The dance was over. From the great house on the hill the guests had all departed and only the musicians remained. As they filed out through the ample doorway1, on their way home, the first faint streak2 of early dawn became visible in the east. One of them, a lank3, plain-featured young man of ungainly aspect but penetrating4 eye, called the attention of the others to it.
“Look!” said he; “there is the daylight! This has been a gay night for Sutherlandtown.”
“Too gay,” muttered another, starting aside as the slight figure of a young man coming from the house behind them rushed hastily by. “Why, who’s that?”
As they one and all had recognised the person thus alluded5 to, no one answered till he had dashed out of the gate and disappeared in the woods on the other side of the road. Then they all spoke6 at once.
“It’s Mr. Frederick!”
“He seems in a desperate hurry.”
“He trod on my toes.”
“Did you hear the words he was muttering as he went by?”
As only the last question was calculated to rouse any interest, it alone received attention.
“No; what were they? I heard him say something, but I failed to catch the words.”
“He wasn’t talking to you, or to me either, for that matter; but I have ears that can hear an eye wink7. He said: ‘Thank God, this night of horror is over!’ Think of that! After such a dance and such a spread, he calls the night horrible and thanks God that it is over. I thought he was the very man to enjoy this kind of thing.”
“So did I.”
“And so did I.”
The five musicians exchanged looks, then huddled8 in a group at the gate.
“He has quarrelled with his sweetheart,” suggested one.
“I’m not surprised at that,” declared another. “I never thought it would be a match.”
“Shame if it were!” muttered the ungainly youth who had spoken first.
As the subject of this comment was the son of the gentleman whose house they were just leaving, they necessarily spoke low; but their tones were rife9 with curiosity, and it was evident that the topic deeply interested them. One of the five who had not previously10 spoken now put in a word:
“I saw him when he first led out Miss Page to dance, and I saw him again when he stood up opposite her in the last quadrille, and I tell you, boys, there was a mighty11 deal of difference in the way he conducted himself toward her in the beginning of the evening and the last. You wouldn’t have thought him the same man. Reckless young fellows like him are not to be caught by dimples only. They want cash.”
“Or family, at least; and she hasn’t either. But what a pretty girl she is! Many a fellow as rich as he and as well connected would be satisfied with her good looks alone.”
“Good looks!” High scorn was observable in this exclamation12, which was made by the young man whom I have before characterised as ungainly. “I refuse to acknowledge that she has any good looks. On the contrary, I consider her plain.”
“Oh! Oh!” burst in protest from more than one mouth. “And why does she have every fellow in the room dangling13 after her, then?” asked the player on the flageolet.
“She hasn’t a regular feature.”
“What difference does that make when it isn’t her features you notice, but herself?”
“I don’t like her.”
A laugh followed this.
“That won’t trouble her, Sweetwater. Sutherland does, if you don’t, and that’s much more to the point. And he’ll marry her yet; he can’t help it. Why, she’d witch the devil into leading her to the altar if she took a notion to have him for her bridegroom.”
“There would be consistency14 in that,” muttered the fellow just addressed. “But Mr. Frederick —”
“Hush! There’s some one on the doorstep. Why, it’s she!”
They all glanced back. The graceful15 figure of a young girl dressed in white was to be seen leaning toward them from the open doorway. Behind her shone a blaze of light — the candles not having been yet extinguished in the hall — and against this brilliant background her slight form, with all its bewitching outlines, stood out in plain relief.
“Who was that?” she began in a high, almost strident voice, totally out of keeping with the sensuous16 curves of her strange, sweet face. But the question remained unanswered, for at that moment her attention, as well as that of the men lingering at the gate, was attracted by the sound of hurrying feet and confused cries coming up the hill.
“Murder! Murder!” was the word panted out by more than one harsh voice; and in another instant a dozen men and boys came rushing into sight in a state of such excitement that the five musicians recoiled17 from the gate, and one of them went so far as to start back toward the house. As he did so he noticed a curious thing. The young woman whom they had all perceived standing18 in the door a moment before had vanished, yet she was known to possess the keenest curiosity of any one in town.
“Murder! Murder!” A terrible and unprecedented19 cry in this old, God-fearing town. Then came in hoarse20 explanation from the jostling group as they stopped at the gate: “Mrs. Webb has been killed! Stabbed with a knife! Tell Mr. Sutherland!”
Mrs. Webb!
As the musicians heard this name, so honoured and so universally beloved, they to a man uttered a cry. Mrs. Webb! Why, it was impossible. Shouting in their turn for Mr. Sutherland, they all crowded forward.
“Not Mrs. Webb!” they protested. “Who could have the daring or the heart to kill HER?”
“God knows,” answered a voice from the highway. “But she’s dead — we’ve just seen her!”
“Then it’s the old man’s work,” quavered a piping voice. “I’ve always said he would turn on his best friend some day. ‘Sylum’s the best place for folks as has lost their wits. I—”
But here a hand was put over his mouth, and the rest of the words was lost in an inarticulate gurgle. Mr. Sutherland had just appeared on the porch.
He was a superb-looking man, with an expression of mingled22 kindness and dignity that invariably awakened23 both awe24 and admiration25 in the spectator. No man in the country — I was going to say no woman was more beloved, or held in higher esteem26. Yet he could not control his only son, as everyone within ten miles of the hill well knew.
At this moment his face showed both pain and shock.
“What name are you shouting out there?” he brokenly demanded. “Agatha Webb? Is Agatha Webb hurt?”
“Yes, sir; killed,” repeated a half-dozen voices at once. “We’ve just come from the house. All the town is up. Some say her husband did it.”
“No, no!” was Mr. Sutherland’s decisive though half-inaudible response. “Philemon Webb might end his own life, but not Agatha’s. It was the money —”
Here he caught himself up, and, raising his voice, addressed the crowd of villagers more directly.
“Wait,” said he, “and I will go back with you. Where is Frederick?” he demanded of such members of his own household as stood about him.
No one knew.
“I wish some one would find my son. I want him to go into town with me.”
“He’s over in the woods there,” volunteered a voice from without.
“In the woods!” repeated the father, in a surprised tone.
“Yes, sir; we all saw him go. Shall we sing out to him?”
“No, no; I will manage very well without him.” And taking up his hat Mr. Sutherland stepped out again upon the porch.
Suddenly he stopped. A hand had been laid on his arm and an insinuating27 voice was murmuring in his ear:
“Do you mind if I go with you? I will not make any trouble.”
It was the same young lady we have seen before.
The old gentleman frowned — he who never frowned and remarked shortly:
“A scene of murder is no place for women.”
The face upturned to his remained unmoved.
“I think I will go,” she quietly persisted. “I can easily mingle21 with the crowd.”
He said not another word against it. Miss Page was under pay in his house, but for the last few weeks no one had undertaken to contradict her. In the interval28 since her first appearance on the porch, she had exchanged the light dress in which she had danced at the ball, for a darker and more serviceable one, and perhaps this token of her determination may have had its influence in silencing him. He joined the crowd, and together they moved down-hill. This was too much for the servants of the house. One by one they too left the house till it stood absolutely empty. Jerry snuffed out the candles and shut the front door, but the side entrance stood wide open, and into this entrance, as the last footstep died out on the hillside, passed a slight and resolute29 figure. It was that of the musician who had questioned Miss Page’s attractions.
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1
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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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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lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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5
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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8
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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9
rife
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| adj.(指坏事情)充斥的，流行的，普遍的 | |
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10
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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13
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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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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19
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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20
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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21
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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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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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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25
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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26
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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27
insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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28
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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29
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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