I was foolish enough to ask for it. She refused to give it to me. In the course of the dispute between us which followed, I discovered that there was a horrible story attached to the knife. It had been used in a murder—years since—and had been so skillfully hidden that the authorities had been unable to produce it at the trial. By help of some of her disreputable friends, my wife had been able to purchase this relic2 of a bygone crime. Her perverted3 nature set some horrid4 unacknowledged value on the knife. Seeing there was no hope of getting it by fair means, I determined5 to search for it, later in the day, in secret. The search was unsuccessful. Night came on, and I left the house to walk about the streets. You will understand what a broken man I was by this time, when I tell you I was afraid to sleep in the same room with her!
Three weeks passed. Still she refused to give up the knife; and still that fear of sleeping in the same room with her possessed6 me. I walked about at night, or dozed7 in the parlor, or sat watching by my mother's bedside. Before the end of the first week in the new month, the worst misfortune of all befell me—my mother died. It wanted then but a short time to my birthday. She had longed to live till that day. I was present at her death. Her last words in this world were addressed to me. "Don't go back, my son—don't go back!"
I was obliged to go back, if it was only to watch my wife. In the last days of my mother's illness she had spitefully added a sting to my grief by declaring she would assert her right to attend the funeral. In spite of all that I could do or say, she held to her word. On the day appointed for the burial she forced herself, inflamed8 and shameless with drink, into my presence, and swore she would walk in the funeral procession to my mother's grave.
This last insult—after all I had gone through already—was more than I could endure. It maddened me. Try to make allowances for a man beside himself. I struck her.
The instant the blow was dealt, I repented9 it. She crouched10 down, silent, in a corner of the room, and eyed me steadily11. It was a look that cooled my hot blood in an instant. There was no time now to think of making atonement. I could only risk the worst, and make sure of her till the funeral was over. I locked her into her bedroom.
When I came back, after laying my mother in the grave, I found her sitting by the bedside, very much altered in look and bearing, with a bundle on her lap. She faced me quietly; she spoke12 with a curious stillness in her voice—strangely and unnaturally13 composed in look and manner.
"No man has ever struck me yet," she said. "My husband shall have no second opportunity. Set the door open, and let me go."
She passed me, and left the room. I saw her walk away up the street. Was she gone for good?
All that night I watched and waited. No footstep came near the house. The next night, overcome with fatigue14, I lay down on the bed in my clothes, with the door locked, the key on the table, and the candle burning. My slumber15 was not disturbed. The third night, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, passed, and nothing happened. I lay down on the seventh night, still suspicious of something happening; still in my clothes; still with the door locked, the key on the table, and the candle burning.
My rest was disturbed. I awoke twice, without any sensation of uneasiness. The third time, that horrid shivering of the night at the lonely inn, that awful sinking pain at the heart, came back again, and roused me in an instant. My eyes turned to the left-hand side of the bed. And there stood, looking at me—
The Dream Woman again? No! My wife. The living woman, with the face of the Dream—in the attitude of the Dream—the fair arm up; the knife clasped in the delicate white hand.
I sprang upon her on the instant; but not quickly enough to stop her from hiding the knife. Without a word from me, without a cry from her, I pinioned16 her in a chair. With one hand I felt up her sleeve; and there, where the Dream Woman had hidden the knife, my wife had hidden it—the knife with the buckhorn handle, that looked like new.
What I felt when I made that discovery I could not realize at the time, and I can't describe now. I took one steady look at her with the knife in my hand. "You meant to kill me?" I said.
"Yes," she answered; "I meant to kill you." She crossed her arms over her bosom17, and stared me coolly in the face. "I shall do it yet," she said. "With that knife."
I don't know what possessed me—I swear to you I am no coward; and yet I acted like a coward. The horrors got hold of me. I couldn't look at her—I couldn't speak to her. I left her (with the knife in my hand), and went out into the night.
There was a bleak18 wind abroad, and the smell of rain was in the air. The church clocks chimed the quarter as I walked beyond the last house in the town. I asked the first policeman I met what hour that was, of which the quarter past had just struck.
The man looked at his watch, and answered, "Two o'clock." Two in the morning. What day of the month was this day that had just begun? I reckoned it up from the date of my mother's funeral. The horrid parallel between the dream and the reality was complete—it was my birthday!
Had I escaped, the mortal peril19 which the dream foretold20? or had I only received a second warning? As that doubt crossed my mind I stopped on my way out of the town. The air had revived me—I felt in some degree like my own self again. After a little thinking, I began to see plainly the mistake I had made in leaving my wife free to go where she liked and to do as she pleased.
I turned instantly, and made my way back to the house. It was still dark. I had left the candle burning in the bedchamber. When I looked up to the window of the room now, there was no light in it. I advanced to the house door. On going away, I remembered to have closed it; on trying it now, I found it open.
I waited outside, never losing sight of the house till daylight. Then I ventured indoors—listened, and heard nothing—looked into the kitchen, scullery, parlor, and found nothing—went up at last into the bedroom. It was empty.
A picklock lay on the floor, which told me how she had gained entrance in the night. And that was the one trace I could find of the Dream Woman.
点击收听单词发音
1 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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2 relic | |
n.神圣的遗物,遗迹,纪念物 | |
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3 perverted | |
adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 );腐蚀;败坏;使堕落 | |
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4 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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5 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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6 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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7 dozed | |
v.打盹儿,打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9 repented | |
对(自己的所为)感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10 crouched | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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12 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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13 unnaturally | |
adv.违反习俗地;不自然地;勉强地;不近人情地 | |
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14 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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15 slumber | |
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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16 pinioned | |
v.抓住[捆住](双臂)( pinion的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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18 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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19 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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20 foretold | |
v.预言,预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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