Mr. Corbet was so well known at the Parsonage by the two old servants, that he had no difficulty, on reaching it, after his departure from Ford1 Bank, in having the spare bed-chamber made ready for him, late as it was, and in the absence of the master, who had taken a little holiday, now that Lent and Easter were over, for the purpose of fishing. While his room was getting ready, Ralph sent for his clothes, and by the same messenger he despatched the little note to Ellinor. But there was the letter he had promised her in it still to be written; and it was almost his night's employment to say enough, yet not too much; for, as he expressed it to himself, he was half way over the stream, and it would be folly2 to turn back, for he had given nearly as much pain both to himself and Ellinor by this time as he should do by making the separation final. Besides, after Mr. Wilkins's speeches that evening--but he was candid3 enough to acknowledge that, bad and offensive as they had been, if they had stood alone they might have been condoned4.
His letter ran as follows:
"DEAREST ELLINOR, for dearest you are, and I think will ever be, my judgment5 has consented to a step which is giving me great pain, greater than you will readily believe. I am convinced that it is better that we should part; for circumstances have occurred since we formed our engagement which, although I am unaware6 of their exact nature, I can see weigh heavily upon you, and have materially affected7 your father's behaviour. Nay8, I think, after to-night, I may almost say have entirely9 altered his feelings towards me. What these circumstances are I am ignorant, any further than that I know from your own admission, that they may lead to some future disgrace. Now, it may be my fault, it may be in my temperament10, to be anxious, above all things earthly, to obtain and possess a high reputation. I can only say that it is so, and leave you to blame me for my weakness as much as you like. But anything that might come in between me and this object would, I own, be ill tolerated by me; the very dread11 of such an obstacle intervening would paralyse me. I should become irritable12, and, deep as my affection is, and always must be, towards you, I could not promise you a happy, peaceful life. I should be perpetually haunted by the idea of what might happen in the way of discovery and shame. I am the more convinced of this from my observation of your father's altered character--an alteration13 which I trace back to the time when I conjecture14 that the secret affairs took place to which you have alluded15. In short, it is for your sake, my dear Ellinor, even more than for my own, that I feel compelled to affix16 a final meaning to the words which your father addressed to me last night, when he desired me to leave his house for ever. God bless you, my Ellinor, for the last time my Ellinor. Try to forget as soon as you can the unfortunate tie which has bound you for a time to one so unsuitable--I believe I ought to say so unworthy of you--as--RALPH CORBET."
Ellinor was making breakfast when this letter was given her. According to the wont17 of the servants of the respective households of the Parsonage and Ford Bank, the man asked if there was any answer. It was only custom; for he had not been desired to do so. Ellinor went to the window to read her letter; the man waiting all the time respectfully for her reply. She went to the writing-table, and wrote:
"It is all right--quite right. I ought to have thought of it all last August. I do not think you will forget me easily, but I entreat19 you never at any future time to blame yourself. I hope you will be happy and successful. I suppose I must never write to you again: but I shall always pray for you. Papa was very sorry last night for having spoken angrily to you. You must forgive him--there is great need for forgiveness in this world.--ELLINOR."
She kept putting down thought after thought, just to prolong the last pleasure of writing to him. She sealed the note, and gave it to the man. Then she sat down and waited for Miss Monro, who had gone to bed on the previous night without awaiting Ellinor's return from the dining-room.
"I am late, my dear," said Miss Monro, on coming down, "but I have a bad headache, and I knew you had a pleasant companion." Then, looking round, she perceived Ralph's absence.
"Mr. Corbet not down yet!" she exclaimed. And then Ellinor had to tell her the outline of the facts so soon likely to be made public; that Mr. Corbet and she had determined21 to break off their engagement; and that Mr. Corbet had accordingly betaken himself to the Parsonage; and that she did not expect him to return to Ford Bank. Miss Monro's astonishment22 was unbounded. She kept going over and over all the little circumstances she had noticed during the last visit, only on yesterday, in fact, which she could not reconcile with the notion that the two, apparently23 so much attached to each other but a few hours before, were now to be for ever separated and estranged24. Ellinor sickened under the torture; which yet seemed like torture in a dream, from which there must come an awakening25 and a relief. She felt as if she could not hear any more; yet there was more to hear. Her father, as it turned out, was very ill, and had been so all night long; he had evidently had some kind of attack on the brain, whether apoplectic26 or paralytic27 it was for the doctors to decide. In the hurry and anxiety of this day of misery28 succeeding to misery, she almost forgot to wonder whether Ralph were still at the Parsonage--still in Hamley; it was not till the evening visit of the physician that she learnt that he had been seen by Dr. Moore as he was taking his place in the morning mail to London. Dr. Moore alluded to his name as to a thought that would cheer and comfort the fragile girl during her night- watch by her father's bedside. But Miss Monro stole out after the doctor to warn him off the subject for the future, crying bitterly over the forlorn position of her darling as she spoke20--crying as Ellinor had never yet been able to cry: though all the time, in the pride of her sex, she was as endeavouring to persuade the doctor it was entirely Ellinor's doing, and the wisest and best thing she could have done, as he was not good enough for her, only a poor barrister struggling for a livelihood29. Like many other kind-hearted people, she fell into the blunder of lowering the moral character of those whom it is their greatest wish to exalt30. But Dr. Moore knew Ellinor too well to believe the whole of what Miss Monro said; she would never act from interested motives31, and was all the more likely to cling to a man because he was down and unsuccessful. No! there had been a lovers' quarrel; and it could not have happened at a sadder time.
Before the June roses were in full bloom, Mr. Wilkins was dead. He had left his daughter to the guardianship33 of Mr. Ness by some will made years ago; but Mr. Ness had caught a rheumatic fever with his Easter fishings, and been unable to be moved home from the little Welsh inn where he had been staying when he was taken ill. Since his last attack, Mr. Wilkins's mind had been much affected; he often talked strangely and wildly; but he had rare intervals34 of quietness and full possession of his senses. At one of these times he must have written a half-finished pencil note, which his nurse found under his pillow after his death, and brought to Ellinor. Through her tear-blinded eyes she read the weak, faltering35 words:
"I am very ill. I sometimes think I shall never get better, so I wish to ask your pardon for what I said the night before I was taken ill. I am afraid my anger made mischief36 between you and Ellinor, but I think you will forgive a dying man. If you will come back and let all be as it used to be, I will make any apology you may require. If I go, she will be so very friendless; and I have looked to you to care for her ever since you first--" Then came some illegible37 and incoherent writing, ending with, "From my deathbed I adjure38 you to stand her friend; I will beg pardon on my knees for anything--"
And there strength had failed; the paper and pencil had been laid aside to be resumed at some time when the brain was clearer, the hand stronger. Ellinor kissed the letter, reverently39 folded it up, and laid it among her sacred treasures, by her mother's half-finished sewing, and a little curl of her baby sister's golden hair.
Mr. Johnson, who had been one of the trustees for Mrs. Wilkins's marriage settlement, a respectable solicitor40 in the county town, and Mr. Ness, had been appointed executors of his will, and guardians32 to Ellinor. The will itself had been made several years before, when he imagined himself the possessor of a handsome fortune, the bulk of which he bequeathed to his only child. By her mother's marriage-settlement, Ford Bank was held in trust for the children of the marriage; the trustees being Sir Frank Holster and Mr. Johnson. There were legacies41 to his executors; a small annuity42 to Miss Monro, with the expression of a hope that it might be arranged for her to continue living with Ellinor as long as the latter remained unmarried; all his servants were remembered, Dixon especially, and most liberally.
What remained of the handsome fortune once possessed43 by the testator? The executors asked in vain; there was nothing. They could hardly make out what had become of it, in such utter confusion were all the accounts, both personal and official. Mr. Johnson was hardly restrained by his compassion44 for the orphan45 from throwing up the executorship in disgust. Mr. Ness roused himself from his scholarlike abstraction to labour at the examination of books, parchments, and papers, for Ellinor's sake. Sir Frank Holster professed46 himself only a trustee for Ford Bank.
Meanwhile she went on living at Ford Bank, quite unconscious of the state of her father's affairs, but sunk into a deep, plaintive47 melancholy48, which affected her looks and the tones of her voice in such a manner as to distress49 Miss Monro exceedingly. It was not that the good lady did not quite acknowledge the great cause her pupil had for grieving--deserted by her lover, her father dead--but that she could not bear the outward signs of how much these sorrows had told on Ellinor. Her love for the poor girl was infinitely50 distressed51 by seeing the daily wasting away, the constant heavy depression of spirits, and she grew impatient of the continual pain of sympathy. If Miss Monro could have done something to relieve Ellinor of her woe52, she would have been less inclined to scold her for giving way to it.
The time came when Miss Monro could act; and after that, there was no more irritation53 on her part. When all hope of Ellinor's having anything beyond the house and grounds of Ford Bank was gone; when it was proved that all the legacies bequeathed by Mr. Wilkins not one farthing could ever be paid; when it came to be a question how far the beautiful pictures and other objects of art in the house were not legally the property of unsatisfied creditors54, the state of her father's affairs was communicated to Ellinor as delicately as Mr. Ness knew how.
She was drooping55 over her work--she always drooped56 now--and she left off sewing to listen to him, leaning her head on the arm which rested on the table. She did not speak when he had ended his statement. She was silent for whole minutes afterwards; he went on speaking out of very agitation57 and awkwardness.
"It was all the rascal58 Dunster's doing, I've no doubt," said he, trying to account for the entire loss of Mr. Wilkins's fortune.
To his surprise she lifted up her white stony59 face, and said slowly and faintly, but with almost solemn calmness:
"Mr. Ness, you must never allow Mr. Dunster to be blamed for this!"
"My dear Ellinor, there can be no doubt about it. Your father himself always referred to the losses he had sustained by Dunster's disappearance60."
Ellinor covered her face with her hands. "God forgive us all," she said, and relapsed into the old unbearable61 silence. Mr. Ness had undertaken to discuss her future plans with her, and he was obliged to go on.
"Now, my dear child--I have known you since you were quite a little girl, you know--we must try not to give way to feeling"--he himself was choking; she was quite quiet--"but think what is to be done. You will have the rent of this house, and we have a very good offer for it--a tenant62 on lease of seven years at a hundred and twenty pounds a year--"
"Not let Ford Bank! Why? I don't understand it--I can't have been clear--Ellinor, the rent of this house is all you will have to live on!"
"I can't help it, I can't leave this house. Oh, Mr. Ness, I can't leave this house."
"My dear child, you shall not be hurried--I know how hardly all these things are coming upon you (and I wish I had never seen Corbet, with all my heart I do!)"--this was almost to himself, but she must have heard it, for she quivered all over--"but leave this house you must. You must eat, and the rent of this house must pay for your food; you must dress, and there is nothing but the rent to clothe you. I will gladly have you to stay at the Parsonage as long as ever you like; but, in fact, the negotiations64 with Mr. Osbaldistone, the gentleman who offers to take the house, are nearly completed--"
"It is my house!" said Ellinor, fiercely. "I know it is settled on me."
"No, my dear. It is held in trust for you by Sir Frank Holster and Mr. Johnson; you to receive all moneys and benefits accruing65 from it"--he spoke gently, for he almost thought her head was turned--"but you remember you are not of age, and Mr. Johnson and I have full power."
Ellinor sat down, helpless.
"Leave me," she said, at length. "You are very kind, but you don't know all. I cannot stand any more talking now," she added, faintly.
Mr. Ness bent66 over her and kissed her forehead, and withdrew without another word. He went to Miss Monro.
"Well! and how did you find her?" was her first inquiry67, after the usual greetings had passed between them. "It is really quite sad to see how she gives way; I speak to her, and speak to her, and tell her how she is neglecting all her duties, and it does no good."
"She has had to bear a still further sorrow to-day," said Mr. Ness. "On the part of Mr. Johnson and myself I have a very painful duty to perform to you as well as to her. Mr. Wilkins has died insolvent68. I grieve to say there is no hope of your ever receiving any of your annuity!"
Miss Monro looked very blank. Many happy little visions faded away in those few moments; then she roused up and said, "I am but forty; I have a good fifteen years of work in me left yet, thank God. Insolvent! Do you mean he has left no money?"
"And Ellinor?"
"Ellinor will have the rent of this house, which is hers by right of her mother's settlement, to live on."
"How much will that be?"
"One hundred and twenty pounds."
Miss Monro's lips went into a form prepared for whistling. Mr. Ness continued:
"She is at present unwilling69 enough to leave this house, poor girl. It is but natural; but she has no power in the matter, even were there any other course open to her. I can only say how glad, how honoured, I shall feel by as long a visit as you and she can be prevailed upon to pay me at the Parsonage."
"Where is Mr. Corbet?" said Miss Monro.
"I do not know. After breaking off his engagement he wrote me a long letter, explanatory, as he called it; exculpatory70, as I termed it. I wrote back, curtly71 enough, saying that I regretted the breaking-off of an intercourse72 which had always been very pleasant to me, but that he must be aware that, with my intimacy73 with the family at Ford Bank, it would be both awkward and unpleasant to all parties if he and I remained on our previous footing. Who is that going past the window? Ellinor riding?"
Miss Monro went to the window. "Yes! I am thankful to see her on horseback again. It was only this morning I advised her to have a ride!"
"Poor Dixon! he will suffer too; his legacy74 can no more be paid than the others; and it is not many young ladies who will be as content to have so old-fashioned a groom75 riding after them as Ellinor seems to be."
As soon as Mr. Ness had left, Miss Monro went to her desk and wrote a long letter to some friends she had at the cathedral town of East Chester, where she had spent some happy years of her former life. Her thoughts had gone back to this time even while Mr. Ness had been speaking; for it was there her father had lived, and it was after his death that her cares in search of a subsistence had begun. But the recollections of the peaceful years spent there were stronger than the remembrance of the weeks of sorrow and care; and, while Ellinor's marriage had seemed a probable event, she had made many a little plan of returning to her native place, and obtaining what daily teaching she could there meet with, and the friends to whom she was now writing had promised her their aid. She thought that as Ellinor had to leave Ford Bank, a home at a distance might be more agreeable to her, and she went on to plan that they should live together, if possible, on her earnings76, and the small income that would be Ellinor's. Miss Monro loved her pupil so dearly, that, if her own pleasure only were to be consulted, this projected life would be more agreeable to her than if Mr. Wilkins's legacy had set her in independence, with Ellinor away from her, married, and with interests in which her former governess had but little part.
As soon as Mr. Ness had left her, Ellinor rang the bell, and startled the servant who answered it by her sudden sharp desire to have the horses at the door as soon as possible, and to tell Dixon to be ready to go out with her.
She felt that she must speak to him, and in her nervous state she wanted to be out on the free broad common, where no one could notice or remark their talk. It was long since she had ridden, and much wonder was excited by the sudden movement in kitchen and stable-yard. But Dixon went gravely about his work of preparation, saying nothing.
They rode pretty hard till they reached Monk's Heath, six or seven miles away from Hamley. Ellinor had previously77 determined that here she would talk over the plan Mr. Ness had proposed to her with Dixon, and he seemed to understand her without any words passing between them. When she reined78 in he rode up to her, and met the gaze of her sad eyes with sympathetic, wistful silence.
"Dixon," said she, "they say I must leave Ford Bank."
"I was afeared on it, from all I've heerd say i' the town since the master's death."
"Then you've heard--then you know--that papa has left hardly any money--my poor dear Dixon, you won't have your legacy, and I never thought of that before!"
"Never heed79, never heed," said he, eagerly; "I couldn't have touched it if it had been there, for the taking it would ha' seemed too like--" Blood-money, he was going to say, but he stopped in time. She guessed the meaning, though not the word he would have used.
"No, not that," said she; "his will was dated years before. But oh, Dixon, what must I do? They will make me leave Ford Bank, I see. I think the trustees have half let it already."
"But you'll have the rent on't, I reckon?" asked he, anxiously. "I've many a time heerd 'em say as it was settled on the missus first, and then on you."
"Oh, yes, it is not that; but you know, under the beech-tree--"
"Ay!" said he, heavily. "It's been oftentimes on my mind, waking, and I think there's ne'er a night as I don't dream of it."
"But how can I leave it!" Ellinor cried. "They may do a hundred things--may dig up the shrubbery. Oh! Dixon, I feel as if it was sure to be found out! Oh! Dixon, I cannot bear any more blame on papa--it will kill me--and such a dreadful thing, too!"
Dixon's face fell into the lines of habitual80 pain that it had always assumed of late years whenever he was thinking or remembering anything.
"They must ne'er ha' reason to speak ill of the dead, that's for certain," said he. "The Wilkinses have been respected in Hamley all my lifetime, and all my father's before me, and--surely, missy, there's ways and means of tying tenants81 up from alterations82 both in the house and out of it, and I'd beg the trustees, or whatever they's called, to be very particular, if I was you, and not have a thing touched either in the house, or the gardens, or the meadows, or the stables. I think, wi' a word from you, they'd maybe keep me on i' the stables, and I could look after things a bit; and the Day o' Judgment will come at last, when all our secrets will be made known wi'out our having the trouble and the shame o' telling 'em. I'm getting rayther tired o' this world, Miss Ellinor."
"Don't talk so," said Ellinor, tenderly. "I know how sad it is, but, oh! remember how I shall want a friend when you're gone, to advise me as you have done to-day. You're not feeling ill, Dixon, are you?" she continued, anxiously.
"No! I'm hearty83 enough, and likely for t' live. Father was eighty-one, and mother above the seventies, when they died. It's only my heart as is got to feel so heavy; and as for that matter, so is yours, I'll be bound. And it's a comfort to us both if we can serve him as is dead by any care of ours, for he were such a bright handsome lad, with such a cheery face, as never should ha' known shame."
They rode on without much more speaking. Ellinor was silently planning for Dixon, and he, not caring to look forward to the future, was bringing up before his fancy the time, thirty years ago, when he had first entered the elder Mr. Wilkins's service as stable-lad, and pretty Molly, the scullery-maid, was his daily delight. Pretty Molly lay buried in Hamley churchyard, and few living, except Dixon, could have gone straight to her grave.
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1
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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condoned
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| v.容忍，宽恕，原谅( condone的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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6
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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7
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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8
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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9
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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10
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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15
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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affix
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| n.附件，附录 vt.附贴，盖(章)，签署 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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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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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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apoplectic
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| adj.中风的；愤怒的；n.中风患者 | |
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paralytic
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| adj. 瘫痪的 n. 瘫痪病人 | |
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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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livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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exalt
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| v.赞扬，歌颂，晋升，提升 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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guardianship
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| n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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illegible
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| adj.难以辨认的，字迹模糊的 | |
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adjure
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| v.郑重敦促(恳请) | |
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reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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41
legacies
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| n.遗产( legacy的名词复数 )；遗留之物；遗留问题；后遗症 | |
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annuity
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| n.年金；养老金 | |
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43
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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46
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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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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negotiations
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| 协商( negotiation的名词复数 )； 谈判； 完成（难事）； 通过 | |
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accruing
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| v.增加( accrue的现在分词 )；（通过自然增长）产生；获得；（使钱款、债务）积累 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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insolvent
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| adj.破产的，无偿还能力的 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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exculpatory
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| adj.辩解的，辩明无罪的 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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