He glanced round this great quadrangle, one end of which was over-looked by the rear of the old house, and that quaint3 old refectory with its clumsy flight of stone steps, from the windows of which our friend Sedley had observed the ladies of Malory while engaged in their garden work.
There was grass growing between the paving stones, and moss4 upon the walls, and the stable doors were decaying upon their rusty5 hinges. Commenting, as so practical a genius naturally would, upon the surrounding capabilities6 and decay, Mr. Levi had nearly traversed this solitude7 when he heard some one call, “Thomas Jones!” twice or thrice, and the tones of the voice arrested him instantly.
He was a man with a turn for musical business, and not only dabbled8 in concerts and little operatic speculations9, but, having a naturally musical ear, had a retentive10 memory for voices — and this blind man’s faculty11 stood him in stead here, for, with a malicious12 thrill of wonder and delight, he instantly recognised this voice.
The door of that smaller yard which is next the house opened now, and Sir Booth Fanshawe entered, bawling13 with increased impatience14 —“Thomas Jones!”
Sir Booth’s eye lighted on the figure of Mr. Levi, as he stood close by the wall at the other side, hoping to escape observation.
With the same instinct Sir Booth stepped backward hastily into an open stable door, and Mr. Levi skipped into another door, within which unfortunately, a chained dog, Neptune15, was dozing16.
The dog flew the length of his tether at Mr. Levi’s legs, and the Jewish gentleman sprang forth17 more hastily even than he had entered.
At the same moment, Sir Booth’s pride determined18 his vacillation19, and he strode boldly forward and said —
“I think I know you, sir; don’t I?”
As there was still some little distance between them, Mr. Levi affected20 near-sightedness, and, compressing his eyelids21, smiled dubiously22, and said —
“Rayther think not, sir. No, sir — I’m a stranger; my name is Levi — of Goldshed and Levi — and I’ve been to see Mrs. Mervyn, who lives here, about her young man. I don’t know you, sir — no — it is a mishtake.”
“No, Mr. Levi — you do know me — you do,” replied Sir Booth, with a grim oath, approaching, while his fingers clutched at his walking-stick with an uneasy gripe, as if he would have liked to exercise it upon the shoulders of the Israelite.
“Oh! crikey! Ay, to be sure — why, it’s Sir Booth Fanshawe! I beg pardon, Sir Booth. We thought you was in France; but no matter, Sir Booth Fanshawe, none in the world, for all that little bushiness is blow’d over, quite. We have no interest — no more than your horse — in them little securities, upon my shoul; we sold them two months ago to Sholomons; we were glad to sell them to Sholomons, we were; he hit us pretty hard with some of Wilbraham and Cumming’s paper, and I don’t care if he never sees a shilling of it — we would rayther like it.” And Mr. Levi again made oath to that confession23 of feeling.
“Will you come into the house and have a glass of sherry or something?” said Sir Booth, on reflection.
“Well, I don’t mind,” said Mr. Levi.
And in he went and had a glass of sherry and a biscuit, and grew friendly and confidential24.
“Don’t you be running up to town, Sir Booth — Sholomons is looking for you. Clever man, Sholomons, and you should get quietly out of this country as soon as you conveniently can. He thinks you’re in France now. He sent Rogers — you know Rogers?”
He paused so long here that Sir Booth had to answer “No.”
“Well, he sent him — a good man, Rogers, you know, but drinks a bit — after you to Vichy, ha, ha, ha! Crikey! it was rich. Sholomons be blowed! It was worth a pound to see his face — ugly fellow. You know Sholomons?”
And so Mr. Levi entertained his host, who neither loved nor trusted him, and at his departure gave him all sorts of friendly warnings and sly hints, and walked and ran partly to the “George,” and got a two-horse vehicle as quickly as they could harness the horses, and drove at great speed to Llywnan, where he telegraphed to his partner to send a writ25 down by the next train for Sir Booth, the message being from Benjamin Levi, George Inn, Cardyllian, to Goldshed and Levi, &c., &c., London.
Mr. Levi took his ease in his inn, sipped26 a good deal of brandy and water, and smoked many cigars, with a serene27 mind and pleasant anticipations28, for, if nothing went wrong, the telegram would be in his partner’s hand in ample time to enable him, with his accustomed diligence, to send down a “beak” with the necessary documents by the night train who would reach Cardyllian early, and pay his little visit at Malory by nine o’clock in the morning.
Mr. Levi, as prosperous gentlemen will, felt his solitude, though luxurious29, too dull for the effervescence of his spirits, and having questioned his host as to the amusements of Cardyllian, found that its normal resources of that nature were confined to the billiard and reading rooms, where, on payment of a trifling30 benefaction to the institution, he enjoyed, as a “visitor,” the exhilarating privileges of a member of the club.
In the billiard-room, accordingly, that night, was the fragrance31 of Mr. Levi’s cheroot agreeably perceptible, the sonorous32 drawl of his peculiar33 accent vocal34 amongst pleasanter intonations35, and his “cuts,” “double doubles,” and “long crosses,” painfully admired by the gentlemen whose shillings he pocketed at pool. And it was pleasant to his exquisitively commercial genius to think that the contributions of the gentlemen to whom he had “given a lesson,” and whose “eyes he had opened,” would constitute a fund sufficient to pay his expenses at the “George,” and even to leave something towards his return fare to London.
The invalid36 who was suffering from asthma37 in the bed-room next his was disturbed by his ejaculations as he undressed, and by his repeated bursts of laughter, and rang his bell and implored38 the servant to beg of the two gentlemen who were conversing39 in the next room to make a little less noise, in consideration of his indisposition.
The manner in which he had “potted” the gentlemen in the billiard-room, right and left, and the uncomfortable admiration40 of his successes exhibited in their innocent countenances41, had, no doubt, something to do with these explosions of merriment. But the chief source of his amusement was the anticipated surprise of Sir Booth, when the little domiciliary visit of the next morning should take place, and the recollection of his own adroitness42 in mystifying the Baronet.
So he fell into a sweet slumber43, uncrossed by even an ominous44 dream, not knowing that the shrewd old bird for whom his chaff45 was spread and his pot simmering had already flown with the scream of the whistle on the wings of the night train to Chester, and from that centre to an unknown nook, whence, in a day or two more, he had flitted to some continental46 roost, which even clever Mr. Levi could not guess.
Next morning early, the ladies were on their way to London, through which they were to continue their journey, and to join Sir Booth abroad.
Two persons were, therefore, very much disappointed next day at Malory; but it could not be helped. One was Cleve Verney, who tried the inexorable secrecy47 of the servant in every way, but in vain; possibly because the servant did not himself know where “the family” were gone. The other was Mr. Benjamin Levi, who resented Sir Booth’s selfish duplicity with an exasperation48 which would hardly have been appeased49 by burning that “old mizzled robber” alive.
Mr. Levi flew to Chester with his “beak” in a third-class carriage, and thence radiated telegraphic orders and entreaties50 affecting Sir Booth wherever he had a friend, and ready, on a hint by the wires, to unleash51 his bailiff on his track, and fix him on the soil, immovable as the petrified52 witch of Mucklestane Muir, by the spell of his parchment legend.
But no gleam of light rewarded his labours. It was enough to ruffle53 even Mr. Levi’s temper, which, accordingly, was ruffled54. To have been so near! To have had his hand, as it were, upon the bird. If he had only had the writ himself in his pocket he might have dropped, with his own fingers, the grain of salt upon his tail. But it was not to be. At the moment of possession, Mr. Levi was balked55. He could grind curses under his white teeth, and did not spare them now. Some of them were, I dare say, worthy56 of that agile57 witch, “Cuttie Sark,” as she stood baffled on the “key-stane” of the bridge, with Meggie’s severed58 tail in her grip.
In the meantime, for Cleve Verney, Malory is stricken with a sudden blight59. Its woods are enchanted60 no longer; it is dark, now, and empty. His heart aches when he looks at it.
He missed his accustomed walk with the Etherage girls. He wrote to tell old Vane Etherage that he was suffering from a severe cold, and could not dine with him, as he had promised. The cold was a lie — but was he really well? Are the spirits no part of health; and where were his?
About a fortnight later, came a letter from his good friend, Miss Sheckleton. How delightfully61 interesting, though it contained next to nothing. But how interesting! How often he read it through! How every solitary62 moment was improved by a glance into it!
It was a foreign letter. It would be posted, she said, by a friend in Paris. She could not yet tell, even to a friend so kind as he, the address which would find them. She hoped, however, very soon to be at liberty to do so. All were well. Her young friend had never alluded63 since to the subject of the last painful interview. She, Miss Sheckleton, could not, unless a favourable64 opening presented, well invite a conversation on the matter. She had no doubt, however, that an opportunity would occur. She understood the peculiar character of her beautiful young cousin, and saw a difficulty, and even danger, in pressing the question upon her, possibly prematurely65. When he, Cleve, wrote — which she supposed he would so soon as he was in possession of her address — he could state exactly what he wished her to say. Meanwhile, although as she had before hinted, dear Margaret was admired and sought by a man both of rank and fortune, with very great constancy, (she thought it not improbable that Cleve had already suspected that affair,) there was in her opinion nothing to apprehend66, at least at present, in that gentleman’s suit — flattered, of course, she must be by a constancy so devoted67; but she hardly thought there was a chance that the feeling would grow to anything beyond that. So, she bid God bless him, and wrote Anne Sheckleton at the foot of the page.
The physician who, mistaking a complaint, administers precisely68 the concoction69 which debilitates70 the failing organ, or inflames71 the tortured nerve, commits just such an innocent cruelty as good Miss Sheckleton practised, at the close of her letter, upon Cleve Verney.
She had fancied that he knew something of the suit to which she referred for the purpose of relieving an anxiety to which her thoughtful allusion72 introduced him, in fact, for the first time.
Who was this faithful swain? He knew enough of Sir Booth Fanshawe’s surroundings, his friends and intimates, to count up four, or five, or six possible rivals. He knew what perseverance73 might accomplish, and absence undo74, and his heart was disquieted75 within him.
If he had consulted his instinct, he would have left Ware76 forthwith, and pursued to the Continent, and searched every town in France; but he could not act quite according to impulse. He had told the Cardyllian people that he was not to leave Ware till the fourteenth; would no remark attend his sudden departure, following immediately upon the mysterious flitting of the Malory people? He knew what wonderful stories might thereupon arise in Cardyllian, and how sure they would be, one way or another, to reach his uncle Kiffyn, and how that statesman’s suspicions might embarrass him. Then a letter might easily reach Ware while he was away, and be lost, or worse.
So he resolved to see out the rest of his time where he was. In Cardyllian church, how dark and cold looked the cavity of the Malory pew! The saints and martyrs77 in the great eastern window were subdued78, and would not glow, and their glories did not burn, but only smouldered that day. And oh! how long was Dr. Splayfoot’s sermon! And how vague was his apprehension79 of the “yarn” to which Miss Charity Etherage treated him all the way from the church porch to the top of Castle Street.
He was glad when the fifteenth, which was to call him away from Ware, approached. He was glad to leave this changed place, glad to go to London —anywhere.
Just as all was ready for his flight by the night train, on the evening of the 14th, to his great joy, came a letter, a note, almost, so short, from kind Anne Sheckleton.
All— underlined — were well. There was nothing more, in fact, but one satisfactory revelation, which was the address which would now find them.
So Cleve Verney made the journey to London that night in better spirits.
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1
piers
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| n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 )；（常设有娱乐场所的）突堤；柱子；墙墩 | |
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conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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capabilities
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| n.能力( capability的名词复数 )；可能；容量；[复数]潜在能力 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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dabbled
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| v.涉猎( dabble的过去式和过去分词 )；涉足；浅尝；少量投资 | |
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speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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retentive
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| v.保留的，有记忆的；adv.有记性地，记性强地；n.保持力 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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13
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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14
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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Neptune
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| n.海王星 | |
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dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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vacillation
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| n.动摇；忧柔寡断 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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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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vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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intonations
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| n.语调，说话的抑扬顿挫( intonation的名词复数 )；（演奏或唱歌中的）音准 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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asthma
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| n.气喘病，哮喘病 | |
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38
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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40
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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adroitness
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43
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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45
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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47
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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48
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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49
appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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50
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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51
unleash
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| vt.发泄，发出；解带子放开 | |
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52
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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53
ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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54
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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55
balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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56
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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58
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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60
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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concoction
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| n.调配(物)；谎言 | |
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70
debilitates
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| v.使（人或人的身体）非常虚弱( debilitate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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inflames
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| v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的第三人称单数 ) | |
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72
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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73
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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74
undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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disquieted
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| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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77
martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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