“About her neck a packet-mail
Fraught1 with advice, some fresh, some stale,
Of men that walked when they were dead.”
HUDIBRAS.
Scarcely a word had passed between Dr. Melmoth and Ellen Langton, on their way home; for, though the former was aware that his duty towards his ward2 would compel him to inquire into the motives3 of her conduct, the tenderness of his heart prompted him to defer4 the scrutiny5 to the latest moment. The same tenderness induced him to connive6 at Ellen’s stealing secretly up to her chamber7, unseen by Mrs. Melmoth; to render which measure practicable, he opened the house-door very softly, and stood before his half-sleeping spouse8 (who waited his arrival in the parlor9) without any previous notice. This act of the doctor’s benevolence10 was not destitute11 of heroism12; for he was well assured that, should the affair come to the lady’s knowledge through any other channel, her vengeance13 would descend14 not less heavily on him for concealing15, than on Ellen for perpetrating, the elopement. That she had, thus far, no suspicion of the fact, was evident from her composure, as well as from the reply to a question, which, with more than his usual art, her husband put to her respecting the non-appearance of his ward. Mrs. Melmoth answered, that Ellen had complained of indisposition, and after drinking, by her prescription16, a large cup of herb-tea, had retired17 to her chamber early in the evening. Thankful that all was yet safe, the doctor laid his head upon his pillow; but, late as was the hour, his many anxious thoughts long drove sleep from his eyelids18.
The diminution19 in the quantity of his natural rest did not, however, prevent Dr. Melmoth from rising at his usual hour, which at all seasons of the year was an early one. He found, on descending20 to the parlor, that breakfast was nearly in readiness; for the lady of the house (and, as a corollary, her servant-girl) was not accustomed to await the rising of the sun in order to commence her domestic labors21. Ellen Langton, however, who had heretofore assimilated her habits to those of the family, was this morning invisible,— a circumstance imputed22 by Mrs. Melmoth to her indisposition of the preceding evening, and by the doctor, to mortification23 on account of her elopement and its discovery.
“I think I will step into Ellen’s bedchamber,” said Mrs. Melmoth, “and inquire how she feels herself. The morning is delightful24 after the storm, and the air will do her good.”
“Had we not better proceed with our breakfast? If the poor child is sleeping, it were a pity to disturb her,” observed the doctor; for, besides his sympathy with Ellen’s feelings, he was reluctant, as if he were the guilty one, to meet her face.
“Well, be it so. And now sit down, doctor; for the hot cakes are cooling fast. I suppose you will say they are not so good as those Ellen made yesterday morning. I know not how you will bear to part with her, though the thing must soon be.”
“It will be a sore trial, doubtless,” replied Dr. Melmoth,—“like tearing away a branch that is grafted25 on an old tree. And yet there will be a satisfaction in delivering her safe into her father’s hands.”
“A satisfaction for which you may thank me, doctor,” observed the lady. “If there had been none but you to look after the poor thing’s doings, she would have been enticed26 away long ere this, for the sake of her money.”
Dr. Melmoth’s prudence27 could scarcely restrain a smile at the thought that an elopement, as he had reason to believe, had been plotted, and partly carried into execution, while Ellen was under the sole care of his lady, and had been frustrated28 only by his own despised agency. He was not accustomed, however,— nor was this an eligible29 occasion,— to dispute any of Mrs. Melmoth’s claims to superior wisdom.
The breakfast proceeded in silence, or, at least, without any conversation material to the tale. At its conclusion, Mrs. Melmoth was again meditating30 on the propriety31 of entering Ellen’s chamber; but she was now prevented by an incident that always excited much interest both in herself and her husband.
This was the entrance of the servant, bearing the letters and newspaper, with which, once a fortnight, the mail-carrier journeyed up the valley. Dr. Melmoth’s situation at the head of a respectable seminary, and his character as a scholar, had procured32 him an extensive correspondence among the learned men of his own country; and he had even exchanged epistles with one or two of the most distinguished33 dissenting34 clergymen of Great Britain. But, unless when some fond mother enclosed a one-pound note to defray the private expenses of her son at college, it was frequently the case that the packets addressed to the doctor were the sole contents of the mail-bag. In the present instance, his letters were very numerous, and, to judge from the one he chanced first to open, of an unconscionable length. While he was engaged in their perusal35, Mrs. Melmoth amused herself with the newspaper,— a little sheet of about twelve inches square, which had but one rival in the country. Commencing with the title, she labored36 on through advertisements old and new, through poetry lamentably37 deficient38 in rhythm and rhymes, through essays, the ideas of which had been trite39 since the first week of the creation, till she finally arrived at the department that, a fortnight before, had contained the latest news from all quarters. Making such remarks upon these items as to her seemed good, the dame40’s notice was at length attracted by an article which her sudden exclamation41 proved to possess uncommon42 interest. Casting her eye hastily over it, she immediately began to read aloud to her husband; but he, deeply engaged in a long and learned letter, instead of listening to what she wished to communicate, exerted his own lungs in opposition43 to hers, as is the custom of abstracted men when disturbed. The result was as follows:—
“A brig just arrived in the outer harbor,” began Mrs. Melmoth, “reports, that on the morning of the 25th ult.”— Here the doctor broke in, “Wherefore I am compelled to differ from your exposition of the said passage, for those reasons, of the which I have given you a taste; provided”— The lady’s voice was now almost audible, “ship bottom upward, discovered by the name on her stern to be the Ellen of”—“and in the same opinion are Hooker, Cotton, and divers44 learned divines of a later date.”
The doctor’s lungs were deep and strong, and victory seemed to incline toward him; but Mrs. Melmoth now made use of a tone whose peculiar45 shrillness46, as long experience had taught her husband, augured47 a mood of mind not to be trifled with.
“On my word, doctor,” she exclaimed, “this is most unfeeling and unchristian conduct! Here am I endeavoring to inform you of the death of an old friend, and you continue as deaf as a post.”
Dr. Melmoth, who had heard the sound, without receiving the sense, of these words, now laid aside the letter in despair, and submissively requested to be informed of her pleasure.
“There, read for yourself,” she replied, handing him the paper, and pointing to the passage containing the important intelligence,—“read, and then finish your letter, if you have a mind.”
He took the paper, unable to conjecture49 how the dame could be so much interested in any part of its contents; but, before he had read many words, he grew pale as death. “Good Heavens! what is this?” he exclaimed. He then read on, “being the vessel50 wherein that eminent51 son of New England, John Langton, Esq., had taken passage for his native country, after an absence of many years.”
“Our poor Ellen, his orphan52 child!” said Dr. Melmoth, dropping the paper. “How shall we break the intelligence to her? Alas53! her share of the affliction causes me to forget my own.”
“It is a heavy misfortune, doubtless; and Ellen will grieve as a daughter should,” replied Mrs. Melmoth, speaking with the good sense of which she had a competent share. “But she has never known her father; and her sorrow must arise from a sense of duty, more than from strong affection. I will go and inform her of her loss. It is late, and I wonder if she be still asleep.”
“Be cautious, dearest wife,” said the doctor. “Ellen has strong feelings, and a sudden shock might be dangerous.”
“I think I may be trusted, Dr. Melmoth,” replied the lady, who had a high opinion of her own abilities as a comforter, and was not averse54 to exercise them.
Her husband, after her departure, sat listlessly turning over the letters that yet remained unopened, feeling little curiosity, after such melancholy55 intelligence, respecting their contents. But, by the handwriting of the direction on one of them, his attention was gradually arrested, till he found himself gazing earnestly on those strong, firm, regular characters. They were perfectly56 familiar to his eye; but from what hand they came, he could not conjecture. Suddenly, however, the truth burst upon him; and after noticing the date, and reading a few lines, he rushed hastily in pursuit of his wife.
He had arrived at the top of his speed and at the middle of the staircase, when his course was arrested by the lady whom he sought, who came, with a velocity57 equal to his own, in an opposite direction. The consequence was a concussion58 between the two meeting masses, by which Mrs. Melmoth was seated securely on the stairs; while the doctor was only preserved from precipitation to the bottom by clinging desperately59 to the balustrade. As soon as the pair discovered that they had sustained no material injury by their contact, they began eagerly to explain the cause of their mutual60 haste, without those reproaches, which, on the lady’s part, would at another time have followed such an accident.
“You have not told her the bad news, I trust?” cried Dr. Melmoth, after each had communicated his and her intelligence, without obtaining audience of the other.
“Would you have me tell it to the bare walls?” inquired the lady in her shrillest tone. “Have I not just informed you that she has gone, fled, eloped? Her chamber is empty; and her bed has not been occupied.”
“Gone!” repeated the doctor. “And, when her father comes to demand his daughter of me, what answer shall I make?”
“Now, Heaven defend us from the visits of the dead and drowned!” cried Mrs. Melmoth. “This is a serious affair, doctor, but not, I trust, sufficient to raise a ghost.”
“Mr. Langton is yet no ghost,” answered he; “though this event will go near to make him one. He was fortunately prevented, after he had made every preparation, from taking passage in the vessel that was lost.”
“And where is he now?” she inquired.
“He is in New England. Perhaps he is at this moment on his way to us,” replied her husband. “His letter is dated nearly a fortnight back; and he expresses an intention of being with us in a few days.”
“Well, I thank Heaven for his safety,” said Mrs. Melmoth. “But truly the poor gentleman could not have chosen a better time to be drowned, nor a worse one to come to life, than this. What we shall do, doctor, I know not; but had you locked the doors, and fastened the windows, as I advised, the misfortune could not have happened.”
“Why, the whole country would have flouted61 us!” answered the doctor. “Is there a door in all the Province that is barred or bolted, night or day? Nevertheless it might have been advisable last night, had it occurred to me.”
“And why at that time more than at all times?” she inquired. “We had surely no reason to fear this event.”
Dr. Melmoth was silent; for his worldly wisdom was sufficient to deter62 him from giving his lady the opportunity, which she would not fail to use to the utmost, of laying the blame of the elopement at his door. He now proceeded, with a heavy heart, to Ellen’s chamber, to satisfy himself with his own eyes of the state of affairs. It was deserted63 too truly; and the wild-flowers with which it was the maiden64’s custom daily to decorate her premises65 were drooping66, as if in sorrow for her who had placed them there. Mrs. Melmoth, on this second visit, discovered on the table a note addressed to her husband, and containing a few words of gratitude67 from Ellen, but no explanation of her mysterious flight. The doctor gazed long on the tiny letters, which had evidently been traced with a trembling hand, and blotted68 with many tears.
“There is a mystery in this,— a mystery that I cannot fathom,” he said. “And now I would I knew what measures it would be proper to take.”
“Get you on horseback, Dr. Melmoth, and proceed as speedily as may be down the valley to the town,” said the dame, the influence of whose firmer mind was sometimes, as in the present case, most beneficially exerted over his own. “You must not spare for trouble, no, nor for danger. Now — Oh, if I were a man!”—
“Oh, that you were!” murmured the doctor, in a perfectly inaudible voice, “Well — and when I reach the town, what then?”
“As I am a Christian48 woman, my patience cannot endure you!” exclaimed Mrs. Melmoth. “Oh, I love to see a man with the spirit of a man! but you”— And she turned away in utter scorn.
“But, dearest wife,” remonstrated69 the husband, who was really at a loss how to proceed, and anxious for her advice, “your worldly experience is greater than mine, and I desire to profit by it. What should be my next measure after arriving at the town?”
Mrs. Melmoth was appeased70 by the submission71 with which the doctor asked her counsel; though, if the truth must be told, she heartily72 despised him for needing it. She condescended73, however, to instruct him in the proper method of pursuing the runaway74 maiden, and directed him, before his departure, to put strict inquiries75 to Hugh Crombie respecting any stranger who might lately have visited his inn. That there would be wisdom in this, Dr. Melmoth had his own reasons for believing; and still, without imparting them to his lady, he proceeded to do as he had been bid.
The veracious76 landlord acknowledged that a stranger had spent a night and day at his inn, and was missing that morning; but he utterly77 denied all acquaintance with his character, or privity to his purposes. Had Mrs. Melmoth, instead of her husband, conducted the examination, the result might have been different. As the case was, the doctor returned to his dwelling78 but little wiser than he went forth79; and, ordering his steed to be saddled, he began a journey of which he knew not what would be the end.
In the mean time, the intelligence of Ellen’s disappearance80 circulated rapidly, and soon sent forth hunters more fit to follow the chase than Dr. Melmoth.
收听单词发音 |
1
fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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4
defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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connive
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| v.纵容；密谋 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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10
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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11
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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12
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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13
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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14
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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15
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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16
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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17
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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18
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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19
diminution
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| n.减少；变小 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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21
labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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22
imputed
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| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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grafted
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| 移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 )； 嫁接； 使（思想、制度等）成为（…的一部份）； 植根 | |
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enticed
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| 诱惑，怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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28
frustrated
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| adj.挫败的，失意的，泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 )；挫败；使受挫折；令人沮丧 | |
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29
eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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30
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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31
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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32
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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dissenting
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| adj.不同意的 | |
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35
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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lamentably
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| adv.哀伤地，拙劣地 | |
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deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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trite
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| adj.陈腐的 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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41
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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42
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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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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shrillness
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| 尖锐刺耳 | |
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47
augured
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| v.预示，预兆，预言( augur的过去式和过去分词 )；成为预兆；占卜 | |
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48
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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49
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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50
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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51
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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52
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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53
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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54
averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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55
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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56
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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57
velocity
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| n.速度，速率 | |
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58
concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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61
flouted
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| v.藐视，轻视( flout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
deter
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| vt.阻止，使不敢，吓住 | |
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63
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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66
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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67
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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68
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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69
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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71
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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72
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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73
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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74
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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76
veracious
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| adj.诚实可靠的 | |
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77
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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78
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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79
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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80
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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