PHOEBE, coming so suddenly from the sunny daylight, was altogether bedimmed in such density1 of shadow as lurked2 in most of the passages of the old house. She was not at first aware by whom she had been admitted. Before her eyes had adapted themselves to the obscurity, a hand grasped her own with a firm but gentle and warm pressure, thus imparting a welcome which caused her heart to leap and thrill with an indefinable shiver of enjoyment3. She felt herself drawn4 along, not towards the parlor5, but into a large and unoccupied apartment, which had formerly6 been the grand reception-room of the Seven Gables. The sunshine came freely into all the uncurtained windows of this room, and fell upon the dusty floor; so that Phoebe now clearly saw — what, indeed, had been no secret, after the encounter of a warm hand with hers — that it was not Hepzibah nor Clifford, but Holgrave, to whom she owed her reception. The subtile, intuitive communication, or, rather, the vague and formless impression of something to be told, had made her yield unresistingly to his impulse. Without taking away her hand, she looked eagerly in his face, not quick to forebode evil, but unavoidably conscious that the state of the family had changed since her departure, and therefore anxious for an explanation.
The artist looked paler than ordinary; there was a thoughtful and severe contraction7 of his forehead, tracing a deep, vertical8 line between the eyebrows9. His smile, however, was full of genuine warmth, and had in it a joy, by far the most vivid expression that Phoebe had ever witnessed, shining out of the New England reserve with which Holgrave habitually10 masked whatever lay near his heart. It was the look wherewith a man, brooding alone over some fearful object, in a dreary11 forest or illimitable desert, would recognize the familiar aspect of his dearest friend, bringing up all the peaceful ideas that belong to home, and the gentle current of every-day affairs. And yet, as he felt the necessity of responding to her look of inquiry12, the smile disappeared.
“I ought not to rejoice that you have come, Phoebe,” said he. “We meet at a strange moment!”
“What has happened!” she exclaimed. “Why is the house so deserted13? Where are Hepzibah and Clifford?”
“Gone! I cannot imagine where they are!” answered Holgrave. “We are alone in the house!”
“Hepzibah and Clifford gone?” cried Phoebe. “It is not possible! And why have you brought me into this room, instead of the parlor? Ah, something terrible has happened! I must run and see!”
“No, no, Phoebe!” said Holgrave holding her back. “It is as I have told you. They are gone, and I know not whither. A terrible event has, indeed happened, but not to them, nor, as I undoubtingly believe, through any agency of theirs. If I read your character rightly, Phoebe,” he continued, fixing his eyes on hers with stern anxiety, intermixed with tenderness, “gentle as you are, and seeming to have your sphere among common things, you yet possess remarkable14 strength. You have wonderful poise15, and a faculty16 which, when tested, will prove itself capable of dealing17 with matters that fall far out of the ordinary rule.”
“Oh, no, I am very weak!” replied Phoebe, trembling. “But tell me what has happened!”
“You are strong!” persisted Holgrave. “You must be both strong and wise; for I am all astray, and need your counsel. It may be you can suggest the one right thing to do!”
“Tell me!— tell me!” said Phoebe, all in a tremble. “It oppresses — it terrifies me — this mystery! Anything else I can bear!”
The artist hesitated. Notwithstanding what he had just said, and most sincerely, in regard to the self-balancing power with which Phoebe impressed him, it still seemed almost wicked to bring the awful secret of yesterday to her knowledge. It was like dragging a hideous19 shape of death into the cleanly and cheerful space before a household fire, where it would present all the uglier aspect, amid the decorousness of everything about it. Yet it could not be concealed20 from her; she must needs know it.
“Phoebe,” said he, “do you remember this?” He put into her hand a daguerreotype21; the same that he had shown her at their first interview in the garden, and which so strikingly brought out the hard and relentless22 traits of the original.
“What has this to do with Hepzibah and Clifford?” asked Phoebe, with impatient surprise that Holgrave should so trifle with her at such a moment.” It is Judge Pyncheon! You have shown it to me before!”
“But here is the same face, taken within this half-hour” said the artist, presenting her with another miniature. “I had just finished it when I heard you at the door.”
“This is death!” shuddered24 Phoebe, turning very pale. “Judge Pyncheon dead!”
“Such as there represented,” said Holgrave, “he sits in the next room. The Judge is dead, and Clifford and Hepzibah have vanished! I know no more. All beyond is conjecture25. On returning to my solitary26 chamber27, last evening, I noticed no light, either in the parlor, or Hepzibah’s room, or Clifford’s; no stir nor footstep about the house. This morning, there was the same death-like quiet. From my window, I overheard the testimony28 of a neighbor, that your relatives were seen leaving the house in the midst of yesterday’s storm. A rumor29 reached me, too, of Judge Pyncheon being missed. A feeling which I cannot describe — an indefinite sense of some catastrophe30, or consummation — impelled31 me to make my way into this part of the house, where I discovered what you see. As a point of evidence that may be useful to Clifford, and also as a memorial valuable to myself — for, Phoebe, there are hereditary32 reasons that connect me strangely with that man’s fate — I used the means at my disposal to preserve this pictorial33 record of Judge Pyncheon’s death.”
Even in her agitation34, Phoebe could not help remarking the calmness of Holgrave’s demeanor35. He appeared, it is true, to feel the whole awfulness of the Judge’s death, yet had received the fact into his mind without any mixture of surprise, but as an event preordained, happening inevitably36, and so fitting itself into past occurrences that it could almost have been prophesied37.
“Why have you not thrown open the doors, and called in witnesses?” inquired she with a painful shudder23. “It is terrible to be here alone!”
“But Clifford!” suggested the artist. “Clifford and Hepzibah! We must consider what is best to be done in their behalf. It is a wretched fatality38 that they should have disappeared! Their flight will throw the worst coloring over this event of which it is susceptible39. Yet how easy is the explanation, to those who know them! Bewildered and terror-stricken by the similarity of this death to a former one, which was attended with such disastrous40 consequences to Clifford, they have had no idea but of removing themselves from the scene. How miserably41 unfortunate! Had Hepzibah but shrieked42 aloud — had Clifford flung wide the door, and proclaimed Judge Pyncheon’s death — it would have been, however awful in itself, an event fruitful of good consequences to them. As I view it, it would have gone far towards obliterating43 the black stain on Clifford’s character.”
“And how” asked Phoebe, “could any good come from what is so very dreadful?”
“Because,” said the artist, “if the matter can be fairly considered and candidly44 interpreted, it must be evident that Judge Pyncheon could not have come unfairly to his end. This mode of death had been an idiosyncrasy with his family, for generations past; not often occurring, indeed, but, when it does occur, usually attacking individuals about the Judge’s time of life, and generally in the tension of some mental crisis, or, perhaps, in an access of wrath45. Old Maule’s prophecy was probably founded on a knowledge of this physical predisposition in the Pyncheon race. Now, there is a minute and almost exact similarity in the appearances connected with the death that occurred yesterday and those recorded of the death of Clifford’s uncle thirty years ago. It is true, there was a certain arrangement of circumstances, unnecessary to be recounted, which made it possible nay46, as men look at these things, probable, or even certain — that old Jaffrey Pyncheon came to a violent death, and by Clifford’s hands.”
“Whence came those circumstances?” exclaimed Phoebe. “He being innocent, as we know him to be!”
“They were arranged,” said Holgrave —“at least such has long been my conviction — they were arranged after the uncle’s death, and before it was made public, by the man who sits in yonder parlor. His own death, so like that former one, yet attended by none of those suspicious circumstances, seems the stroke of God upon him, at once a punishment for his wickedness, and making plain the innocence47 of Clifford, But this flight — it distorts everything! He may be in concealment48, near at hand. Could we but bring him back before the discovery of the Judge’s death, the evil might be rectified,”
“We must not hide this thing a moment longer!” said Phoebe. “It is dreadful to keep it so closely in our hearts. Clifford is innocent. God will make it manifest! Let us throw open the doors, and call all the neighborhood to see the truth!”
“You are right, Phoebe,” rejoined Holgrave. “Doubtless you are right.”
Yet the artist did not feel the horror, which was proper to Phoebe’s sweet and order-loving character, at thus finding herself at issue with society, and brought in contact with an event that transcended49 ordinary rules. Neither was he in haste, like her, to betake himself within the precincts of common life. On the contrary, he gathered a wild enjoyment — as it were, a flower of strange beauty, growing in a desolate50 spot, and blossoming in the wind — such a flower of momentary51 happiness he gathered from his present position. It separated Phoebe and himself from the world, and bound them to each other, by their exclusive knowledge of Judge Pyncheon’s mysterious death, and the counsel which they were forced to hold respecting it. The secret, so long as it should continue such, kept them within the circle of a spell, a solitude52 in the midst of men, a remoteness as entire as that of an island in mid-ocean; once divulged53, the ocean would flow betwixt them, standing18 on its widely sundered54 shores. Meanwhile, all the circumstances of their situation seemed to draw them together; they were like two children who go hand in hand, pressing closely to one another’s side, through a shadow-haunted passage. The image of awful Death, which filled the house, held them united by his stiffened55 grasp.
These influences hastened the development of emotions that might not otherwise have flowered so. Possibly, indeed, it had been Holgrave’s purpose to let them die in their undeveloped germs. “Why do we delay so?” asked Phoebe. “This secret takes away my breath! Let us throw open the doors!”
“In all our lives there can never come another moment like this!” said Holgrave. “Phoebe, is it all terror?— nothing but terror? Are you conscious of no joy, as I am, that has made this the only point of life worth living for?”
“It seems a sin,” replied Phoebe, trembling,“to think of joy at such a time!”
“Could you but know, Phoebe, how it was with me the hour before you came!” exclaimed the artist. “A dark, cold, miserable56 hour! The presence of yonder dead man threw a great black shadow over everything; he made the universe, so far as my perception could reach, a scene of guilt57 and of retribution more dreadful than the guilt. The sense of it took away my youth. I never hoped to feel young again! The world looked strange, wild, evil, hostile; my past life, so lonesome and dreary; my future, a shapeless gloom, which I must mould into gloomy shapes! But, Phoebe, you crossed the threshold; and hope, warmth, and joy came in with you! The black moment became at once a blissful one. It must not pass without the spoken word. I love you!”
“How can you love a simple girl like me?” asked Phoebe, compelled by his earnestness to speak. “You have many, many thoughts, with which I should try in vain to sympathize. And I— I, too — I have tendencies with which you would sympathize as little. That is less matter. But I have not scope enough to make you happy.”
“You are my only possibility of happiness!” answered Holgrave. “I have no faith in it, except as you bestow59 it on me!”
“And then — I am afraid!” continued Phoebe, shrinking towards Holgrave, even while she told him so frankly60 the doubts with which he affected61 her. “You will lead me out of my own quiet path. You will make me strive to follow you where it is pathless. I cannot do so. It is not my nature. I shall sink down and perish!”
“Ah, Phoebe!” exclaimed Holgrave, with almost a sigh, and a smile that was burdened with thought.
“It will be far otherwise than as you forebode. The world owes all its onward62 impulses to men ill at ease. The happy man inevitably confines himself within ancient limits. I have a presentiment63 that, hereafter, it will be my lot to set out trees, to make fences — perhaps, even, in due time, to build a house for another generation — in a word, to conform myself to laws and the peaceful practice of society. Your poise will be more powerful than any oscillating tendency of mine.”
“I would not have it so!” said Phoebe earnestly.
“Do you love me?” asked Holgrave. “If we love one another, the moment has room for nothing more. Let us pause upon it, and be satisfied. Do you love me, Phoebe?”
“You look into my heart,” said she, letting her eyes drop. “You know I love you!”
And it was in this hour, so full of doubt and awe64, that the one miracle was wrought65, without which every human existence is a blank. The bliss58 which makes all things true, beautiful, and holy shone around this youth and maiden66. They were conscious of nothing sad nor old. They transfigured the earth, and made it Eden again, and themselves the two first dwellers67 in it. The dead man, so close beside them, was forgotten. At such a crisis, there is no death; for immortality68 is revealed anew, and embraces everything in its hallowed atmosphere.
But how soon the heavy earth-dream settled down again!
“Hark!” whispered Phoebe. “Somebody is at the street door!”
“Now let us meet the world!” said Holgrave. “No doubt, the rumor of Judge Pyncheon’s visit to this house, and the flight of Hepzibah and Clifford, is about to lead to the investigation69 of the premises70. We have no way but to meet it. Let us open the door at once.”
But, to their surprise, before they could reach the street door — even before they quitted the room in which the foregoing interview had passed — they heard footsteps in the farther passage. The door, therefore, which they supposed to be securely locked — which Holgrave, indeed, had seen to be so, and at which Phoebe had vainly tried to enter — must have been opened from without. The sound of footsteps was not harsh, bold, decided71, and intrusive72, as the gait of strangers would naturally be, making authoritative73 entrance into a dwelling74 where they knew themselves unwelcome. It was feeble, as of persons either weak or weary; there was the mingled75 murmur76 of two voices, familiar to both the listeners.
“Can it be?” whispered Holgrave.
“It is they!” answered Phoebe. “Thank God!— thank God!”
And then, as if in sympathy with Phoebe’s whispered ejaculation, they heard Hepzibah’s voice more distinctly.
“Thank God, my brother, we are at home!”
“Well!— Yes!— thank God!” responded Clifford. “A dreary home, Hepzibah! But you have done well to bring me hither! Stay! That parlor door is open. I cannot pass by it! Let me go and rest me in the arbor77, where I used — oh, very long ago, it seems to me, after what has befallen us — where I used to be so happy with little Phoebe!”
But the house was not altogether so dreary as Clifford imagined it. They had not made many steps — in truth, they were lingering in the entry, with the listlessness of an accomplished78 purpose, uncertain what to do next — when Phoebe ran to meet them. On beholding79 her, Hepzibah burst into tears. With all her might, she had staggered onward beneath the burden of grief and responsibility, until now that it was safe to fling it down. Indeed, she had not energy to fling it down, but had ceased to uphold it, and suffered it to press her to the earth. Clifford appeared the stronger of the two.
“It is our own little Phoebe!— Ah! and Holgrave with, her” exclaimed he, with a glance of keen and delicate insight, and a smile, beautiful, kind, but melancholy80. “I thought of you both, as we came down the street, and beheld81 Alice’s Posies in full bloom. And so the flower of Eden has bloomed, likewise, in this old, darksome house to-day.”
收听单词发音 |
1
density
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| n.密集，密度，浓度 | |
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lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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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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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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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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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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daguerreotype
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| n.银板照相 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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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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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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impelled
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| 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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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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pictorial
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| adj.绘画的；图片的；n．画报 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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obliterating
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| v.除去( obliterate的现在分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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46
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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49
transcended
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的过去式和过去分词 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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51
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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53
divulged
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| v.吐露，泄露( divulge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sundered
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| v.隔开，分开( sunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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58
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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59
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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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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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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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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dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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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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intrusive
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| adj.打搅的；侵扰的 | |
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authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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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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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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80
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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beheld
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| 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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