did not know--perhaps he did not wish it--" began Sylvia, folding one hand tightly in the other, with a quick breath and a momentary31 sensation as if some one had struck her in the face.
"He thinks so little of us I shall not regard his wish just now. If you will permit me I would say a word for my cousin's sake, as I know you will be interested for her, and I do not feel myself strange with you."
Sylvia bowed, and standing32 before her with an air half mannish, half boyish, Gabriel went on in the low, rapid tone peculiar to him.
"See, then, my cousin was betrothed33 in May. A month after Adam cries out that he loves too much for his peace, that he has no freedom of his heart or mind, that he must go away and take his breath before he is made a happy slave forever. Ottila told me this. She implored34 him to stay; but no, he vows35 he will not come again till they marry, in the next June. He thinks it a weakness to adore a woman. Impertinente! I have no patience for him."
Gabriel spoke37 indignantly, and pressed his foot into the carpet with a scornful look. But Sylvia took no heed38 of his petulance39, she only kept her eyes fixed40 upon him with an intentness which he mistook for interest. The eyes were fine, the interest was flattering, and though quite aware that he was both taking a liberty and committing a breach41 of confidence, the impulsive27 young gentleman chose to finish what he had begun, and trust that no harm would follow.
"He has been gone now more than half a year, but has sent no letter, no message, nothing to show that he still lives. Ottila waits, she writes, she grows too anxious to endure, she comes to look for him. I help her, but we do not find him yet, and meantime I amuse her. My friends are kind, and we enjoy much as we look about us for this truant43 Adam."
If Sylvia could have doubted the unexpected revelation, this last trait was so like Warwick it convinced her at once. Though the belief to which she had clung so long was suddenly swept from under her, she floated silently with no outward sign of shipwreck44 as her hope went down. Pride was her shield, and crowding back all other emotions she kept herself unnaturally45 calm behind it till she was alone. If Gabriel had been watching her he would only have discovered that she was a paler blonde than he had thought her; that her address was more coldly charming than before; and that her eye no longer met his, but rested steadily46 on the folded fan she held. He was not watching her, however, but glancing frequently over her head at something at the far end of the rooms which a crowd of assiduous gentlemen concealed47. His eye wandered, but his thoughts did not; for still intent on the purpose that seemed to have brought him to her, he said, as if reluctant to be importunate48, yet resolved to satisfy himself--
"Pardon me that I so poorly entertain you, and let me ask one other question in Ottila's name. This Moor, would he not give us some clue to Adam's haunts?"
"He is absent, and will be till spring, I think. Where I do not know, else I could write for you. Did Mr. Warwick promise to return in June?"
"Yes."
"Then, if he lives, he will come. Your cousin must wait; it will not be in vain."
"It shall not!"
The young man's voice was stern, and a passionate49 glitter made his black eyes fierce. Then the former suavity50 returned, and with his most gallant51 air he said--
"You are kind, Miss Yule; I thank you, and put away this so troublesome affair. May I have the honor?"
If he had proposed to waltz over a precipice52 Sylvia felt as if she could have accepted, provided there was time to ask a question or two before the crash came. A moment afterward53 Mark was surprised to see her floating round the room on the arm of "the olive-colored party," whom he recognized at once. His surprise soon changed to pleasure, for his beauty-loving eye as well as his brotherly pride was gratified as the whirling couples subsided54 and the young pair went circling slowly by, giving to the graceful pastime the enchantment55 few have skill to lend it, and making it a spectacle of life-enjoying youth to be remembered by the lookers on.
"Thank you! I have not enjoyed such a waltz since I left Cuba. It is the rudest of rude things to say, but to you I may confide42 it, because you dance like a Spaniard. The ladies here seem to me as cold as their own snow, and they make dancing a duty, not a pleasure. They should see Ottila; she is all grace and fire. I could kill myself dancing with her. Adam used to say it was like wine to watch her."
"I wish she was here to give us a lesson."
"She is, but will not dance to-night."
"Why not? Elyott is mad for her, and gave me no peace till I brought her. She is behind that wall of men; shall I make a passage for you? She will be glad to talk with you of Adam, and I to show you the handsomest woman in Habana."
"Let us wait a little; I should be afraid to talk before so many. She is very beautiful, then."
"You will laugh and call me extravagant57, as others do, if I say what I think; so I will let you judge for yourself. See, your brother stands on tiptoe to peep at her. Now he goes in, and there he will stay. You do not like that, perhaps. But Ottila cannot help her beauty, nor the power she has of making all men love her. I wish she could!"
"She is gifted and accomplished58, as well as lovely?" asked Sylvia, glancing at her companion's gloomy face.
"She is everything a woman should be, and I could shoot Adam for his cruel neglect."
Gabriel's dark face kindled59 as he spoke, and Sylvia drearily60 wished he would remember how ill-bred it was to tire her with complaints of her friend, and raptures61 over his cousin. He seemed to perceive this, turned a little haughty62 at her silence, and when he spoke was all the stranger again.
"This is a contra danza; shall we give the snow-ladies another lesson? First, may I do myself the pleasure of getting you an ice?"
"A glass of water, please; I am cool enough without more ice."
He seated her and went upon his errand. She was cool now; weary-footed, sick at heart, and yearning63 to be alone. But in these days women do not tear their hair and make scenes, though their hearts may ache and burn with the same sharp suffering as of old. Till her brother came she knew she must bear it, and make no sign. She did bear it, drank the water with a smile, danced the dance with spirit, and bore up bravely till Mark appeared. She was alone just then, and his first words were--
"Have you seen her?"
"No; take me where I can, and tell me what you know of her."
"Nothing, but that she is Andre's cousin, and he adores her, as boys always do a charming woman who is kind to them. Affect to be admiring these flowers, and look without her knowing it, or she will frown at you like an insulted princess, as she did at me."
Sylvia looked, saw the handsomest woman in Havana, and hated her immediately. It was but natural, for Sylvia was a very human girl, and Ottila one whom no woman would love, however much she might admire.
Hers was that type of character which every age has reproduced, varying externally with climates and conditions, but materially the same from fabled64 Circe down to Lola Montes, or some less famous syren whose subjects are not kings. The same passions that in ancient days broke out in heaven-defying crimes; the same power of beauty, intellect, or subtlety65; the same untamable spirit and lack of moral sentiment are the attributes of all; latent or alert as the noble or ignoble66 nature may predominate. Most of us can recall some glimpse of such specimens67 of Nature's work in a daring mood. Many of our own drawing-rooms have held illustrations of the nobler type, and modern men and women have quailed68 before royal eyes whose possessors ruled all spirits but their own. Born in Athens, and endowed with a finer intellect, Ottila might have been an Aspasia; or cast in that great tragedy the French Revolution, have played a brave part and died heroically like Roland and Corday. But set down in uneventful times, the courage, wit, and passion that might have served high ends dwindled69 to their baser counterparts, and made her what she was,--a fair allurement70 to the eyes of men, a born rival to the peace of women, a rudderless nature absolute as fate.
Sylvia possessed71 no knowledge that could analyze72 for her the sentiment which repelled73, even while it attracted her toward Warwick's betrothed. That he loved her she did not doubt, because she felt that even his pride would yield to the potent74 fascination75 of this woman. As Sylvia looked, her feminine eye took in every gift of face and figure, every grace of attitude or gesture, every daintiness of costume, and found no visible flaw in Ottila, from her haughty head to her handsome foot. Yet when her scrutiny76 ended, the girl felt a sense of disappointment, and no envy mingled77 with her admiration78.
As she stood, forgetting to assume interest in the camellias before her, she saw Gabriel join his cousin, saw her pause and look up at him with an anxious question. He answered it, glancing toward that part of the room where she was standing. Ottila's gaze was fixed upon her instantly; a rapid, but keen survey followed, and then the lustrous79 eyes turned away with such supreme17 indifference80, that Sylvia's blood tingled81 as if she had received an insult.
"Mark, I am going home," she said, abruptly.
"Very well, I'm ready."
When safe in her own room Sylvia's first act was to take off the holly wreath, for her head throbbed82 with a heavy pain that forbade hope of sleep that night. Looking at the little chaplet so happily made, she saw that all the berries had fallen, and nothing but the barbed leaves remained. A sudden gesture crushed it in both her hands, and standing so, she gathered many a scattered83 memory to confirm that night's discovery.
Warwick had said, with such a tender accent in his voice, "I thought of the woman I would make my wife." That was Ottila. He had asked so anxiously, "If one should keep a promise when it disturbed one's peace?" That was because he repented84 of his hasty vow36 to absent himself till June. It was not love she saw in his eyes the night they parted, but pity. He read her secret before that compassionate85 glance revealed it to herself, and he had gone away to spare her further folly86. She had deceived herself, had blindly cherished a baseless hope, and this was the end. Even for the nameless gift she found a reason, with a woman's skill, in self-torture. Moor had met Adam, had told his disappointment, and still pitying her Warwick had sent the pretty greeting to console her for the loss of both friend and lover.
This thought seemed to sting her into sudden passion. As if longing87 to destroy every trace of her delusion88, she tore away the holly wreaths and flung them in the fire; took down the bow and arrow Warwick had made her from above the _etagere_, where she had arranged the spoils of her happy voyage, snapped them across her knee and sent them after the holly; followed by the birch canoe, and every pebble89, moss, shell, or bunch of headed grass he had given her then. The osier basket was not spared, the box went next, and even the wrapper was on its way to immolation90, when, as she rent it apart, with a stern pleasure in the sacrifice it was going to complete, from some close fold of the paper hitherto undisturbed a card dropped at her feet.
She caught it up and read in handwriting almost as familiar as her own: "To Sylvia,--A merry Christmas and best wishes from her friend, Geoffrey Moor." The word "friend" was underscored, as if he desired to assure her that he still cherished the only tie permitted him, and sent the green token to lighten her regret that she could give no more.
Warm over Sylvia's sore heart rushed the tender thought and longing, as her tears began to flow. "He cares for me! he remembered me! I wish he would come back and comfort me!"
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收听单词发音
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1
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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donor
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| n.捐献者；赠送人；(组织、器官等的)供体 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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8
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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sagely
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| adv. 贤能地，贤明地 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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betrothal
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| n. 婚约, 订婚 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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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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betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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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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vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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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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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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petulance
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| n.发脾气，生气，易怒，暴躁，性急 | |
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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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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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truant
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| n.懒惰鬼，旷课者；adj.偷懒的，旷课的，游荡的；v.偷懒，旷课 | |
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shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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importunate
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| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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suavity
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| n.温和；殷勤 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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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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enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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drearily
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| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
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raptures
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| 极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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quailed
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| 害怕，发抖，畏缩( quail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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allurement
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| n.诱惑物 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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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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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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immolation
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| n.牺牲品 | |
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