SINCE her reinstatement in Miss Hatchard's favourCharity had not dared to curtail1 by a moment her hoursof attendance at the library. She even made a point ofarriving before the time, and showed a laudableindignation when the youngest Targatt girl, who hadbeen engaged to help in the cleaning and rearranging ofthe books, came trailing in late and neglected her taskto peer through the window at the Sollas boy.
Nevertheless, "library days" seemed more than everirksome to Charity after her vivid hours of liberty;and she would have found it hard to set a good exampleto her subordinate if Lucius Harney had not beencommissioned, before Miss Hatchard's departure, toexamine with the local carpenter the best means ofventilating the "Memorial."He was careful to prosecute2 this inquiry3 on the dayswhen the library was open to the public; and Charitywas therefore sure of spending part of the afternoon inhis company. The Targatt girl's presence, and therisk of being interrupted by some passer-by suddenlysmitten with a thirst for letters, restricted theirintercourse to the exchange of commonplaces; but therewas a fascination4 to Charity in the contrast betweenthese public civilities and their secret intimacy5.
The day after their drive to the brown house was"library day," and she sat at her desk working at therevised catalogue, while the Targatt girl, one eye onthe window, chanted out the titles of a pile of books.
Charity's thoughts were far away, in the dismal6 houseby the swamp, and under the twilight7 sky during thelong drive home, when Lucius Harney had consoled herwith endearing words. That day, for the first timesince he had been boarding with them, he had failed toappear as usual at the midday meal. No message hadcome to explain his absence, and Mr. Royall, who wasmore than usually taciturn, had betrayed no surprise,and made no comment. In itself this indifference8 wasnot particularly significant, for Mr. Royall, in commonwith most of his fellow-citizens, had a way ofaccepting events passively, as if he had long sincecome to the conclusion that no one who lived in NorthDormer could hope to modify them. But to Charity,in the reaction from her mood of passionate9 exaltation,there was something disquieting10 in his silence. It wasalmost as if Lucius Harney had never had a part intheir lives: Mr. Royall's imperturbable11 indifferenceseemed to relegate12 him to the domain13 of unreality.
As she sat at work, she tried to shake off herdisappointment at Harney's non-appearing. Sometrifling incident had probably kept him from joiningthem at midday; but she was sure he must be eager tosee her again, and that he would not want to wait tillthey met at supper, between Mr. Royall and Verena. Shewas wondering what his first words would be, and tryingto devise a way of getting rid of the Targatt girlbefore he came, when she heard steps outside, and hewalked up the path with Mr. Miles.
The clergyman from Hepburn seldom came to North Dormerexcept when he drove over to officiate at the old whitechurch which, by an unusual chance, happened to belongto the Episcopal communion. He was a brisk affableman, eager to make the most of the fact that a littlenucleus of "church-people" had survived in thesectarian wilderness14, and resolved to undermine theinfluence of the ginger-bread-coloured Baptistchapel at the other end of the village; but he was keptbusy by parochial work at Hepburn, where there werepaper-mills and saloons, and it was not often that hecould spare time for North Dormer.
Charity, who went to the white church (like all thebest people in North Dormer), admired Mr. Miles, andhad even, during the memorable15 trip to Nettleton,imagined herself married to a man who had such astraight nose and such a beautiful way of speaking, andwho lived in a brown-stone rectory covered withVirginia creeper. It had been a shock to discover thatthe privilege was already enjoyed by a lady withcrimped hair and a large baby; but the arrival ofLucius Harney had long since banished16 Mr. Miles fromCharity's dreams, and as he walked up the path atHarney's side she saw him as he really was: a fatmiddle-aged man with a baldness showing under hisclerical hat, and spectacles on his Grecian nose. Shewondered what had called him to North Dormer on aweekday, and felt a little hurt that Harney should havebrought him to the library.
It presently appeared that his presence there was dueto Miss Hatchard. He had been spending a few daysat Springfield, to fill a friend's pulpit, and had beenconsulted by Miss Hatchard as to young Harney's planfor ventilating the "Memorial." To lay hands on theHatchard ark was a grave matter, and Miss Hatchard,always full of scruples17 about her scruples (it wasHarney's phrase), wished to have Mr. Miles's opinionbefore deciding.
"I couldn't," Mr. Miles explained, "quite make out fromyour cousin what changes you wanted to make, and as theother trustees did not understand either I thought Ihad better drive over and take a look--though I'msure," he added, turning his friendly spectacles on theyoung man, "that no one could be more competent--but ofcourse this spot has its peculiar18 sanctity!""I hope a little fresh air won't desecrate19 it," Harneylaughingly rejoined; and they walked to the other endof the library while he set forth20 his idea to theRector.
Mr. Miles had greeted the two girls with his usualfriendliness, but Charity saw that he was occupied withother things, and she presently became aware, by thescraps of conversation drifting over to her, that hewas still under the charm of his visit toSpringfield, which appeared to have been full ofagreeable incidents.
"Ah, the Coopersons...yes, you know them, of course,"she heard. "That's a fine old house! And Ned Coopersonhas collected some really remarkable21 impressionistpictures...." The names he cited were unknown toCharity. "Yes; yes; the Schaefer quartette played atLyric Hall on Saturday evening; and on Monday I had theprivilege of hearing them again at the Towers.
Beautifully done...Bach and Beethoven...a lawn-partyfirst...I saw Miss Balch several times, by theway...looking extremely handsome...."Charity dropped her pencil and forgot to listen to theTargatt girl's sing-song. Why had Mr. Miles suddenlybrought up Annabel Balch's name?
"Oh, really?" she heard Harney rejoin; and, raising hisstick, he pursued: "You see, my plan is to move theseshelves away, and open a round window in this wall, onthe axis22 of the one under the pediment.""I suppose she'll be coming up here later to stay withMiss Hatchard?" Mr. Miles went on, following on histrain of thought; then, spinning about and tilting23 hishead back: "Yes, yes, I see--I understand: thatwill give a draught24 without materially altering thelook of things. I can see no objection."The discussion went on for some minutes, and graduallythe two men moved back toward the desk. Mr. Milesstopped again and looked thoughtfully at Charity.
"Aren't you a little pale, my dear? Not overworking?
Mr. Harney tells me you and Mamie are giving thelibrary a thorough overhauling25." He was always carefulto remember his parishioners' Christian26 names, and atthe right moment he bent27 his benignant spectacles onthe Targatt girl.
Then he turned to Charity. "Don't take things hard, mydear; don't take things hard. Come down and see Mrs.
Miles and me some day at Hepburn," he said, pressingher hand and waving a farewell to Mamie Targatt. Hewent out of the library, and Harney followed him.
Charity thought she detected a look of constraint28 inHarney's eyes. She fancied he did not want to be alonewith her; and with a sudden pang29 she wondered if herepented the tender things he had said to her the nightbefore. His words had been more fraternal than lover-like; but she had lost their exact sense in thecaressing warmth of his voice. He had made her feelthat the fact of her being a waif from the Mountain wasonly another reason for holding her close and soothingher with consolatory30 murmurs31; and when the drive wasover, and she got out of the buggy, tired, cold, andaching with emotion, she stepped as if the ground werea sunlit wave and she the spray on its crest32.
Why, then, had his manner suddenly changed, and why didhe leave the library with Mr. Miles? Her restlessimagination fastened on the name of Annabel Balch: fromthe moment it had been mentioned she fancied thatHarney's expression had altered. Annabel Balch at agarden-party at Springfield, looking "extremelyhandsome"...perhaps Mr. Miles had seen her there at thevery moment when Charity and Harney were sitting in theHyatts' hovel, between a drunkard and a half-witted oldwoman! Charity did not know exactly what a garden-partywas, but her glimpse of the flower-edged lawns ofNettleton helped her to visualize33 the scene, andenvious recollections of the "old things" which MissBalch avowedly34 "wore out" when she came to North Dormermade it only too easy to picture her in her splendour.
Charity understood what associations the name musthave called up, and felt the uselessness of strugglingagainst the unseen influences in Harney's life.
When she came down from her room for supper he was notthere; and while she waited in the porch she recalledthe tone in which Mr. Royall had commented the daybefore on their early start. Mr. Royall sat at herside, his chair tilted35 back, his broad black boots withside-elastics resting against the lower bar of therailings. His rumpled36 grey hair stood up above hisforehead like the crest of an angry bird, and theleather-brown of his veined cheeks was blotched withred. Charity knew that those red spots were the signsof a coming explosion.
Suddenly he said: "Where's supper? Has Verena Marshslipped up again on her soda-biscuits?"Charity threw a startled glance at him. "I presumeshe's waiting for Mr. Harney.""Mr. Harney, is she? She'd better dish up, then. Heain't coming." He stood up, walked to the door, andcalled out, in the pitch necessary to penetrate37 the oldwoman's tympanum: "Get along with the supper, Verena."Charity was trembling with apprehension38. Somethinghad happened--she was sure of it now--and Mr. Royallknew what it was. But not for the world would she havegratified him by showing her anxiety. She took herusual place, and he seated himself opposite, and pouredout a strong cup of tea before passing her the tea-pot.
Verena brought some scrambled39 eggs, and he piled hisplate with them. "Ain't you going to take any?" heasked. Charity roused herself and began to eat.
The tone with which Mr. Royall had said "He's notcoming" seemed to her full of an ominous40 satisfaction.
She saw that he had suddenly begun to hate LuciusHarney, and guessed herself to be the cause of thischange of feeling. But she had no means of finding outwhether some act of hostility41 on his part had made theyoung man stay away, or whether he simply wished toavoid seeing her again after their drive back from thebrown house. She ate her supper with a studied show ofindifference, but she knew that Mr. Royall was watchingher and that her agitation42 did not escape him.
After supper she went up to her room. She heard Mr.
Royall cross the passage, and presently the soundsbelow her window showed that he had returned to theporch. She seated herself on her bed and began tostruggle against the desire to go down and ask him whathad happened. "I'd rather die than do it," shemuttered to herself. With a word he could haverelieved her uncertainty43: but never would she gratifyhim by saying it.
She rose and leaned out of the window. The twilighthad deepened into night, and she watched the frailcurve of the young moon dropping to the edge of thehills. Through the darkness she saw one or two figuresmoving down the road; but the evening was too cold forloitering, and presently the strollers disappeared.
Lamps were beginning to show here and there in thewindows. A bar of light brought out the whiteness of aclump of lilies in the Hawes's yard: and farther downthe street Carrick Fry's Rochester lamp cast its boldillumination on the rustic44 flower-tub in the middle ofhis grass-plot.
For a long time she continued to lean in the window.
But a fever of unrest consumed her, and finally shewent downstairs, took her hat from its hook, and swungout of the house. Mr. Royall sat in the porch, Verenabeside him, her old hands crossed on her patched skirt.
As Charity went down the steps Mr. Royall called afterher: "Where you going?" She could easily haveanswered: "To Orma's," or "Down to the Targatts'"; andeither answer might have been true, for she had nopurpose. But she swept on in silence, determined45 notto recognize his right to question her.
At the gate she paused and looked up and down the road.
The darkness drew her, and she thought of climbing thehill and plunging46 into the depths of the larch-woodabove the pasture. Then she glanced irresolutely47 alongthe street, and as she did so a gleam appeared throughthe spruces at Miss Hatchard's gate. Lucius Harney wasthere, then--he had not gone down to Hepburn with Mr.
Miles, as she had at first imagined. But where had hetaken his evening meal, and what had caused him to stayaway from Mr. Royall's? The light was positive proof ofhis presence, for Miss Hatchard's servants were away ona holiday, and her farmer's wife came only in themornings, to make the young man's bed and prepare hiscoffee. Beside that lamp he was doubtless sitting atthis moment. To know the truth Charity had only towalk half the length of the village, and knock at thelighted window. She hesitated a minute or two longer,and then turned toward Miss Hatchard's.
She walked quickly, straining her eyes to detectanyone who might be coming along the street; and beforereaching the Frys' she crossed over to avoid the lightfrom their window. Whenever she was unhappy she feltherself at bay against a pitiless world, and a kind ofanimal secretiveness possessed48 her. But the street wasempty, and she passed unnoticed through the gate and upthe path to the house. Its white front glimmeredindistinctly through the trees, showing only one oblongof light on the lower floor. She had supposed that thelamp was in Miss Hatchard's sitting-room49; but she nowsaw that it shone through a window at the farthercorner of the house. She did not know the room towhich this window belonged, and she paused under thetrees, checked by a sense of strangeness. Then shemoved on, treading softly on the short grass, andkeeping so close to the house that whoever was in theroom, even if roused by her approach, would not be ableto see her.
The window opened on a narrow verandah with a trellisedarch. She leaned close to the trellis, and parting thesprays of clematis that covered it looked into a cornerof the room. She saw the foot of a mahogany bed, anengraving on the wall, a wash-stand on which atowel had been tossed, and one end of the green-coveredtable which held the lamp. Half of the lampshadeprojected into her field of vision, and just under ittwo smooth sunburnt hands, one holding a pencil and theother a ruler, were moving to and fro over a drawing-board.
Her heart jumped and then stood still. He was there, afew feet away; and while her soul was tossing on seasof woe50 he had been quietly sitting at his drawing-board. The sight of those two hands, moving with theirusual skill and precision, woke her out of her dream.
Her eyes were opened to the disproportion between whatshe had felt and the cause of her agitation; and shewas turning away from the window when one hand abruptlypushed aside the drawing-board and the other flung downthe pencil.
Charity had often noticed Harney's loving care of hisdrawings, and the neatness and method with which hecarried on and concluded each task. The impatientsweeping aside of the drawing-board seemed to reveal anew mood. The gesture suggested sudden discouragement,or distaste for his work and she wondered if he toowere agitated51 by secret perplexities. Her impulse offlight was checked; she stepped up on the verandahand looked into the room.
Harney had put his elbows on the table and was restinghis chin on his locked hands. He had taken off hiscoat and waistcoat, and unbuttoned the low collar ofhis flannel52 shirt; she saw the vigorous lines of hisyoung throat, and the root of the muscles where theyjoined the chest. He sat staring straight ahead ofhim, a look of weariness and self-disgust on his face:
it was almost as if he had been gazing at a distortedreflection of his own features. For a moment Charitylooked at him with a kind of terror, as if he had beena stranger under familiar lineaments; then she glancedpast him and saw on the floor an open portmanteau halffull of clothes. She understood that he was preparingto leave, and that he had probably decided53 to gowithout seeing her. She saw that the decision, fromwhatever cause it was taken, had disturbed him deeply;and she immediately concluded that his change of planwas due to some surreptitious interference of Mr.
Royall's. All her old resentments54 and rebellions flamedup, confusedly mingled55 with the yearning56 roused byHarney's nearness. Only a few hours earlier she hadfelt secure in his comprehending pity; now she wasflung back on herself, doubly alone after that momentof communion.
Harney was still unaware57 of her presence. He satwithout moving, moodily58 staring before him at the samespot in the wall-paper. He had not even had the energyto finish his packing, and his clothes and papers layon the floor about the portmanteau. Presently heunlocked his clasped hands and stood up; and Charity,drawing back hastily, sank down on the step of theverandah. The night was so dark that there was notmuch chance of his seeing her unless he opened thewindow and before that she would have time to slip awayand be lost in the shadow of the trees. He stood for aminute or two looking around the room with the sameexpression of self-disgust, as if he hated himself andeverything about him; then he sat down again at thetable, drew a few more strokes, and threw his pencilaside. Finally he walked across the floor, kicking theportmanteau out of his way, and lay down on the bed,folding his arms under his head, and staring upmorosely at the ceiling. Just so, Charity had seen himat her side on the grass or the pine-needles, his eyesfixed on the sky, and pleasure flashing over his facelike the flickers60 of sun the branches shed on it.
But now the face was so changed that she hardly knewit; and grief at his grief gathered in her throat, roseto her eyes and ran over.
She continued to crouch61 on the steps, holding herbreath and stiffening62 herself into complete immobility.
One motion of her hand, one tap on the pane63, and shecould picture the sudden change in his face. In everypulse of her rigid64 body she was aware of the welcomehis eyes and lips would give her; but something kepther from moving. It was not the fear of any sanction,human or heavenly; she had never in her life beenafraid. It was simply that she had suddenly understoodwhat would happen if she went in. It was the thingthat did happen between young men and girls, and thatNorth Dormer ignored in public and snickered over onthe sly. It was what Miss Hatchard was still ignorantof, but every girl of Charity's class knew about beforeshe left school. It was what had happened to AllyHawes's sister Julia, and had ended in her going toNettleton, and in people's never mentioning her name.
It did not, of course, always end so sensationally;nor, perhaps, on the whole, so untragically. Charityhad always suspected that the shunned65 Julia's fatemight have its compensations. There were others, worseendings that the village knew of, mean, miserable,unconfessed; other lives that went on drearily66, withoutvisible change, in the same cramped67 setting ofhypocrisy. But these were not the reasons that heldher back. Since the day before, she had known exactlywhat she would feel if Harney should take her in hisarms: the melting of palm into palm and mouth on mouth,and the long flame burning her from head to foot. Butmixed with this feeling was another: the wonderingpride in his liking68 for her, the startled softness thathis sympathy had put into her heart. Sometimes, whenher youth flushed up in her, she had imagined yieldinglike other girls to furtive69 caresses70 in the twilight;but she could not so cheapen herself to Harney. Shedid not know why he was going; but since he was goingshe felt she must do nothing to deface the image of herthat he carried away. If he wanted her he must seekher: he must not be surprised into taking her as girlslike Julia Hawes were taken....
No sound came from the sleeping village, and in thedeep darkness of the garden she heard now and thena secret rustle71 of branches, as though some night-birdbrushed them. Once a footfall passed the gate, and sheshrank back into her corner; but the steps died awayand left a profounder quiet. Her eyes were still onHarney's tormented72 face: she felt she could not movetill he moved. But she was beginning to grow numb73 fromher constrained74 position, and at times her thoughtswere so indistinct that she seemed to be held thereonly by a vague weight of weariness.
A long time passed in this strange vigil. Harney stilllay on the bed, motionless and with fixed59 eyes, asthough following his vision to its bitter end. At lasthe stirred and changed his attitude slightly, andCharity's heart began to tremble. But he only flungout his arms and sank back into his former position.
With a deep sigh he tossed the hair from his forehead;then his whole body relaxed, his head turned sidewayson the pillow, and she saw that he had fallen asleep.
The sweet expression came back to his lips, and thehaggardness faded from his face, leaving it as fresh asa boy's.
She rose and crept away.
收听单词发音 |
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curtail
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| vt.截短，缩短；削减 | |
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prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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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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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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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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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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disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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relegate
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| v.使降级，流放，移交，委任 | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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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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desecrate
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| v.供俗用，亵渎，污辱 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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axis
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| n.轴，轴线，中心线；坐标轴，基准线 | |
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tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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overhauling
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| n.大修；拆修；卸修；翻修v.彻底检查( overhaul的现在分词 )；大修；赶上；超越 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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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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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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consolatory
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| adj.慰问的，可藉慰的 | |
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murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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visualize
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| vt.使看得见，使具体化，想象，设想 | |
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avowedly
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| adv.公然地 | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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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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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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irresolutely
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| adv.优柔寡断地 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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50
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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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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resentments
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| （因受虐待而）愤恨，不满，怨恨( resentment的名词复数 ) | |
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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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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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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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flickers
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| 电影制片业； （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的名词复数 ) | |
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crouch
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| v.蹲伏，蜷缩，低头弯腰；n.蹲伏 | |
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stiffening
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| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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shunned
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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drearily
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| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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71
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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72
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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