We need scarcely say, that the rapid improvement of his health was largely due to the tender watchful2 care of his mother.
Since visiting Switzerland, that excellent lady’s spirit had undergone a considerable change. Without going minutely into particulars, we may say that the startling events which had occurred had been made the means of opening her spiritual eyes. It had occurred to her—she scarce knew how or why—that her Creator had a claim on her for more consideration than she had been in the habit, heretofore, of testifying by a few formalities on Sundays; that there must be some higher end and aim in life than the mere4 obtaining and maintaining of health, and the pursuit of pleasure; and that as there was a Saviour5, whom she professed6 on Sundays to follow, there must be something real from which she had to be saved, as well as something real that had to be done. Sin, she knew, of course, was the evil from which everybody had to be saved; but, being a good-natured and easy-going woman, she really did not feel much troubled by sin. Little weaknesses she had, no doubt, but not half so many as other people she knew of. As to anything seriously worthy7 the name of sin, she did not believe she had any at all. It had never, until now, occurred to her that the treating of her best Friend, during a lifetime, with cool and systematic8 indifference9, or with mere protestations, on Sundays, of adoration10, was probably as great a sin as she could commit.
Her thoughts on these points she did not at first mention to any one, but she received great help and enlightenment, as well as comfort, from the quiet sensible talk of Dr Lawrence, as he sat day after day, and hour after hour, at the bedside of his friend, endeavouring to cheer his spirits as well as to relieve his physical pain—for Lawrence was well fitted to do both.
He was not by any means what is styled a sermoniser. He made no apparent effort to turn conversation into religious channels. Indeed we believe that when men talk with the unrestrained freedom of true friendship, conversation needs no directing. It will naturally flow along all channels, and into all the zigzags11 and crevices12 of human thought—religion included. Lewis was in great pain and serious danger. Lawrence was a man full of the Holy Spirit and love to Jesus. Out of the fullness of his heart his mouth spoke13 when his friend appeared to desire such converse14; but he never bored him with any subject—for it is possible to be a profane15, as well as a religious, bore!
As soon as Lewis could turn his mind to anything, after his being brought back to the hotel, he asked earnestly after Nita Horetzki.
“She has left,” said Mrs Stoutley.
“Left! D’you mean gone from Chamouni, mother?” exclaimed Lewis, with a start and a look of anxiety which he did not care to conceal16.
“Yes, they went yesterday. Nita had recovered sufficiently17 to travel, and the medical man who has been attending her urged her removal without delay. She and her father seemed both very sorry to leave us, and left kind messages for you. The Count wanted much to see you, but we would not allow it.”
“Kind messages for me,” repeated Lewis, in a tone of bitterness, “what sort of messages?”
“Well, really, I cannot exactly remember,” returned Mrs Stoutley, with a slight smile, “the kind of messages that amiable18 people might be expected to leave in the circumstances, you know—regret that they should have to leave us in such a sad condition, and sincere hope that you might soon recover, etcetera. Yes, by the way, Nita also, just at parting, expressed a hope—an earnest hope—that we might meet again. Poor dear thing, she is an extremely affectionate girl, and quite broke down when saying good-bye.”
“D’you know where they have gone to, mother?”
“No. They mean to move about from place to place, I believe.”
“Nita said nothing about writing to you, did she?”
“Did they leave any address—a poste restante—anywhere, or any clew whatever as to their whereabouts?”
“None whatever.”
So then, during the weary days of suffering that he knew full well lay before him, poor Lewis had no consolatory19 thought in regard to Nita save in her expressed “earnest hope” that they might meet again. It was not much, but it was better than nothing. Being an ingenious as well as daring architect, Lewis built amazing structures on that slight foundation—structures which charmed his mental eyes to look upon, and which, we verily believe, tended to facilitate his recovery—so potent20 is the power of true love!
“Captain Wopper,” said Mrs Stoutley one morning, towards the end of their stay in Switzerland, Lewis having been pronounced sufficiently restored to travel homeward by easy stages, “I have sent for you to ask you to do me a favour—to give me your advice—your—”
Here, to the Captain’s amazement21, not to say consternation22, Mrs Stoutley’s voice trembled, and she burst into tears. If she had suddenly caught him by the nose, pulled his rugged23 face down and kissed it, he could not have been more taken aback.
“My dear madam,” he stammered24, sitting down inadvertently on Mrs Stoutley’s bonnet25—for it was to the good lady’s private dressing-room that he had been summoned by Gillie White—“hold on! don’t now, please! What ever have I done to—”
“You’ve done nothing, my dear Captain,” said Mrs Stoutley, endeavouring to check her tears. “There, I’m very foolish, but I can’t help it. Indeed I can’t.”
In proof of the truth of this assertion she broke down again, and the Captain, moving uneasily on his chair, ground the bonnet almost to powder—it was a straw one.
“You have been a kind friend, Captain Wopper,” said Mrs Stoutley, drying her eyes, “a very kind friend.”
“I’m glad you think so, ma’am; I’ve meant to be—anyhow.”
“You have, you have,” cried Mrs Stoutley, earnestly, as she looked through her tears into the seaman’s rugged countenance26, “and that is my reason for venturing to ask you now to trouble yourself with—with—”
There was an alarming symptom here of a recurrence27 of “squally weather,” which caused the Captain to give the bonnet an “extra turn,” but she recovered herself and went on—
“With my affairs. I would not have thought of troubling you, but with poor Lewie so ill, and Dr Lawrence being so young, and probably inexperienced in the ways of life, and Emma so innocent and helpless, and—in short I’m—hee!—that is to say—ho dear! I am so silly, but I can’t—indeed I can’t—hoo–o–o!”
It blew a regular gale28 now, and a very rain of straw débris fell through the cane-bottomed chair on which the Captain sat, as he vainly essayed to sooth his friend by earnest, pathetic, and even tender adjurations to “clap a stopper upon that,” to “hold hard,” to “belay”, to “shut down the dead-lights of her peepers,” and such-like expressive29 phrases.
At length, amid many sobs30, the poor lady revealed the overwhelming fact that she was a beggar; that she had actually come down to her last franc; that her man of business had flatly declined to advance her another sovereign, informing her that the Gorong mine had declared “no dividend;” that the wreck31 of her shattered fortune had been swallowed up by the expenses of their ill-advised trip to Switzerland, and that she had not even funds enough to pay their travelling expenses home; in short that she was a miserable32 boulder33, at the lowest level of the terminal moraine!
To all this Captain Wopper listened in perfect silence, with a blank expression on his face that revealed nothing of the state of feeling within.
“Oh! Captain Wopper,” exclaimed the poor lady anxiously, “surely—surely you won’t forsake34 me! I know that I have no claim on you beyond friendship, but you have always given us to understand that you were well off, and I merely wish to borrow a small sum. Just enough, and no more. Perhaps I may not be able to repay you just immediately, but I hope soon; and even if it came to the worst, there is the furniture in Euston Square, and the carriage and horses.”
Poor Mrs Stoutley! She was not aware that her man of business had already had these resources appraised35, and that they no more belonged to her at that moment than if they had been part of the personal estate of the celebrated36 man in the moon.
Still the Captain gazed at her in stolid37 silence.
“Even my personal wardrobe,” proceeded Mrs Stoutley, beginning again to weep, “I will gladly dis—”
“Avast! Madam,” cried the Captain, suddenly, thrusting his right hand into his breeches-pocket, and endeavouring to drag something therefrom with a series of wrenches38 that would have been terribly trying to the bonnet, had its ruin not been already complete, “don’t talk to me of repayment39. Ain’t I your—your—husband’s brother’s buzzum friend—Willum’s old chum an’ messmate? See here.”
He jerked the chair (without rising) close to a table which stood at his elbow, and placed thereon a large canvas bag, much soiled, and tied round the neck with a piece of rope-yarn, which smelt40 of tar3 even at a distance. This was the Captain’s purse. He carried it always in his right trouser-pocket, and it contained his gold. As for such trifling41 metal as silver, he carried that loose, mixed with coppers42, bits of tobacco, broken pipes, and a clasp-knife, in the other pocket. He was very fond of his purse. In California he had been wont43 to carry nuggets in it, that simple species of exchange being the chief currency of the country at the time he was there. Some of the Californian débris had stuck to it when he had filled it, at a place of exchange in London, with Napoleons. Emptying its glittering contents upon the table, he spread it out.
“There, madam,” he said, with a hearty44 smile, “you’re welcome to all I’ve got about me just at this moment, and you shall have more when that’s done. Don’t say ‘not so much,’ cause it ain’t much, fifty pound, more or less, barrin’ the nuggets, which I’ll keep, as I dessay they would only worry you, and there’s plenty more shot in the locker45 where that come from; an’ don’t talk about payin’ back or thankin’ me. You’ve no occasion to thank me. It’s only a loan, an’ I’ll hold Willum, your brother-in-law, responsible. You wouldn’t decline to take it from Willum, would you?”
“Indeed no; William Stout1 has always been so kind to us—kinder than I have deserved.”
“Well, then, I’ll write to Willum. I’ll say to him, ‘Willum, my boy, here’s your brother’s widdy bin46 caught in a squall, had her sails blown to ribbons, bin throw’d on her beam-ends, and every stick torn out of her. You’ve got more cash, Willum, than you knows what to do with, so, hand over, send me a power of attorney (is that the thing?) or an affydavy—whatever lawyer’s dockiments is required—an’ I’ll stand by and do the needful.’ An’ Willum ’ll write back, with that power an’ brevity for which he is celebrated,—‘Wopper, my lad, all right; fire away. Anything short o’ ten thousand, more or less. Do yer w’ust. Yours to command,
“‘Willum.’”
There was no resisting such arguments. Mrs Stoutley smiled through her tears as she accepted the money. Captain Wopper rose, crammed47 the empty canvas bag into his pocket, and hastily retired48, with portions of the bonnet attached to him.
“Susan,” said Mrs Stoutley, on the maid answering her summons, “we shall start for London tomorrow, or the day after, so, pray, set about packing up without delay.”
“Very well, ma’am,” replied Susan, whose eyes were riveted49 with an expression of surprised curiosity on the cane-bottomed chair.
“It is my bonnet Susan,” said the lady, looking in the same direction with a sad smile. “Captain Wopper sat down on it by mistake. You had better remove it.”
To remove it was a feat50 which even Susan, with all her ready wit and neatness of hand, could not have accomplished51 without the aid of brush and shovel52. She, therefore, carried it off chair and all, to the regions below, where she and Gillie went into convulsions over it.
“Oh! Susan,” exclaimed the blue spider, “wot would I not have given to have seed him a-doin’ of it! Only think! The ribbons, flowers, and straw in one uniwarsal mush! Wot a grindin’ there must ave bin! I heer’d the Purfesser the other day talkin’ of wot he calls glacier53-haction—how they flutes54 the rocks an’ grinds in a most musical way over the boulders55 with crushin’ wiolence; but wot’s glacier haction to that?”
Susan admitted that it was nothing; and they both returned at intervals56 in the packing, during the remainder of that day, to have another look at the bonnet-débris, and enjoy a fresh explosion over it.
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2
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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8
systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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9
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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11
zigzags
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| n.锯齿形的线条、小径等( zigzag的名词复数 )v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的第三人称单数 ) | |
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crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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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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14
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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15
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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consolatory
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| adj.慰问的，可藉慰的 | |
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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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recurrence
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| n.复发，反复，重现 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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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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boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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appraised
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| v.估价( appraise的过去式和过去分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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wrenches
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| n.一拧( wrench的名词复数 )；（身体关节的）扭伤；扳手；（尤指离别的）悲痛v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的第三人称单数 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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repayment
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| n.偿还，偿还款；报酬 | |
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40
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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45
locker
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| n.更衣箱，储物柜，冷藏室，上锁的人 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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47
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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48
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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49
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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50
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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51
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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52
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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53
glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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54
flutes
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| 长笛( flute的名词复数 )； 细长香槟杯（形似长笛） | |
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55
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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56
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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