“Eleven o’clock, Tom.”
“Eleven — already? I shall go at dawn, Leonard. You remember Johnston died at dawn, and so did Askew1.”
“For heaven’s sake don’t speak like that, Tom! If you think you are going to die, you will die.”
The sick man laughed a ghost of a laugh — it was half a death-rattle.
“It is no use talking, Leonard; I feel my life flaring2 and sinking like a dying fire. My mind is quite clear now, but I shall die at dawn for all that. The fever has burnt me up! Have I been raving3, Leonard?”
“A little, old fellow,” answered Leonard.
“What about?”
“Home mostly, Tom.”
“Home! We have none, Leonard; it is sold. How long have we been away now?”
“Seven years.”
“Seven years! Yes. Do you remember how we said good-bye to the old place on that winter night after the auction4? And do you remember what we resolved?”
“Yes.”
“Repeat it.”
“We swore that we would seek wealth enough to buy Outram back till we won it or died, and that we would never return to England till it was won. Then we sailed for Africa. For seven years we have sought and done no more than earn a livelihood5, much less a couple of hundred thousand pounds or so.”
“Leonard.”
“Yes, Tom?”
“You are sole heir to our oath now, and to the old name with it, or you will be in a few hours. I have fulfilled my vow6. I have sought till I died. You will take up the quest till you succeed or die. The struggle has been mine, may you live to win the Star. You will persevere7, will you not, Leonard?”
“Yes, Tom, I will.”
“Give me your hand on it, old fellow.”
Leonard Outram knelt down beside his dying brother, and they clasped each other’s hands.
“Now let me sleep awhile. I am tired. Do not be afraid, I shall wake before the — end.”
Hardly had the words passed his lips when his eyes closed and he sank into stupor8 or sleep.
His brother Leonard sat down upon a rude seat, improvised9 out of an empty gin-case. Without the tempest shrieked10 and howled, the great wind shook the Kaffir hut of grass and wattle, piercing it in a hundred places till the light of the lantern wavered within its glass, and the sick man’s hair was lifted from his clammy brow. From time to time fierce squalls of rain fell like sheets of spray, and the water, penetrating11 the roof of grass, streamed to the earthen floor. Leonard crept on his hands and knees to the doorway12 of the hut, or rather to the low arched opening which served as a doorway, and, removing the board that secured it, looked out at the night. Their hut stood upon the ridge13 of a great mountain; below was a sea of bush, and around it rose the fantastic shapes of other mountains. Black clouds drove across the dying moon, but occasionally she peeped out and showed the scene in all its vast solemnity and appalling14 solitude15.
Presently Leonard closed the opening of the doorway, and going back to his brother’s side he gazed upon him earnestly. Many years of toil16 and privation had not robbed Thomas Outram’s face of its singular beauty, or found power to mar17 its refinement18. But death was written on it.
Leonard sighed, then, struck by a sudden thought, sought for and found a scrap19 of looking-glass. Holding it close to the light of the lantern, he examined the reflection of his own features. The glass mirrored a handsome bearded man, dark, keen-eyed like one who is always on the watch for danger, curly-haired and broad-shouldered; not very tall, but having massive limbs and a form which showed strength in every movement. Though he was still young, there was little of youth left about the man; clearly toil and struggle had done an evil work with him, ageing his mind and hardening it as they had hardened the strength and vigour20 of his body. The face was a good one, but most men would have preferred to see friendship shining in those piercing black eyes rather than the light of enmity. Leonard was a bad enemy, and his long striving with the world sometimes led him to expect foes21 where they did not exist.
Even now this thought was in his mind: “He is dying,” he said to himself, as he laid down the glass with the care of a man who cannot afford to hazard a belonging however trivial, “and yet his face is not so changed as mine is. My God! he is dying! My brother — the only man — the only living creature I love in the world, except one perhaps, if indeed I love her still. Everything is against us — I should say against me now, for I cannot count him. Our father was our first enemy; he brought us into the world, neglected us, squandered23 our patrimony24, dishonoured25 our name, and shot himself. And since then what has it been but one continual fight against men and nature? Even the rocks in which I dig for gold are foes — victorious26 foes —” and he glanced at his hands, scarred and made unshapely by labour. “And the fever, that is a foe22. Death is the only friend, but he won’t shake hands with me. He takes my brother whom I love as he has taken the others, but me he leaves.”
Thus mused27 Leonard sitting sullenly28 on the red box, his elbow on his knee, his rough hands held beneath his chin pushing forward the thick black beard till it threw a huge shadow, angular and unnatural30, on to the wall of the hut, while without the tempest now raved31, now lulled32, and now raved again. An hour — two — passed and still he sat not moving, watching the face of the fever-stricken man that from time to time flushed and was troubled, then grew pale and still. It seemed to him as though by some strange harmony of nature the death-smitten blood was striving to keep pace with the beat of the storm, knowing that presently life and storm would pass together into the same domain33 of silence.
At length Tom Outram opened his eyes and looked at him, but Leonard knew that he did not see him as he was. The dying eyes studied him indeed and were intelligent, but he could feel that they read something on his face that was not known to himself, nor could be visible to any other man — read it as though it were a writing.
So strange was this scrutiny34, so meaningless and yet so full of a meaning which he could not grasp, that Leonard shrank beneath it. He spoke35 to his brother, but no answer came — only the great hollow eyes read on in that book which was printed upon his face; that book, sealed to him, but to the dying man an open writing.
The sight of the act of death is always terrible; it is terrible to watch the latest wax and ebb36 of life, and with the intelligence to comprehend that these flickerings, this coming and this going, these sinkings and these last recoveries are the trial flights of the animating38 and eternal principle — call it soul or what you will — before it trusts itself afar. Still more terrible is it under circumstances of physical and mental desolation such as those present to Leonard Outram in that hour.
But he had looked on death before, on death in many dreadful shapes, and yet he had never been so much afraid. What was it that his brother, or the spirit of his brother, read in his face? What learning had he gathered in that sleep of his, the last before the last? He could not tell — now he longed to know, now he was glad not to know, and now he strove to overcome his fears.
“My nerves are shattered,” he said to himself. “He is dying. How shall I bear to see him die?”
A gust39 of wind shook the hut, rending40 the thatch41 apart, and through the rent a little jet of rain fell upon his brother’s forehead and ran down his pallid42 cheeks like tears. Then the strange understanding look passed from the wide eyes, and once more they became human, and the lips were opened.
“Water,” they murmured.
Leonard gave him to drink, with one hand holding the pannikin to his brother’s mouth and with the other supporting the dying head. Twice he gulped43 at it, then with a brusque motion of his wasted arm he knocked the cup aside, spilling the water on the earthen floor.
“Leonard,” he said, “you will succeed.”
“Succeed in what, Tom?”
“You will get the money and Outram — and found the family afresh — but you will not do it alone. A woman will help you.”
Then his mind wandered a little and he muttered, “How is Jane? Have you heard from Jane?” or some such words.
At the mention of this name Leonard’s face softened44, then once more grew hard and anxious.
“I have not heard of Jane for years, old fellow,” he said; “probably she is dead or married. But I do not understand.”
“Don’t waste time, Leonard,” Tom answered, rousing himself from his lethargy. “Listen to me. I am going fast. You know dying men see far — sometimes. I dreamed it, or I read it in your face. I tell you — you will die at Outram. Stay here a while after I am dead. Stay a while, Leonard!”
He sank back exhausted45, and at that moment a gust of wind, fiercer than any which had gone before, leapt down the mountain gorges46, howling with all the voices of the storm. It caught the frail47 hut and shook it. A cobra hidden in the thick thatch awoke from its lethargy and fell with a soft thud to the floor not a foot from the face of the dying man — then erected48 itself and hissed49 aloud with flickering37 tongue and head swollen50 by rage. Leonard started back and seized a crowbar which stood near, but before he could strike, the reptile51 sank down and, drawing its shining shape across his brother’s forehead, once more vanished into the thatch.
His eyes did not so much as close, though Leonard saw a momentary52 reflection of the bright scales in the dilated53 pupils and shivered at this added terror, shivered as though his own flesh had shrunk beneath the touch of those deadly coils. It was horrible that the snake should creep across his brother’s face, it was still more horrible that his brother, yet living, should not understand the horror. It caused him to remember our invisible companion, that ancient enemy of mankind of whom the reptile is an accepted type; it made him think of that long sleep which the touch of such as this has no power to stir.
Ah! now he was going — it was impossible to mistake that change, the last quick quiver of the blood, followed by an ashen54 pallor, and the sob55 of the breath slowly lessening56 into silence. So the day had died last night, with a little purpling of the sky — a little sobbing57 of the wind — then ashen nothingness and silence. But the silence was broken, the night had grown alive indeed — and with a fearful life. Hark! how the storm yelled! those blasts told of torment58, that rain beat like tears. What if his brother —— He did not dare to follow the thought home.
Hark! how the storm yelled! — the very hut wrenched59 at its strong supports as though the hands of a hundred savage60 foes were dragging it. It lifted — by heaven it was gone! — gone, crashing down the rocks on the last hurricane blast of the tempest, and there above them lowered the sullen29 blue of the passing night flecked with scudding61 clouds, and there in front of them, to the east and between the mountains, flared62 the splendours of the dawn.
Something had struck Leonard heavily, so heavily that the blood ran down his face; he did not heed63 it, he scarcely felt it; he only clasped his brother in his arms and, for the first time for many years, he kissed him on the brow, staining it with the blood from his wound.
The dying man looked up. He saw the glory in the East. Now it ran along the mountain sides, now it burned upon their summits, to each summit a pillar of flame, a peculiar64 splendour of its own diversely shaped; and now the shapes of fire leaped from earth to heaven, peopling the sky with light. The dull clouds caught the light, but they could not hold it all: back it fell to earth again, and the forests lifted up their arms to greet it, and it shone upon the face of the waters.
Thomas Outram saw — and staggering to his knees he stretched out his arms towards the rising sun, muttering with his lips.
Then he sank upon Leonard’s breast, and presently all his story was told.
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1
askew
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| adv.斜地；adj.歪斜的 | |
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2
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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4
auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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7
persevere
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| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
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8
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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9
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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10
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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12
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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13
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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14
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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15
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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16
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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17
mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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18
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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19
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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21
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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22
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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23
squandered
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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patrimony
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| n.世袭财产，继承物 | |
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25
dishonoured
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| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
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26
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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27
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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28
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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31
raved
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| v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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32
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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33
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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34
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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35
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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36
ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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37
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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38
animating
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| v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 )；驱动；使栩栩如生地动作；赋予…以生命 | |
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39
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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40
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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41
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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42
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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43
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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44
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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45
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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46
gorges
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| n.山峡，峡谷( gorge的名词复数 )；咽喉v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 )；作呕 | |
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47
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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48
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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49
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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50
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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51
reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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52
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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53
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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55
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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56
lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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57
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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58
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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59
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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60
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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61
scudding
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| n.刮面v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的现在分词 ) | |
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62
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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63
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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64
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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