It had been a wet morning. The heavy rain-clouds rolled over the plains, hanging on this side above the horizon as if in an instant they must fall and crush the solid earth, and passing away on that side in dark, slanting1 veils of shower; giving to the vast monotony of the wide field of view that strange interchange of light and shadow, gleam and gloom, which makes the poetry of the plains.
The rain had passed. The gray mud of the chalk roads dried up into white dust almost beneath the travellers’ feet as they came out again after temporary shelter; and that brightest, tenderest smile, with which, on such days, the sun makes evening atonement for his absence, shone and sparkled, danced and glowed from the windmill to the water-meads. It reopened the flowers, and drew fragrant2 answer from the meadow-sweet and the bay-leaved willow3. It made the birds sing, and the ploughboy whistle, and the old folk toddle4 into their gardens to smell the herbs. It cherished silent satisfaction on the bronze face of Rufus resting on his paws, and lay over Master Swift’s wan5 brow like the aureole of some austere6 saint canonized, just on this side the gates of Paradise.
The simile7 is not inapt, for the coarse and vigorous features of the schoolmaster had been refined to that peculiar8 nobleness which, perhaps, the sharp tool of suffering—used to its highest ends—can alone produce. And the smile of patience, like a victor’s wreath, lay now where hot passions and imperious temper had once struggled and been overcome.
The schoolmaster was paralyzed in his lower limbs, and he sat in a wheel-chair of his own devising, which he could propel with his own hands. The agonizing9 anxiety and suspense10 which followed Jan’s disappearance11 had broken him down, and this was the end. Rufus was still his only housekeeper12, but a woman from the village came in to give him necessary help.
“And it be ’most like waiting upon a angel,” said she.
This woman had gone for the night, and Master Swift sat in his invalid13 chair in the little porch, where he could touch the convolvulus bells with his hand, and see what some old pupil of his had done towards “righting up” the garden. It was an instance of that hardly earned grace of patience in him that he did not vex14 himself to see how sorely the garden suffered by his helplessness.
Not without cause was the evening smile of sunlight reflected on Master Swift’s lips. Between the fingers of a hand lying on his lap lay Jan’s letter to announce that he and the artist were coming to the cottage, and in intervals15 of reading and re-reading it the schoolmaster spouted16 poetry, and Rufus wagged a sedately17 sympathetic tail.
“How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean
Are Thy returns! even as the flowers in spring;
To which, besides their own demean,
The late past frosts tributes of pleasure bring.
Grief melts away
Like snow in May,
As if there were no such cold thing.”
And, waving his hand after the old manner towards the glowing water-meadows, he went on with increasing emphasis:—
“Who would have thought my shrivelled heart
Could have recovered greennesse?”
Perhaps Rufus felt himself bound to answer what had a tone of appeal in it, or perhaps some strange sympathy, not with Master Swift, began already to disturb him. He rose and knocked up the hand in which the letter lay with his long nose, and wandered restlessly about, and then settled down again with his eyes towards the garden-gate.
The old man sat still. The evening breeze stirred his white hair, and he drank in the scents18 drawn19 freshly from field and flowers after the rain, and they were like balm to him. As he sat up, his voice seemed to recover its old power, and he clasped his hands together over Jan’s letter, and went on:—
“And now in age I bud again,
After so many deaths I live and write;
I once more smell the dew and rain,
It cannot be
That I am he
On whom Thy tempests fell all night!”
So far Mr. George Herbert; but the poem was never finished, for Rufus jumped up with a cry, and after standing21 for a moment with stiffened22 limbs, and muffled23 whines24, as if he could not believe his own glaring yellow eyes, he burst away with tenfold impetus25, and dragged, and tore, and pulled, and all but carried Jan to the schoolmaster’s feet.
And the painter walked away down the garden, and stood looking long over the water-meadows.
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1 slanting | |
倾斜的,歪斜的 | |
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2 fragrant | |
adj.芬香的,馥郁的,愉快的 | |
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3 willow | |
n.柳树 | |
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4 toddle | |
v.(如小孩)蹒跚学步 | |
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5 wan | |
(wide area network)广域网 | |
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6 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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7 simile | |
n.直喻,明喻 | |
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8 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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9 agonizing | |
adj.痛苦难忍的;使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦;折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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10 suspense | |
n.(对可能发生的事)紧张感,担心,挂虑 | |
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11 disappearance | |
n.消失,消散,失踪 | |
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12 housekeeper | |
n.管理家务的主妇,女管家 | |
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13 invalid | |
n.病人,伤残人;adj.有病的,伤残的;无效的 | |
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14 vex | |
vt.使烦恼,使苦恼 | |
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15 intervals | |
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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16 spouted | |
adj.装有嘴的v.(指液体)喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 );滔滔不绝地讲;喋喋不休地说;喷水 | |
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17 sedately | |
adv.镇静地,安详地 | |
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18 scents | |
n.香水( scent的名词复数 );气味;(动物的)臭迹;(尤指狗的)嗅觉 | |
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19 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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20 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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21 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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22 stiffened | |
加强的 | |
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23 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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24 whines | |
n.悲嗥声( whine的名词复数 );哀鸣者v.哀号( whine的第三人称单数 );哀诉,诉怨 | |
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25 impetus | |
n.推动,促进,刺激;推动力 | |
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