SHE had lost the sense of time, and did not know howlate it was till she came out into the street and sawthat all the windows were dark between Miss Hatchard'sand the Royall house.
As she passed from under the black pall1 of the Norwayspruces she fancied she saw two figures in the shadeabout the duck-pond. She drew back and watched; butnothing moved, and she had stared so long into thelamp-lit room that the darkness confused her, and shethought she must have been mistaken.
She walked on, wondering whether Mr. Royall was stillin the porch. In her exalted2 mood she did not greatlycare whether he was waiting for her or not: she seemedto be floating high over life, on a great cloud ofmisery beneath which every-day realities had dwindledto mere3 specks4 in space. But the porch was empty, Mr.
Royall's hat hung on its peg5 in the passage, and thekitchen lamp had been left to light her to bed. Shetook it and went up.
The morning hours of the next day dragged bywithout incident. Charity had imagined that, in someway or other, she would learn whether Harney hadalready left; but Verena's deafness prevented her beinga source of news, and no one came to the house whocould bring enlightenment.
Mr. Royall went out early, and did not return tillVerena had set the table for the midday meal. When hecame in he went straight to the kitchen and shouted tothe old woman: "Ready for dinner----" then he turnedinto the dining-room, where Charity was already seated.
Harney's plate was in its usual place, but Mr. Royalloffered no explanation of his absence, and Charityasked none. The feverish6 exaltation of the nightbefore had dropped, and she said to herself that he hadgone away, indifferently, almost callously7, and thatnow her life would lapse8 again into the narrow rut outof which he had lifted it. For a moment she wasinclined to sneer9 at herself for not having used thearts that might have kept him.
She sat at table till the meal was over, lest Mr.
Royall should remark on her leaving; but when he stoodup she rose also, without waiting to help Verena.
She had her foot on the stairs when he called to her tocome back.
"I've got a headache. I'm going up to lie down.""I want you should come in here first; I've gotsomething to say to you."She was sure from his tone that in a moment she wouldlearn what every nerve in her ached to know; but as sheturned back she made a last effort of indifference10.
Mr. Royall stood in the middle of the office, his thickeyebrows beetling11, his lower jaw12 trembling a little.
At first she thought he had been drinking; then she sawthat he was sober, but stirred by a deep and sternemotion totally unlike his usual transient angers. Andsuddenly she understood that, until then, she had neverreally noticed him or thought about him. Except on theoccasion of his one offense13 he had been to her merelythe person who is always there, the unquestionedcentral fact of life, as inevitable14 but asuninteresting as North Dormer itself, or any of theother conditions fate had laid on her. Even then shehad regarded him only in relation to herself, and hadnever speculated as to his own feelings, beyondinstinctively concluding that he would not troubleher again in the same way. But now she began to wonderwhat he was really like.
He had grasped the back of his chair with both hands,and stood looking hard at her. At length he said:
"Charity, for once let's you and me talk together likefriends."Instantly she felt that something had happened, andthat he held her in his hand.
"Where is Mr. Harney? Why hasn't he come back? Have yousent him away?" she broke out, without knowing what shewas saying.
The change in Mr. Royall frightened her. All the bloodseemed to leave his veins15 and against his swarthypallor the deep lines in his face looked black.
"Didn't he have time to answer some of those questionslast night? You was with him long enough!" he said.
Charity stood speechless. The taunt16 was so unrelatedto what had been happening in her soul that she hardlyunderstood it. But the instinct of self-defense awokein her.
"Who says I was with him last night?""The whole place is saying it by now.""Then it was you that put the lie into theirmouths.--Oh, how I've always hated you!" she cried.
She had expected a retort in kind, and it startled herto hear her exclamation17 sounding on through silence.
"Yes, I know," Mr. Royall said slowly. "But that ain'tgoing to help us much now.""It helps me not to care a straw what lies you tellabout me!""If they're lies, they're not my lies: my Bible oath onthat, Charity. I didn't know where you were: I wasn'tout of this house last night."She made no answer and he went on: "Is it a lie thatyou were seen coming out of Miss Hatchard's nigh ontomidnight?"She straightened herself with a laugh, all her recklessinsolence recovered. "I didn't look to see what timeit was.""You lost girl...you...you...Oh, my God, why did youtell me?" he broke out, dropping into his chair, hishead bowed down like an old man's.
Charity's self-possession had returned with the senseof her danger. "Do you suppose I'd take thetrouble to lie to YOU? Who are you, anyhow, toask me where I go to when I go out at night?"Mr. Royall lifted his head and looked at her. His facehad grown quiet and almost gentle, as she rememberedseeing it sometimes when she was a little girl, beforeMrs. Royall died.
"Don't let's go on like this, Charity. It can't do anygood to either of us. You were seen going into thatfellow's house...you were seen coming out of it....I'vewatched this thing coming, and I've tried to stop it.
As God sees me, I have....""Ah, it WAS you, then? I knew it was you that senthim away!"He looked at her in surprise. "Didn't he tell you so?
I thought he understood." He spoke18 slowly, withdifficult pauses, "I didn't name you to him: I'd havecut my hand off sooner. I just told him I couldn'tspare the horse any longer; and that the cooking wasgetting too heavy for Verena. I guess he's the kindthat's heard the same thing before. Anyhow, he took itquietly enough. He said his job here was about done,anyhow; and there didn't another word pass betweenus....If he told you otherwise he told you an untruth."Charity listened in a cold trance of anger. Itwas nothing to her what the village said...but all thisfingering of her dreams!
"I've told you he didn't tell me anything. I didn'tspeak with him last night.""You didn't speak with him?""No....It's not that I care what any of you say...butyou may as well know. Things ain't between us the wayyou think...and the other people in this place. He waskind to me; he was my friend; and all of a sudden hestopped coming, and I knew it was you that done it--YOU!" All her unreconciled memory of the past flamedout at him. "So I went there last night to find outwhat you'd said to him: that's all."Mr. Royall drew a heavy breath. "But, then--if hewasn't there, what were you doing there all that time?--Charity, for pity's sake, tell me. I've got to know,to stop their talking."This pathetic abdication19 of all authority over her didnot move her: she could feel only the outrage20 of hisinterference.
"Can't you see that I don't care what anybody says?
It's true I went there to see him; and he was in hisroom, and I stood outside for ever so long and watchedhim; but I dursn't go in for fear he'd think I'dcome after him...." She felt her voice breaking, andgathered it up in a last defiance21. "As long as I liveI'll never forgive you!" she cried.
Mr. Royall made no answer. He sat and pondered withsunken head, his veined hands clasped about the arms ofhis chair. Age seemed to have come down on him aswinter comes on the hills after a storm. At length helooked up.
"Charity, you say you don't care; but you're theproudest girl I know, and the last to want people totalk against you. You know there's always eyeswatching you: you're handsomer and smarter than therest, and that's enough. But till lately you've nevergiven them a chance. Now they've got it, and they'regoing to use it. I believe what you say, but theywon't....It was Mrs. Tom Fry seen you going in...andtwo or three of them watched for you to come outagain....You've been with the fellow all day long everyday since he come here...and I'm a lawyer, and I knowhow hard slander22 dies." He paused, but she stoodmotionless, without giving him any sign of acquiescenceor even of attention. "He's a pleasant fellow to talkto--I liked having him here myself. The young men uphere ain't had his chances. But there's one thingas old as the hills and as plain as daylight: if he'dwanted you the right way he'd have said so."Charity did not speak. It seemed to her that nothingcould exceed the bitterness of hearing such words fromsuch lips.
Mr. Royall rose from his seat. "See here, CharityRoyall: I had a shameful23 thought once, and you've mademe pay for it. Isn't that score pretty near wipedout?...There's a streak24 in me I ain't always master of;but I've always acted straight to you but that once.
And you've known I would--you've trusted me. For allyour sneers25 and your mockery you've always known Iloved you the way a man loves a decent woman. I'm agood many years older than you, but I'm head andshoulders above this place and everybody in it, and youknow that too. I slipped up once, but that's no reasonfor not starting again. If you'll come with me I'll doit. If you'll marry me we'll leave here and settle insome big town, where there's men, and business, andthings doing. It's not too late for me to find anopening....I can see it by the way folks treat me whenI go down to Hepburn or Nettleton...."Charity made no movement. Nothing in his appealreached her heart, and she thought only of words towound and wither26. But a growing lassitude restrainedher. What did anything matter that he was saying? Shesaw the old life closing in on her, and hardly heededhis fanciful picture of renewal27.
"Charity--Charity--say you'll do it," she heard himurge, all his lost years and wasted passion in hisvoice.
"Oh, what's the use of all this? When I leave here itwon't be with you."She moved toward the door as she spoke, and he stood upand placed himself between her and the threshold. Heseemed suddenly tall and strong, as though theextremity of his humiliation28 had given him new vigour29.
"That's all, is it? It's not much." He leaned againstthe door, so towering and powerful that he seemed tofill the narrow room. "Well, then look here....You'reright: I've no claim on you--why should you look at abroken man like me? You want the other fellow...and Idon't blame you. You picked out the best when you seenit...well, that was always my way." He fixed30 his sterneyes on her, and she had the sense that thestruggle within him was at its highest. "Do you wanthim to marry you?" he asked.
They stood and looked at each other for a long moment,eye to eye, with the terrible equality of courage thatsometimes made her feel as if she had his blood in herveins.
"Do you want him to--say? I'll have him here in an hourif you do. I ain't been in the law thirty years fornothing. He's hired Carrick Fry's team to take him toHepburn, but he ain't going to start for another hour.
And I can put things to him so he won't be longdeciding....He's soft: I could see that. I don't sayyou won't be sorry afterward--but, by God, I'll giveyou the chance to be, if you say so."She heard him out in silence, too remote from all hewas feeling and saying for any sally of scorn torelieve her. As she listened, there flitted throughher mind the vision of Liff Hyatt's muddy boot comingdown on the white bramble-flowers. The same thing hadhappened now; something transient and exquisite31 hadflowered in her, and she had stood by and seen ittrampled to earth. While the thought passed throughher she was aware of Mr. Royall, still leaningagainst the door, but crestfallen32, diminished, asthough her silence were the answer he most dreaded33.
"I don't want any chance you can give me: I'm glad he'sgoing away," she said.
He kept his place a moment longer, his hand on thedoor-knob. "Charity!" he pleaded. She made no answer,and he turned the knob and went out. She heard himfumble with the latch34 of the front door, and saw himwalk down the steps. He passed out of the gate, andhis figure, stooping and heavy, receded35 slowly up thestreet.
For a while she remained where he had left her. Shewas still trembling with the humiliation of his lastwords, which rang so loud in her ears that it seemed asthough they must echo through the village, proclaimingher a creature to lend herself to such vilesuggestions. Her shame weighed on her like a physicaloppression: the roof and walls seemed to be closing inon her, and she was seized by the impulse to get away,under the open sky, where there would be room tobreathe. She went to the front door, and as she did soLucius Harney opened it.
He looked graver and less confident than usual,and for a moment or two neither of them spoke.
Then he held out his hand. "Are you going out?" heasked. "May I come in?"Her heart was beating so violently that she was afraidto speak, and stood looking at him with tear-dilatedeyes; then she became aware of what her silence mustbetray, and said quickly: "Yes: come in."She led the way into the dining-room, and they sat downon opposite sides of the table, the cruet-stand andjapanned bread-basket between them. Harney had laidhis straw hat on the table, and as he sat there, in hiseasy-looking summer clothes, a brown tie knotted underhis flannel36 collar, and his smooth brown hair brushedback from his forehead, she pictured him, as she hadseen him the night before, lying on his bed, with thetossed locks falling into his eyes, and his bare throatrising out of his unbuttoned shirt. He had neverseemed so remote as at the moment when that visionflashed through her mind.
"I'm so sorry it's good-bye: I suppose you know I'mleaving," he began, abruptly37 and awkwardly; she guessedthat he was wondering how much she knew of his reasonsfor going.
"I presume you found your work was over quickerthan what you expected," she said.
"Well, yes--that is, no: there are plenty of things Ishould have liked to do. But my holiday's limited; andnow that Mr. Royall needs the horse for himself it'srather difficult to find means of getting about.""There ain't any too many teams for hire around here,"she acquiesced38; and there was another silence.
"These days here have been--awfully pleasant: I wantedto thank you for making them so," he continued, hiscolour rising.
She could not think of any reply, and he went on:
"You've been wonderfully kind to me, and I wanted totell you....I wish I could think of you as happier,less lonely....Things are sure to change for you by andby....""Things don't change at North Dormer: people just getused to them."The answer seemed to break up the order of hisprearranged consolations39, and he sat looking at heruncertainly. Then he said, with his sweet smile:
"That's not true of you. It can't be."The smile was like a knife-thrust through herheart: everything in her began to tremble andbreak loose. She felt her tears run over, and stoodup.
"Well, good-bye," she said.
She was aware of his taking her hand, and of feelingthat his touch was lifeless.
"Good-bye." He turned away, and stopped on thethreshold. "You'll say good-bye for me to Verena?"She heard the closing of the outer door and the soundof his quick tread along the path. The latch of thegate clicked after him.
The next morning when she arose in the cold dawn andopened her shutters40 she saw a freckled41 boy standing42 onthe other side of the road and looking up at her. Hewas a boy from a farm three or four miles down theCreston road, and she wondered what he was doing thereat that hour, and why he looked so hard at her window.
When he saw her he crossed over and leaned against thegate unconcernedly. There was no one stirring in thehouse, and she threw a shawl over her night-gown andran down and let herself out. By the time she reachedthe gate the boy was sauntering down the road,whistling carelessly; but she saw that a letter hadbeen thrust between the slats and the crossbar ofthe gate. She took it out and hastened back to herroom.
The envelope bore her name, and inside was a leaf tornfrom a pocket-diary.
DEAR CHARITY:
I can't go away like this. I am staying for a few daysat Creston River. Will you come down and meet me atCreston pool? I will wait for you till evening.
收听单词发音 |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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specks
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| n.眼镜；斑点，微粒，污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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callously
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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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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beetling
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| adj.突出的，悬垂的v.快速移动( beetle的现在分词 ) | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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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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abdication
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| n.辞职；退位 | |
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outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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sneers
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| 讥笑的表情（言语）( sneer的名词复数 ) | |
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wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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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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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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crestfallen
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| adj. 挫败的，失望的，沮丧的 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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consolations
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| n.安慰，慰问( consolation的名词复数 )；起安慰作用的人（或事物） | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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41
freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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