“Sitting then in shelter shady,
To observe and mark his mone.
Suddenly I saw a lady
Hasting to him all alone,
Clad in maiden1-white and green,
Whom I judged the Forest Queen.”
THE WOODMAN’S BEAR.
During several weeks succeeding her danger and deliverance, Ellen Langton was confined to her chamber2 by illness, resulting from the agitation3 she had endured. Her father embraced the earliest opportunity to express his deep gratitude4 to Fanshawe for the inestimable service he had rendered, and to intimate a desire to requite5 it to the utmost of his power. He had understood that the student’s circumstances were not prosperous, and, with the feeling of one who was habituated to give and receive a quid pro6 quo he would have rejoiced to share his abundance with the deliverer of his daughter. But Fanshawe’s flushed brow and haughty7 eye, when he perceived the thought that was stirring in Mr. Langton’s mind, sufficiently8 proved to the discerning merchant that money was not, in the present instance, a circulating medium. His penetration9, in fact, very soon informed him of the motives11 by which the young man had been actuated in risking his life for Ellen Langton; but he made no allusion12 to the subject, concealing13 his intentions, if any he had, in his own bosom14.
During Ellen’s illness, Edward Walcott had manifested the deepest anxiety respecting her: he had wandered around and within the house, like a restless ghost, informing himself of the slightest fluctuation15 in her health, and thereby16 graduating his happiness or misery17. He was at length informed that her convalescence18 had so far progressed, that, on the succeeding day, she would venture below. From that time Edward’s visits to Dr. Melmoth’s mansion19 were relinquished20. His cheek grew pale and his eye lost its merry light; but he resolutely21 kept himself a banished22 man. Multifarious were the conjectures23 to which this course of conduct gave rise; but Ellen understood and approved his motives. The maiden must have been far more blind than ever woman was in such a matter, if the late events had not convinced her of Fanshawe’s devoted24 attachment25; and she saw that Edward Walcott, feeling the superior, the irresistible26 strength of his rival’s claim, had retired27 from the field. Fanshawe, however, discovered no intention to pursue his advantage. He paid her no voluntary visit, and even declined an invitation to tea, with which Mrs. Melmoth, after extensive preparations, had favored him. He seemed to have resumed all the habits of seclusion28 by which he was distinguished29 previous to his acquaintance with Ellen, except that he still took his sunset walk on the banks of the stream.
On one of these occasions, he stayed his footsteps by the old leafless oak which had witnessed Ellen’s first meeting with the angler. Here he mused30 upon the circumstances that had resulted from that event, and upon the rights and privileges (for he was well aware of them all) which those circumstances had given him. Perhaps the loveliness of the scene and the recollections connected with it, perhaps the warm and mellow31 sunset, perhaps a temporary weakness in himself, had softened32 his feelings, and shaken the firmness of his resolution, to leave Ellen to be happy with his rival. His strong affections rose up against his reason, whispering that bliss33 — on earth and in heaven, through time and eternity34 — might yet be his lot with her. It is impossible to conceive of the flood of momentary35 joy which the bare admission of such a possibility sent through his frame; and, just when the tide was highest in his heart, a soft little hand was laid upon his own, and, starting, he beheld36 Ellen at his side.
Her illness, since the commencement of which Fanshawe had not seen her, had wrought37 a considerable, but not a disadvantageous, change in her appearance. She was paler and thinner; her countenance38 was more intellectual, more spiritual; and a spirit did the student almost deem her, appearing so suddenly in that solitude39. There was a quick vibration40 of the delicate blood in her cheek, yet never brightening to the glow of perfect health; a tear was glittering on each of her long, dark eyelashes; and there was a gentle tremor41 through all her frame, which compelled her, for a little space, to support herself against the oak. Fanshawe’s first impulse was to address her in words of rapturous delight; but he checked himself, and attempted — vainly indeed — to clothe his voice in tones of calm courtesy. His remark merely expressed pleasure at her restoration to health; and Ellen’s low and indistinct reply had as little relation to the feelings that agitated43 her.
“Yet I fear,” continued Fanshawe, recovering a degree of composure, and desirous of assigning a motive10 (which he felt was not the true one) for Ellen’s agitation,—“I fear that your walk has extended too far for your strength.”
“It would have borne me farther with such a motive,” she replied, still trembling,—“to express my gratitude to my preserver.”
“It was needless, Ellen, it was needless; for the deed brought with it its own reward,” exclaimed Fanshawe, with a vehemence44 that he could not repress. “It was dangerous, for”—
Here he interrupted himself, and turned his face away.
“And wherefore was it dangerous?” inquired Ellen, laying her hand gently on his arm; for he seemed about to leave her.
“Because you have a tender and generous heart, and I a weak one,” he replied.
“Not so,” answered she, with animation45. “Yours is a heart full of strength and nobleness; and if it have a weakness”—
“You know well that it has, Ellen,— one that has swallowed up all its strength,” said Fanshawe. “Was it wise, then, to tempt42 it thus, when, if it yield, the result must be your own misery?”
Ellen did not affect to misunderstand his meaning. On the contrary, with a noble frankness, she answered to what was implied rather than expressed.
“Do me not this wrong,” she said, blushing, yet earnestly. “Can it be misery? Will it not be happiness to form the tie that shall connect you to the world? to be your guide — a humble46 one, it is true, but the one of your choice — to the quiet paths from which your proud and lonely thoughts have estranged47 you? Oh, I know that there will be happiness in such a lot, from these and a thousand other sources!”
The animation with which Ellen spoke48, and, at the same time, a sense of the singular course to which her gratitude had impelled49 her, caused her beauty to grow brighter and more enchanting50 with every word. And when, as she concluded, she extended her hand to Fanshawe, to refuse it was like turning from an angel, who would have guided him to heaven. But, had he been capable of making the woman he loved a sacrifice to her own generosity51, that act would have rendered him unworthy of her. Yet the struggle was a severe one ere he could reply.
“Yon have spoken generously and nobly, Ellen,” he said. “I have no way to prove that I deserve your generosity, but by refusing to take advantage of it. Even if your heart were yet untouched, if no being more happily constituted than myself had made an impression there, even then, I trust, a selfish passion would not be stronger than my integrity. But now”— He would have proceeded; but the firmness which had hitherto sustained him gave way. He turned aside to hide the tears which all the pride of his nature could not restrain, and which, instead of relieving, added to his anguish52. At length he resumed, “No, Ellen, we must part now and forever. Your life will be long and happy. Mine will be short, but not altogether wretched, nor shorter than if we had never met. When you hear that I am in my grave, do not imagine that you have hastened me thither53. Think that you scattered54 bright dreams around my pathway,— an ideal happiness, that you would have sacrificed your own to realize.”
He ceased; and Ellen felt that his determination was unalterable. She could not speak; but, taking his hand, she pressed it to her lips, and they saw each other no more. Mr. Langton and his daughter shortly after returned to the seaport55, which, for several succeeding years, was their residence. After Ellen’s departure, Fanshawe returned to his studies with the same absorbing ardor56 that had formerly57 characterized him. His face was as seldom seen among the young and gay; the pure breeze and the blessed sunshine as seldom refreshed his pale and weary brow; and his lamp burned as constantly from the first shade of evening till the gray morning light began to dim its beams. Nor did he, as weak men will, treasure up his love in a hidden chamber of his breast. He was in reality the thoughtful and earnest student that he seemed. He had exerted the whole might of his spirit over itself, and he was a conqueror58. Perhaps, indeed, a summer breeze of sad and gentle thoughts would sometimes visit him; but, in these brief memories of his love, he did not wish that it should be revived, or mourn over its event.
There were many who felt an interest in Fanshawe; but the influence of none could prevail upon him to lay aside the habits, mental and physical, by which he was bringing himself to the grave. His passage thither was consequently rapid, terminating just as he reached his twentieth year. His fellow-students erected59 to his memory a monument of rough-hewn granite60, with a white marble slab61 for the inscription62. This was borrowed from the grave of Nathanael Mather, whom, in his almost insane eagerness for knowledge, and in his early death, Fanshawe resembled.
THE ASHES OF A HARD STUDENT
AND A GOOD SCHOLAR.
Many tears were shed over his grave; but the thoughtful and the wise, though turf never covered a nobler heart, could not lament63 that it was so soon at rest. He left a world for which he was unfit; and we trust, that, among the innumerable stars of heaven, there is one where he has found happiness.
Of the other personages of this tale,— Hugh Crombie, being exposed to no strong temptations, lived and died an honest man. Concerning Dr. Melmoth, it is unnecessary here to speak. The reader, if he have any curiosity upon the subject, is referred to his Life, which, together with several sermons and other productions of the doctor, was published by his successor in the presidency64 of Harley College, about the year 1768.
It was not till four years after Fanshawe’s death, that Edward Walcott was united to Ellen Langton. Their future lives were uncommonly65 happy. Ellen’s gentle, almost imperceptible, but powerful influence drew her husband away from the passions and pursuits that would have interfered66 with domestic felicity; and he never regretted the worldly distinction of which she thus deprived him. Theirs was a long life of calm and quiet bliss; and what matters it, that, except in these pages, they have left no name behind them?
The End
1 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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2 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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3 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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4 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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5 requite | |
v.报酬,报答 | |
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6 pro | |
n.赞成,赞成的意见,赞成者 | |
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7 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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8 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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9 penetration | |
n.穿透,穿人,渗透 | |
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10 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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11 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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12 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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13 concealing | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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14 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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15 fluctuation | |
n.(物价的)波动,涨落;周期性变动;脉动 | |
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16 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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17 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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18 convalescence | |
n.病后康复期 | |
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19 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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20 relinquished | |
交出,让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 ); 放弃 | |
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21 resolutely | |
adj.坚决地,果断地 | |
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22 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23 conjectures | |
推测,猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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24 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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25 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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26 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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27 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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28 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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29 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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30 mused | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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31 mellow | |
adj.柔和的;熟透的;v.变柔和;(使)成熟 | |
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32 softened | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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33 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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34 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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35 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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36 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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37 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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38 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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39 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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40 vibration | |
n.颤动,振动;摆动 | |
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41 tremor | |
n.震动,颤动,战栗,兴奋,地震 | |
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42 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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43 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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44 vehemence | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
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45 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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46 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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47 estranged | |
adj.疏远的,分离的 | |
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48 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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49 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50 enchanting | |
a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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51 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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52 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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53 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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54 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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55 seaport | |
n.海港,港口,港市 | |
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56 ardor | |
n.热情,狂热 | |
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57 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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58 conqueror | |
n.征服者,胜利者 | |
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59 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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60 granite | |
adj.花岗岩,花岗石 | |
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61 slab | |
n.平板,厚的切片;v.切成厚板,以平板盖上 | |
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62 inscription | |
n.(尤指石块上的)刻印文字,铭文,碑文 | |
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63 lament | |
n.悲叹,悔恨,恸哭;v.哀悼,悔恨,悲叹 | |
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64 presidency | |
n.总统(校长,总经理)的职位(任期) | |
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65 uncommonly | |
adv. 稀罕(极,非常) | |
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66 interfered | |
v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 );调停;妨碍;干涉 | |
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