“I’m not well, Florence. I sometimes doubt if I shall ever be any better.”
“Surely, uncle, you cannot mean——”
“Yes, my child, I have reason to believe that I am nearing the end.”
“I cannot bear to hear you speak so, uncle,” said Florence Linden, in irrepressible agitation1. “You are not an old man. You are but fifty-four.”
“True, Florence, but it is not years only that make a man old. Two great sorrows have embittered2 my life. First, the death of my dearly beloved wife, and next, the loss of my boy, Harvey.”
“It is long since I have heard you refer to my cousin’s loss. I thought you had become reconciled—no, I do not mean that,—I thought your regret might be less poignant3.”
“I have not permitted myself to speak of it, but I have never ceased to think of it day and night.”
John Linden paused sadly, then resumed:
“If he had died, I might, as you say, have become reconciled; but he was abducted4 at the age of four by a revengeful servant whom I had discharged from my employment. Heaven knows whether he is living or dead, but it is impressed upon my mind that he still lives, it may be in misery5, it may be as a criminal, while I, his unhappy father, live on in luxury which I cannot enjoy, with no one to care for me——”
Florence Linden sank impulsively6 on her knees beside her uncle’s chair.
“Don’t say that, uncle,” she pleaded. “You know that I love you, Uncle John.”
“And I, too, uncle.”
There was a shade of jealousy7 in the voice of Curtis Waring as he entered the library through the open door, and approaching his uncle, pressed his hand.
He was a tall, dark-complexioned man, of perhaps thirty-five, with shifty, black eyes and thin lips, shaded by a dark mustache. It was not a face to trust.
Even when he smiled the expression of his face did not soften8. Yet he could moderate his voice so as to express tenderness and sympathy.
He was the son of an elder sister of Mr. Linden, while Florence was the daughter of a younger brother.
Both were orphans9, and both formed a part of Mr. Linden’s household, and owed everything to his bounty10.
Curtis was supposed to be in some business downtown; but he received a liberal allowance from his uncle, and often drew upon him for outside assistance.
As he stood with his uncle’s hand in his, he was necessarily brought near Florence, who instinctively11 drew a little away, with a slight shudder12 indicating repugnance13.
Slight as it was, Curtis detected it, and his face darkened.
John Linden looked from one to the other. “Yes,” he said, “I must not forget that I have a nephew and a niece. You are both dear to me, but no one can take the place of the boy I have lost.”
“But it is so long ago, uncle,” said Curtis. “It must be fourteen years.”
“It is fourteen years.”
“And the boy is long since dead!”
“No, no!” said John Linden, vehemently14. “I do not, I will not, believe it. He still lives, and I live only in the hope of one day clasping him in my arms.”
“That is very improbable, uncle,” said Curtis, in a tone of annoyance15. “There isn’t one chance in a hundred that my cousin still lives. The grave has closed over him long since. The sooner you make up your mind to accept the inevitable16 the better.”
The drawn17 features of the old man showed that the words had a depressing effect upon his mind, but Florence interrupted her cousin with an indignant protest.
“How can you speak so, Curtis?” she exclaimed. “Leave Uncle John the hope that he has so long cherished. I have a presentiment18 that Harvey still lives.”
John Linden’s face brightened up
“You, too, believe it possible, Florence?” he said, eagerly.
“Yes, uncle. I not only believe it possible, but probable. How old would Harvey be if he still lived?”
“Eighteen—nearly a year older than yourself.”
“How strange! I always think of him as a little boy.”
“And I, too, Florence. He rises before me in his little velvet19 suit, as he was when I last saw him, with his sweet, boyish face, in which his mother’s looks were reflected.”
“Yet, if still living,” interrupted Curtis, harshly, “he is a rough street boy, perchance serving his time at Blackwell’s Island, and, a hardened young ruffian, whom it would be bitter mortification20 to recognize as your son.”
“That’s the sorrowful part of it,” said his uncle, in a voice of anguish21. “That is what I most dread22.”
“Then, since even if he were living you would not care to recognize him, why not cease to think of him, or else regard him as dead?”
“Curtis Waring, have you no heart?” demanded Florence, indignantly.
“Indeed, Florence, you ought to know,” said Curtis, sinking his voice into softly modulated23 accents.
“I know nothing of it,” said Florence, coldly, rising from her recumbent position, and drawing aloof24 from Curtis.
“You know that the dearest wish of my heart is to find favor in your eyes. Uncle, you know my wish, and approve of it, do you not?”
“Yes, Curtis; you and Florence are equally dear to me, and it is my hope that you may be united. In that case, there will be no division of my fortune. It will be left to you jointly25.”
“Believe me, sir,” said Curtis, with faltering27 voice, feigning28 an emotion which he did not feel, “believe me, that I fully29 appreciate your goodness. I am sure Florence joins with me——”
“Florence can speak for herself,” said his cousin, coldly. “My uncle needs no assurance from me. He is always kind, and I am always grateful.”
John Linden seemed absorbed in thought.
“I do not doubt your affection,” he said; “and I have shown it by making you my joint26 heirs in the event of your marriage; but it is only fair to say that my property goes to my boy, if he still lives.”
“But, sir,” protested Curtis, “is not that likely to create unnecessary trouble? It can never be known, and meanwhile——”
“You and Florence will hold the property in trust.”
“I have made two wills. Both are in yonder secretary. By the first the property is bequeathed to you and Florence. By the second and later, it goes to my lost boy in the event of his recovery. Of course, you and Florence are not forgotten, but the bulk of the property goes to Harvey.”
“I sincerely wish the boy might be restored to you,” said Curtis; but his tone belied31 his words. “Believe me, the loss of the property would affect me little, if you could be made happy by realizing your warmest desire; but, uncle, I think it only the part of a friend to point out to you, as I have already done, the baselessness of any such expectation.”
“It may be as you say, Curtis,” said his uncle, with a sigh. “If I were thoroughly32 convinced of it, I would destroy the later will, and leave my property absolutely to you and Florence.”
“No, uncle,” said Florence, impulsively, “make no change; let the will stand.”
“Let it be so for the present, then,” said Mr. Linden, wearily. “Curtis, will you ring the bell? I am tired, and shall retire to my couch early.”
“Let me help you, Uncle John,” said Florence, eagerly.
“It is too much for your strength, my child. I am growing more and more helpless.”
“I, too, can help,” said Curtis.
John Linden, supported on either side by his nephew and niece, left the room, and was assisted to his chamber35.
Curtis and Florence returned to the library.
“Florence,” said her cousin, “my uncle’s intentions, as expressed to-night, make it desirable that there should be an understanding between us. Take a seat beside me”—leading her to a sofa—“and let us talk this matter over.”
“As you please,” she answered, coldly.
“Will you be seated?”
“No; our interview will be brief.”
“Then I will come to the point. Uncle John wishes to see us united.”
“It can never be!” said Florence, decidedly.
Curtis bit his lip in mortification, for her tone was cold and scornful.
Mingled38 with this mortification was genuine regret, for, so far as he was capable of loving any one, he loved his fair young cousin.
“Is it his cherished hope?”
“There is no doubt about it. He has spoken to me more than once on the subject. Feeling that his end is near, he wishes to leave you in charge of a protector.”
“I can protect myself,” said Florence, proudly.
“You think so. You do not consider the hapless lot of a penniless girl in a cold and selfish world.”
“Penniless?” repeated Florence, in an accent of surprise.
“Has he said this?” asked Florence, sinking into an armchair, with a helpless look.
“He has told me so more than once,” returned Curtis, smoothly42. “You don’t know how near to his heart this marriage is. I know what you would say: If the property comes to me I could come to your assistance, but I am expressly prohibited from doing so. I have pleaded with my uncle in your behalf, but in vain.”
“If my uncle’s heart is hardened against me,” she said, “I shall be too wise to turn to you. I am to understand, then, that my choice lies between poverty and a union with you?”
“You have stated it correctly, Florence.”
“Then,” said Florence, arising, “I will not hesitate. I shrink from poverty, for I have been reared in luxury, but I will sooner live in a hovel—”
She did not reply, but, pale and sorrowful, glided48 from the room to weep bitter tears in the seclusion49 of her chamber.
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1
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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abducted
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| 劫持，诱拐( abduct的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（肢体等）外展 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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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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13
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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16
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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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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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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21
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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23
modulated
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| 已调整[制]的，被调的 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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jointly
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| ad.联合地，共同地 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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feigning
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| 假装，伪装( feign的现在分词 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
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29
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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30
specified
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| adj.特定的 | |
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31
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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32
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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33
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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34
balk
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| n.大方木料；v.妨碍；不愿前进或从事某事 | |
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35
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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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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37
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
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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39
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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40
bequest
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| n.遗赠；遗产，遗物 | |
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41
conditional
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| adj.条件的，带有条件的 | |
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42
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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43
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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44
tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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45
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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46
loathe
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| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
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47
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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48
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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49
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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