"Oh, they come when Alan is away," she answered; "but they seem to annoy him so much that George thinks it is better to keep them out of sight when he is here. It is very tiresome7. I know that it is the fashion to say that George has got the temper of the family; but I assure you that Alan's nervous moods and fancies are much more difficult to live with."
That was on the morning—a Friday it was—of the last day which we were to spend alone. The guests were to arrive soon after tea; and I think that with the knowledge of their approach Alan and I prolonged our ride that afternoon beyond its usual limits. We were on our way home, and it was already dusk, when a turn of the path brought us face to face with the old ruined tower, of which I have already spoken as standing9 at the head of the valley. I had not been close up to it yet during this visit at Mervyn. It had been a very favorite haunt of ours as children, and partly on that account, partly perhaps in order to defer10 the dreaded11 close of our ride to the last possible moment, I proposed an inspection12 of it. The only portion of the old building left standing in any kind of entirety was two rooms, one above the other. The tower room, level with the bottom of the moat, was dark and damp, and it was the upper one, reached by a little outside staircase, which had been our rendezvous13 of old. Alan showed no disposition14 to enter, and said that he would stay outside and hold my horse, so I dismounted and ran up alone.
The room seemed in no way changed. A mere15 stone shell, littered with fragments of wood and mortar16. There was the rough wooden block on which Alan used to sit while he first frightened us with bogey-stories, and then calmed our excited nerves by rapid sallies of wild nonsense. There was the plank17 from behind which, erected18 as a barrier across the doorway20, he would defend the castle against our united assault, pelting21 us with fir-cones and sods of earth. This and many a bygone scene thronged22 on me as I stood there, and the room filled again with the memories of childish mirth. And following close came those of childish terrors. Horrors which had oppressed me then, wholly imagined or dimly apprehended23 from half- heard traditions, and never thought of since, flitted around me in the gathering24 dusk. And with them it seemed to me as if there came other memories too,—memories which had never been my own, of scenes whose actors had long been with the dead, but which, immortal25 as the spirit before whose eyes they had dwelt, still lingered in the spot where their victim had first learnt to shudder26 at their presence. Once the ghastly notion came to me, it seized on my imagination with irresistible27 force. It seemed as if from the darkened corners of the room vague, ill-defined shapes were actually peering out at me. When night came they would show themselves in that form, livid and terrible, in which they had been burnt into the brain and heart of the long ago dead.
I turned and glanced towards where I had left Alan. I could see his figure framed in by the window, a black shadow against the gray twilight28 of the sky behind. Erect19 and perfectly29 motionless he sat, so motionless as to look almost lifeless, gazing before him down the valley into the illimitable distance beyond. There was something in that stern immobility of look and attitude which struck me with a curious sense of congruity30. It was right that he should be thus—right that he should be no longer the laughing boy who a moment before had been in my memory. The haunting horrors of that place seemed to demand it, and for the first time I felt that I understood the change. With an effort I shook myself free from these fancies, and turned to go. As I did so, my eye fell upon a queer-shaped painted board, leaning up against the wall, which I well recollected31 in old times. Many a discussion had we had about the legend inscribed32 upon it, which in our wisdom we had finally pronounced to be German, chiefly because it was illegible33. Though I had loudly professed34 my faith in this theory at the time, I had always had uneasy doubts on the subject, and now half smiling I bent35 down to verify or remove them. The language was English, not German; but the badly painted, faded Gothic letters in which it was written made the mistake excusable. In the dim light I had difficulty even now in deciphering the words, and felt when I had done so that neither the information conveyed nor the style of the composition was sufficient reward for the trouble I had taken. This is what I read:
"Where the woman sinned the maid shall win;
But God help the maid that sleeps within."
What the lines could refer to I neither had any notion nor did I pause then even in my own mind to inquire. I only remember vaguely36 wondering whether they were intended for a tombstone or for a doorway. Then, continuing my way, I rapidly descended37 the steps and remounted my horse, glad to find myself once again in the open air and by my cousin's side.
The train of thought into which he had sunk during my absence was apparently38 an absorbing one, for to my first question as to the painted board he could hardly rouse himself to answer.
"A board with a legend written on it? Yes, he remembered something of the kind there. It had always been there, he thought. He knew nothing about it,"—and so the subject was not continued.
The weird39 feelings which had haunted me in the tower still oppressed me, and I proceeded to ask Alan about that old Dame40 Alice whom the traditions of my childhood represented as the last occupant of the ruined building. Alan roused himself now, but did not seem anxious to impart information on the subject. She had lived there, he admitted, and no one had lived there since. "Had she not," I inquired, "something to do with the mysterious cabinet at the house? I remember hearing it spoken of as 'Dame Alice's cabinet.'
"So they say," he assented41; "she and an Italian artificer who was in her service, and who, chiefly I imagine on account of his skill, shared with her the honor of reputed witchcraft42."
"She was the mother of Hugh Mervyn, the man who was murdered by his wife, was she not?" I asked.
"And had she not something to do with the curse?" I inquired after a short pause, and nervously44 I remembered my father's experience on that subject, and I had never before dared to allude to it in the presence of any member of the family. My nervousness was fully45 warranted. The gloom on Alan's brow deepened, and after a very short "They say so" he turned full upon me, and inquired with some asperity46 why on earth I had developed this sudden curiosity about his ancestress.
I hesitated a moment, for I was a little ashamed of my fancies; but the darkness gave me courage, and besides I was not afraid of telling Alan—he would understand. I told him of the strange sensations I had had while in the tower—sensations which had struck me with all that force and clearness which we usually associate with a direct experience of fact. "Of course it was a trick of imagination," I commented; "but I could not get rid of the feeling that the person who had dwelt there last must have had terrible thoughts for the companions of her life."
Alan listened in silence, and the silence continued for some time after I had ceased speaking.
"It is strange," he said at last; "instincts which we do not understand form the motive-power of most of our life's actions, and yet we refuse to admit them as evidence of any external truth. I suppose it is because we MUST act somehow, rightly or wrongly; and there are a great many things which we need not believe unless we choose. As for this old lady, she lived long—long enough, like most of us, to do evil; unlike most of us, long enough to witness some of the results of that evil. To say that, is to say that the last years of her life must have been weighted heavily enough with tragic47 thought."
I gave a little shudder of repulsion.
"That is a depressing view of life, Alan," I said. "Does our peace of mind depend only upon death coming early enough to hide from us the truth? And, after all, can it? Our spirits do not die. From another world they may witness the fruits of our lives in this one."
"If they do," he answered with sudden violence, "it is absurd to doubt the existence of a purgatory48. There must in such a case be a terrible one in store for the best among us."
I was silent. The shadow that lay on his soul did not penetrate49 to mine, but it hung round me nevertheless, a cloud which I felt powerless to disperse50.
After a moment he went on,—"Provided that they are distant enough, how little, after all, do we think of the results of our actions! There are few men who would deliberately51 instill into a child a love of drink, or wilfully52 deprive him of his reason; and yet a man with drunkenness or madness in his blood thinks nothing of bringing children into the world tainted53 as deeply with the curse as if he had inoculated54 them with it directly. There is no responsibility so completely ignored as this one of marriage and fatherhood, and yet how heavy it is and far-reaching."
"Well," I said, smiling, "let us console ourselves with the thought that we are not all lunatics and drunkards."
"No," he answered; "but there are other evils besides these, moral taints55 as well as physical, curses which have their roots in worlds beyond our own,—sins of the fathers which are visited upon the children."
He had lost all violence and bitterness of tone now; but the weary dejection which had taken their place communicated itself to my spirit with more subtle power than his previous mood had owned.
"That is why," he went on, and his manner seemed to give more purpose to his speech than hitherto,—"that is why, so far as I am concerned, I mean to shirk the responsibility and remain unmarried."
I was hardly surprised at his words. I felt that I had expected them, but their utterance56 seemed to intensify57 the gloom which rested upon us. Alan was the first to arouse himself from its influence.
"After all," he said, turning round to me and speaking lightly, "without looking so far and so deep, I think my resolve is a prudent58 one. Above all things, let us take life easily, and you know what St. Paul says about 'trouble in the flesh,'—a remark which I am sure is specially59 applicable to briefless barristers, even though possessed60 of a modest competence61 of their own. Perhaps one of these days, when I am a fat old judge, I shall give my cook a chance if she is satisfactory in her clear soups; but till then I shall expect you, Evie, to work me one pair of carpet-slippers per annum, as tribute due to a bachelor cousin."
I don't quite know what I answered,—my heart was heavy and aching,—but I tried with true feminine docility62 to follow the lead he had set me. He continued for some time in the same vein63; but as we approached the house the effort seemed to become too much for him, and we relapsed again into silence.
This time I was the first to break it. "I suppose," I said, drearily64, "all those horrid65 people will have come by now."
"Horrid people," he repeated, with rather an uncertain laugh, and through the darkness I saw his figure bend forward as he stretched out his hand to caress66 my horse's neck. "Why, Evie, I thought you were pining for gayety, and that it was, in fact, for the purpose of meeting these 'horrid people' that you came here."
"Yes, I know," I said, wistfully; "but somehow the last week has been so pleasant that I cannot believe that anything will ever be quite so nice again."
We had arrived at the house as I spoke8, and the groom67 was standing at our horses' heads. Alan got off and came round to help me to dismount; but instead of putting up his arm as usual as a support for me to spring from, he laid his hand on mine. "Yes, Evie," he said, "it has been indeed a pleasant time. God bless you for it." For an instant he stood there looking up at me, his face full in the light which streamed from the open door, his gray eyes shining with a radiance which was not wholly from thence. Then he straightened his arm, I sprang to the ground, and as if to preclude68 the possibility of any answer on my part, he turned sharply on his heel, and began giving some orders to the groom. I went on alone into the house, feeling, I knew not and cared not to know why, that the gloom had fled from my spirit, and that the last ride had not after all been such a melancholy69 failure as it had bid fair at one time to become.
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1 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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2 constraint | |
n.(on)约束,限制;限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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3 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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4 allude | |
v.提及,暗指 | |
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5 friction | |
n.摩擦,摩擦力 | |
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6 luncheon | |
n.午宴,午餐,便宴 | |
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7 tiresome | |
adj.令人疲劳的,令人厌倦的 | |
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8 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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9 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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10 defer | |
vt.推迟,拖延;vi.(to)遵从,听从,服从 | |
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11 dreaded | |
adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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12 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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13 rendezvous | |
n.约会,约会地点,汇合点;vi.汇合,集合;vt.使汇合,使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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14 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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15 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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16 mortar | |
n.灰浆,灰泥;迫击炮;v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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17 plank | |
n.板条,木板,政策要点,政纲条目 | |
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18 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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19 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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20 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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21 pelting | |
微不足道的,无价值的,盛怒的 | |
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22 thronged | |
v.成群,挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23 apprehended | |
逮捕,拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 ); 理解 | |
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24 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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25 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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26 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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27 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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28 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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29 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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30 congruity | |
n.全等,一致 | |
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31 recollected | |
adj.冷静的;镇定的;被回忆起的;沉思默想的v.记起,想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32 inscribed | |
v.写,刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 );内接 | |
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33 illegible | |
adj.难以辨认的,字迹模糊的 | |
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34 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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35 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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36 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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37 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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38 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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39 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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40 dame | |
n.女士 | |
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41 assented | |
同意,赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42 witchcraft | |
n.魔法,巫术 | |
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43 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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44 nervously | |
adv.神情激动地,不安地 | |
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45 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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46 asperity | |
n.粗鲁,艰苦 | |
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47 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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48 purgatory | |
n.炼狱;苦难;adj.净化的,清洗的 | |
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49 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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50 disperse | |
vi.使分散;使消失;vt.分散;驱散 | |
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51 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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52 wilfully | |
adv.任性固执地;蓄意地 | |
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53 tainted | |
adj.腐坏的;污染的;沾污的;感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 );使污染;败坏;被污染,腐坏,败坏 | |
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54 inoculated | |
v.给…做预防注射( inoculate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55 taints | |
n.变质( taint的名词复数 );污染;玷污;丑陋或腐败的迹象v.使变质( taint的第三人称单数 );使污染;败坏;被污染,腐坏,败坏 | |
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56 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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57 intensify | |
vt.加强;变强;加剧 | |
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58 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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59 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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60 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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61 competence | |
n.能力,胜任,称职 | |
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62 docility | |
n.容易教,易驾驶,驯服 | |
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63 vein | |
n.血管,静脉;叶脉,纹理;情绪;vt.使成脉络 | |
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64 drearily | |
沉寂地,厌倦地,可怕地 | |
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65 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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66 caress | |
vt./n.爱抚,抚摸 | |
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67 groom | |
vt.给(马、狗等)梳毛,照料,使...整洁 | |
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68 preclude | |
vt.阻止,排除,防止;妨碍 | |
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69 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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