She felt the start under her hand which was placed on his shoulder, but he was silent for a minute or two. Then he said,—
“What took you there, mother?”
“Why, my lad, it was likely I should wish to see one you cared for; I did not put myself forward. I put on my Sunday clothes, and tried to behave as yo’d ha’ liked me. At least, I remember trying at first; but after, I forgot all.”
She rather wished that he would question her as to what made her forget all. But he only said—
“How was she looking, mother?”
“Well, thou seest I never set eyes on her before; but she’s a good, gentle-looking creature; and I love her dearly, as I’ve reason to.”
Will looked up with momentary4 surprise, for his mother was too shy to be usually taken with strangers. But, after all, it was naturally in this case, for who could look at Susan without loving her? So still he did not ask any questions, and his poor mother had to take courage, and try again to introduce the subject near to her heart. But how?
“Will!” said she (jerking it out in sudden despair of her own powers to lead to what she wanted to say), “I telled her all.”
“Mother! you’ve ruined me,” said he, standing5 up, and standing opposite to her with a stern white look of affright on his face.
“No! my own dear lad; dunnot look so scared; I have not ruined you!” she exclaimed, placing her two hands on his shoulders, and looking fondly into his face. “She’s not one to harden her heart against a mother’s sorrow. My own lad, she’s too good for that. She’s not one to judge and scorn the sinner. She’s too deep read in her New Testament6 for that. Take courage, Will; and thou mayst, for I watched her well, though it is not for one woman to let out another’s secret. Sit thee down, lad, for thou look’st very white.”
He sat down. His mother drew a stool towards him, and sat at his feet.
“I did; I telled her all! and she fell a-crying over my deep sorrow, and the poor wench’s sin. And then a light comed into her face, trembling and quivering with some new glad thought; and what dost thou think it was, Will, lad? Nay8, I’ll not misdoubt but that thy heart will give thanks as mine did, afore God and His angels, for her great goodness. That little Nanny is not her niece, she’s our Lizzie’s own child, my little grandchild.” She could no longer restrain her tears; and they fell hot and fast, but still she looked into his face.
“Did she know it was Lizzie’s child? I do not comprehend,” said he, flushing red.
“She knows now: she did not at first, but took the little helpless creature in, out of her own pitiful, loving heart, guessing only that it was the child of shame; and she’s worked for it, and kept it, and tended it ever sin’ it were a mere9 baby, and loves it fondly. Will! won’t you love it?” asked she, beseechingly10.
He was silent for an instant; then he said, “Mother, I’ll try. Give me time, for all these things startle me. To think of Susan having to do with such a child!”
“Ay, Will! and to think, as may be, yet of Susan having to do with the child’s mother! For she is tender and pitiful, and speaks hopefully of my lost one, and will try and find her for me, when she comes, as she does sometimes, to thrust money under the door, for her baby. Think of that, Will. Here’s Susan, good and pure as the angels in heaven, yet, like them, full of hope and mercy, and one who, like them, will rejoice over her as repents11. Will, my lad, I’m not afeard of you now; and I must speak, and you must listen. I am your mother, and I dare to command you, because I know I am in the right, and that God is on my side. If He should lead the poor wandering lassie to Susan’s door, and she comes back, crying and sorryful, led by that good angel to us once more, thou shalt never say a casting-up word to her about her sin, but be tender and helpful towards one ‘who was lost and is found;’ so may God’s blessing12 rest on thee, and so mayst thou lead Susan home as thy wife.”
She stood no longer as the meek13, imploring14, gentle mother, but firm and dignified15, as if the interpreter of God’s will. Her manner was so unusual and solemn, that it overcame all Will’s pride and stubbornness. He rose softly while she was speaking, and bent16 his head, as if in reverence17 at her words, and the solemn injunction which they conveyed. When she had spoken, he said, in so subdued19 a voice that she was almost surprised at the sound, “Mother, I will.”
“I may be dead and gone; but, all the same, thou wilt20 take home the wandering sinner, and heal up her sorrows, and lead her to her Father’s house. My lad! I can speak no more; I’m turned very faint.”
He placed her in a chair; he ran for water. She opened her eyes, and smiled.
“God bless you, Will. Oh! I am so happy. It seems as if she were found; my heart is so filled with gladness.”
That night Mr. Palmer stayed out late and long. Susan was afraid that he was at his old haunts and habits—getting tipsy at some public-house; and this thought oppressed her, even though she had so much to make her happy in the consciousness that Will loved her. She sat up long, and then she went to bed, leaving all arranged as well as she could for her father’s return. She looked at the little rosy21, sleeping girl who was her bed-fellow, with redoubled tenderness, and with many a prayerful thought. The little arms entwined her neck as she lay down, for Nanny was a light sleeper22, and was conscious that she, who was loved with all the power of that sweet, childish heart, was near her, and by her, although she was too sleepy to utter any of her half-formed words.
And, by-and-by, she heard her father come home, stumbling uncertain, trying first the windows, and next the door fastenings, with many a loud incoherent murmur23. The little innocent twined around her seemed all the sweeter and more lovely, when she thought sadly of her erring24 father. And presently he called aloud for a light. She had left matches and all arranged as usual on the dresser; but, fearful of some accident from fire, in his unusually intoxicated25 state, she now got up softly, and putting on a cloak, went down to his assistance.
Alas26! the little arms that were unclosed from her soft neck belonged to a light, easily awakened28 sleeper. Nanny missed her darling Susy; and terrified at being left alone, in the vast mysterious darkness, which had no bounds and seemed infinite, she slipped out of bed, and tottered29, in her little nightgown, towards the door. There was a light below, and there was Susy and safety! So she went onwards two steps towards the steep, abrupt30 stairs; and then, dazzled by sleepiness, she stood, she wavered, she fell! Down on her head on the stone floor she fell! Susan flew to her, and spoke18 all soft, entreating31, loving words; but her white lids covered up the blue violets of eyes, and there was no murmur came out of the pale lips. The warm tears that rained down did not awaken27 her; she lay stiff, and weary with her short life, on Susan’s knee. Susan went sick with terror. She carried her upstairs, and laid her tenderly in bed; she dressed herself most hastily, with her trembling fingers. Her father was asleep on the settle downstairs; and useless, and worse than useless, if awake. But Susan flew out of the door, and down the quiet resounding32 street, towards the nearest doctor’s house. Quickly she went, but as quickly a shadow followed, as if impelled33 by some sudden terror. Susan rang wildly at the night-bell—the shadow crouched34 near. The doctor looked out from an upstairs window.
“A little child has fallen downstairs, at No. 9 Crown Street, and is very ill—dying, I’m afraid. Please, for God’s sake, sir, come directly. No. 9 Crown Street.”
“I’ll be there directly,” said he, and shut the window.
“For that God you have just spoken about—for His sake—tell me, are you Susan Palmer? Is it my child that lies a-dying?” said the shadow, springing forwards, and clutching poor Susan’s arm.
“It is a little child of two years old. I do not know whose it is; I love it as my own. Come with me, whoever you are; come with me.”
The two sped along the silent streets—as silent as the night were they. They entered the house; Susan snatched up the light, and carried it upstairs. The other followed.
She stood with wild, glaring eyes by the bedside, never looking at Susan, but hungrily gazing at the little, white, still child. She stooped down, and put her hand tight on her own heart, as if to still its beating, and bent her ear to the pale lips. Whatever the result was, she did not speak; but threw off the bed-clothes wherewith Susan had tenderly covered up the little creature, and felt its left side.
Then she threw up her arms, with a cry of wild despair.
“She is dead! she is dead!”
She looked so fierce, so mad, so haggard, that, for an instant, Susan was terrified; the next, the holy God had put courage into her heart, and her pure arms were round that guilty, wretched creature, and her tears were falling fast and warm upon her breast. But she was thrown off with violence.
“You killed her—you slighted her—you let her fall down those stairs! you killed her!”
Susan cleared off the thick mist before her, and, gazing at the mother with her clear, sweet angel eyes, said, mournfully—“I would have laid down my own life for her.”
“Oh, the murder is on my soul!” exclaimed the wild, bereaved36 mother, with the fierce impetuosity of one who has none to love her, and to be beloved, regard to whom might teach self-restraint.
“Hush!” said Susan, her finger on her lips. “Here is the doctor. God may suffer her to live.”
The poor mother turned sharp round. The doctor mounted the stair. Ah! that mother was right; the little child was really dead and gone.
And when he confirmed her judgment37, the mother fell down in a fit. Susan, with her deep grief, had to forget herself, and forget her darling (her charge for years), and question the doctor what she must do with the poor wretch35, who lay on the floor in such extreme of misery38.
“She is the mother!” said she.
“Why did she not take better care of her child?” asked he, almost angrily.
But Susan only said, “The little child slept with me; and it was I that left her.”
Susan took out some of her own clothes, and softly undressed the stiff, powerless form. There was no other bed in the house but the one in which her father slept. So she tenderly lifted the body of her darling; and was going to take it downstairs, but the mother opened her eyes, and seeing what she was about, she said—“I am not worthy40 to touch her, I am so wicked. I have spoken to you as I never should have spoken; but I think you are very good. May I have my own child to lie in my arms for a little while?”
Her voice was so strange a contrast to what it had been before she had gone into the fit, that Susan hardly recognised it: it was now so unspeakably soft, so irresistibly41 pleading; the features too had lost their fierce expression, and were almost as placid42 as death. Susan could not speak, but she carried the little child, and laid it in its mother’s arms; then, as she looked at them, something overpowered her, and she knelt down, crying aloud—“Oh, my God, my God, have mercy on her, and forgive and comfort her.”
But the mother kept smiling, and stroking the little face, murmuring soft, tender words, as if it were alive. She was going mad, Susan thought; but she prayed on, and on, and ever still she prayed with streaming eyes.
The doctor came with the draught. The mother took it, with docile43 unconsciousness of its nature as medicine. The doctor sat by her; and soon she fell asleep. Then he rose softly, and beckoning44 Susan to the door, he spoke to her there.
“You must take the corpse45 out of her arms. She will not awake. That draught will make her sleep for many hours. I will call before noon again. It is now daylight. Good-by.”
Susan shut him out; and then, gently extricating46 the dead child from its mother’s arms, she could not resist making her own quiet moan over her darling. She tried to learn off its little placid face, dumb and pale before her.
Not all the scalding tears of care
Shall wash away that vision fair;
Not all the thousand thoughts that rise,
Not all the sights that dim her eyes,
Of that little angel-face.
And then she remembered what remained to be done. She saw that all was right in the house; her father was still dead asleep on the settle, in spite of all the noise of the night. She went out through the quiet streets, deserted48 still, although it was broad daylight, and to where the Leighs lived. Mrs. Leigh, who kept her country hours, was opening her window-shutters. Susan took her by the arm, and, without speaking, went into the house-place. There she knelt down before the astonished Mrs. Leigh, and cried as she had never done before; but the miserable49 night had overpowered her, and she who had gone through so much calmly, now that the pressure seemed removed could not find the power to speak.
“My poor dear! What has made thy heart so sore as to come and cry a-this-ons? Speak and tell me. Nay, cry on, poor wench, if thou canst not speak yet. It will ease the heart, and then thou canst tell me.”
“Nanny is dead!” said Susan. “I left her to go to father, and she fell downstairs, and never breathed again. Oh, that’s my sorrow! But I’ve more to tell. Her mother is come—is in our house! Come and see if it’s your Lizzie.”
Mrs. Leigh could not speak, but, trembling, put on her things and went with Susan in dizzy haste back to Crown Street.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
averted
|
|
| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
careworn
|
|
| adj.疲倦的，饱经忧患的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
testament
|
|
| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
hoarse
|
|
| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
beseechingly
|
|
| adv. 恳求地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
repents
|
|
| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
meek
|
|
| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
imploring
|
|
| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
reverence
|
|
| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
wilt
|
|
| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
sleeper
|
|
| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
erring
|
|
| 做错事的，错误的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
intoxicated
|
|
| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
awaken
|
|
| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
tottered
|
|
| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
abrupt
|
|
| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
entreating
|
|
| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
resounding
|
|
| adj. 响亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
impelled
|
|
| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
crouched
|
|
| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
bereaved
|
|
| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
draught
|
|
| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
irresistibly
|
|
| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
placid
|
|
| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
docile
|
|
| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
beckoning
|
|
| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
corpse
|
|
| n.尸体，死尸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
extricating
|
|
| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
usurp
|
|
| vt.篡夺，霸占；vi.篡位 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |