When she had accomplished4 this object, she began to shape her course for the notary5’s office, to which — shrewdly inquiring of apple-women and oyster-sellers at street-corners, rather than in lighted shops or of well-dressed people, at the hazard of attracting notice — she easily procured6 a direction. As carrier-pigeons, on being first let loose in a strange place, beat the air at random7 for a short time before darting8 off towards the spot for which they are designed, so did the Marchioness flutter round and round until she believed herself in safety, and then bear swiftly down upon the port for which she was bound.
She had no bonnet9 — nothing on her head but a great cap which, in some old time, had been worn by Sally Brass, whose taste in head-dresses was, as we have seen, peculiar10 — and her speed was rather retarded11 than assisted by her shoes, which, being extremely large and slipshod, flew off every now and then, and were difficult to find again, among the crowd of passengers. Indeed, the poor little creature experienced so much trouble and delay from having to grope for these articles of dress in mud and kennel12, and suffered in these researches so much jostling, pushing, squeezing and bandying from hand to hand, that by the time she reached the street in which the notary lived, she was fairly worn out and exhausted13, and could not refrain from tears.
But to have got there at last was a great comfort, especially as there were lights still burning in the office window, and therefore some hope that she was not too late. So the Marchioness dried her eyes with the backs of her hands, and, stealing softly up the steps, peeped in through the glass door.
Mr Chuckster was standing14 behind the lid of his desk, making such preparations towards finishing off for the night, as pulling down his wristbands and pulling up his shirt-collar, settling his neck more gracefully16 in his stock, and secretly arranging his whiskers by the aid of a little triangular17 bit of looking glass. Before the ashes of the fire stood two gentlemen, one of whom she rightly judged to be the notary, and the other (who was buttoning his great-coat and was evidently about to depart immediately) Mr Abel Garland.
Having made these observations, the small spy took counsel with herself, and resolved to wait in the street until Mr Abel came out, as there would be then no fear of having to speak before Mr Chuckster, and less difficulty in delivering her message. With this purpose she slipped out again, and crossing the road, sat down upon a door-step just opposite.
She had hardly taken this position, when there came dancing up the street, with his legs all wrong, and his head everywhere by turns, a pony18. This pony had a little phaeton behind him, and a man in it; but neither man nor phaeton seemed to embarrass him in the least, as he reared up on his hind15 legs, or stopped, or went on, or stood still again, or backed, or went side-ways, without the smallest reference to them — just as the fancy seized him, and as if he were the freest animal in creation. When they came to the notary’s door, the man called out in a very respectful manner, ‘Woa then’— intimating that if he might venture to express a wish, it would be that they stopped there. The pony made a moment’s pause; but, as if it occurred to him that to stop when he was required might be to establish an inconvenient19 and dangerous precedent20, he immediately started off again, rattled21 at a fast trot22 to the street corner, wheeled round, came back, and then stopped of his own accord.
‘Oh! you’re a precious creatur!’ said the man — who didn’t venture by the bye to come out in his true colours until he was safe on the pavement. ‘I wish I had the rewarding of you — I do.’
‘What has he been doing?’ said Mr Abel, tying a shawl round his neck as he came down the steps.
‘He’s enough to fret23 a man’s heart out,’ replied the hostler. ‘He is the most wicious rascal24 — Woa then, will you?’
‘He’ll never stand still, if you call him names,’ said Mr Abel, getting in, and taking the reins25. ‘He’s a very good fellow if you know how to manage him. This is the first time he has been out, this long while, for he has lost his old driver and wouldn’t stir for anybody else, till this morning. The lamps are right, are they? That’s well. Be here to take him to-morrow, if you please. Good night!’
And, after one or two strange plunges26, quite of his own invention, the pony yielded to Mr Abel’s mildness, and trotted27 gently off.
All this time Mr Chuckster had been standing at the door, and the small servant had been afraid to approach. She had nothing for it now, therefore, but to run after the chaise, and to call to Mr Abel to stop. Being out of breath when she came up with it, she was unable to make him hear. The case was desperate; for the pony was quickening his pace. The Marchioness hung on behind for a few moments, and, feeling that she could go no farther, and must soon yield, clambered by a vigorous effort into the hinder seat, and in so doing lost one of the shoes for ever.
Mr Abel being in a thoughtful frame of mind, and having quite enough to do to keep the pony going, went jogging on without looking round: little dreaming of the strange figure that was close behind him, until the Marchioness, having in some degree recovered her breath, and the loss of her shoe, and the novelty of her position, uttered close into his ear, the words —‘I say, Sir’—
He turned his head quickly enough then, and stopping the pony, cried, with some trepidation28, ‘God bless me, what is this!’
‘Don’t be frightened, Sir,’ replied the still panting messenger. ‘Oh I’ve run such a way after you!’
‘What do you want with me?’ said Mr Abel. ‘How did you come here?’
‘I got in behind,’ replied the Marchioness. ‘Oh please drive on, sir — don’t stop — and go towards the City, will you? And oh do please make haste, because it’s of consequence. There’s somebody wants to see you there. He sent me to say would you come directly, and that he knowed all about Kit29, and could save him yet, and prove his innocence30.’
‘What do you tell me, child?’
‘The truth, upon my word and honour I do. But please to drive on — quick, please! I’ve been such a time gone, he’ll think I’m lost.’
Mr Abel involuntarily urged the pony forward. The pony, impelled31 by some secret sympathy or some new caprice, burst into a great pace, and neither slackened it, nor indulged in any eccentric performances, until they arrived at the door of Mr Swiveller’s lodging32, where, marvellous to relate, he consented to stop when Mr Abel checked him.
‘See! It’s the room up there,’ said the Marchioness, pointing to one where there was a faint light. ‘Come!’
Mr Abel, who was one of the simplest and most retiring creatures in existence, and naturally timid withal, hesitated; for he had heard of people being decoyed into strange places to be robbed and murdered, under circumstances very like the present, and, for anything he knew to the contrary, by guides very like the Marchioness. His regard for Kit, however, overcame every other consideration. So, entrusting33 Whisker to the charge of a man who was lingering hard by in expectation of the Job, he suffered his companion to take his hand, and to lead him up the dark and narrow stairs.
He was not a little surprised to find himself conducted into a dimly-lighted sick chamber34, where a man was sleeping tranquilly35 in bed.
‘An’t it nice to see him lying there so quiet?’ said his guide, in an earnest whisper. ‘Oh! you’d say it was, if you had only seen him two or three days ago.’
Mr Abel made no answer, and, to say the truth, kept a long way from the bed and very near the door. His guide, who appeared to understand his reluctance36, trimmed the candle, and taking it in her hand, approached the bed. As she did so, the sleeper37 started up, and he recognised in the wasted face the features of Richard Swiveller.
‘Why, how is this?’ said Mr Abel kindly38, as he hurried towards him. ‘You have been ill?’
‘Very,’ replied Dick. ‘Nearly dead. You might have chanced to hear of your Richard on his bier, but for the friend I sent to fetch you. Another shake of the hand, Marchioness, if you please. Sit down, Sir.’
Mr Abel seemed rather astonished to hear of the quality of his guide, and took a chair by the bedside.
‘I have sent for you, Sir,’ said Dick —‘but she told you on what account?’
‘She did. I am quite bewildered by all this. I really don’t know what to say or think,’ replied Mr Abel.
‘You’ll say that presently,’ retorted Dick. ‘Marchioness, take a seat on the bed, will you? Now, tell this gentleman all that you told me; and be particular. Don’t you speak another word, Sir.’
The story was repeated; it was, in effect, exactly the same as before, without any deviation39 or omission40. Richard Swiveller kept his eyes fixed41 on his visitor during its narration42, and directly it was concluded, took the word again.
‘You have heard it all, and you’ll not forget it. I’m too giddy and too queer to suggest anything; but you and your friends will know what to do. After this long delay, every minute is an age. If ever you went home fast in your life, go home fast to-night. Don’t stop to say one word to me, but go. She will be found here, whenever she’s wanted; and as to me, you’re pretty sure to find me at home, for a week or two. There are more reasons than one for that. Marchioness, a light! If you lose another minute in looking at me, sir, I’ll never forgive you!’
Mr Abel needed no more remonstrance43 or persuasion44. He was gone in an instant; and the Marchioness, returning from lighting45 him down-stairs, reported that the pony, without any preliminary objection whatever, had dashed away at full gallop46.
‘That’s right!’ said Dick; ‘and hearty47 of him; and I honour him from this time. But get some supper and a mug of beer, for I am sure you must be tired. Do have a mug of beer. It will do me as much good to see you take it as if I might drink it myself.’
Nothing but this assurance could have prevailed upon the small nurse to indulge in such a luxury. Having eaten and drunk to Mr Swiveller’s extreme contentment, given him his drink, and put everything in neat order, she wrapped herself in an old coverlet and lay down upon the rug before the fire.
Mr Swiveller was by that time murmuring in his sleep, ‘Strew48 then, oh strew, a bed of rushes. Here will we stay, till morning blushes. Good night, Marchioness!’
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收听单词发音
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1
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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notary
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| n.公证人，公证员 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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7
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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8
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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9
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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retarded
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| a.智力迟钝的，智力发育迟缓的 | |
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kennel
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| n.狗舍，狗窝 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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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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15
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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plunges
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| n.跳进，投入vt.使投入，使插入，使陷入vi.投入，跳进，陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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27
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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29
kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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31
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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entrusting
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的现在分词 ) | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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39
deviation
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| n.背离，偏离；偏差，偏向；离题 | |
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40
omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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41
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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42
narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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43
remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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44
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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45
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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46
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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47
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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48
strew
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| vt.撒；使散落；撒在…上，散布于 | |
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