“So, for future you are gouvernante and I the cheaile for you to command — is not so? — and you must direct where we shall walk. Très bien! we shall see; Monsieur Ruthyn he shall know everything. For me I do not care — not at all — I shall be rather pleased, on the contrary. Let him decide. If I shall be responsible for the conduct and the health of Mademoiselle his daughter, it must be that I shall have authority to direct her wat she must do — it must be that she or I shall obey. I ask only witch shall command for the future — voilà tout3!”
I was frightened, but resolute4 — I dare say I looked sullen5 and uncomfortable. At all events, she seemed to think she might possibly succeed by wheedling6; so she tried coaxing7 and cajoling, and patted my cheek, and predicted that I would be “a good cheaile,” and not “vex poor Madame,” but do for the future “wat she tell a me.”
She smiled her wide wet grin, smoothed my hand, and patted my cheek, and would in the excess of her conciliatory paroxysm have kissed me; but I withdrew, and she commented only with a little laugh, and a “Foolish little thing! but you will be quite amiable8 just now.”
“Why, Madame,” I asked, suddenly raising my head and looking her straight in the face, “do you wish me to walk to Church Scarsdale so particularly to-day?”
She answered my steady look with a contracted gaze and an unpleasant frown.
“Wy do I? — I do not understand a you; there is no particular day — wat folly9! Wy I like Church Scarsdale? Well, it is such pretty place. There is all! Wat leetle fool! I suppose you think I want to keel a you and bury you in the churchyard?”
And she laughed, and it would not have been a bad laugh for a ghoul.
“Come, my dearest Maud, you are not such fool to say, if you tell me go thees a way, I weel go that; and if you say, go that a way, I weel go thees — you are reasonable leetle girl — come along — alons donc — we shall av soche agreeable walk — weel a you?”
But I was immovable. It was neither obstinacy10 nor caprice, but a profound fear that governed me. I was then afraid — yes, afraid. Afraid of what? Well, of going with Madame de la Rougierre to Church Scarsdale that day. That was all. And I believe that instinct was true.
She turned a bitter glance toward Church Scarsdale, and bit her lip. She saw that she must give it up. A shadow hung upon her drab features. A little scowl11 — a little sneer12 — wide lips compressed with a false smile, and a leaden shadow mottling all. Such was the countenance13 of the lady who only a minute or two before had been smiling and murmuring over the stile so amiably14 with her idiomatic15 “blarney,” as the Irish call than kind of blandishment.
There was no mistaking the malignant16 disappointment that hooked and warped17 her features — my heart sank — a tremendous fear overpowered me. Had she intended poisoning me? What was in that basket? I looked in her dreadful face. I felt for a minute quite frantic18. A feeling of rage with my father, with my Cousin Monica, for abandoning me to this dreadful rogue19, took possession of me, and I cried, helplessly wringing20 my hands —
“Oh! it is a shame — it is a shame — it is a shame!”
The countenance of the gouvernante relaxed. I think she in turn was frightened at my extreme agitation21. It might have worked unfavourably with my father.
“Come, Maud, it is time you should try to control your temper. You shall not walk to Church Scarsdale if you do not like — I only invite. There! It is quite as you please, where we shall walk then? Here to the peegeon-house? I think you say. Tout bien! Remember I concede you everything. Let us go.”
We went, therefore, towards the pigeon-house, through the forest trees; I not speaking as the children in the wood did with their sinister22 conductor, but utterly23 silent and scared; she silent also, meditating24, and sometimes with a sharp side-glance gauging25 my progress towards equanimity26. Her own was rapid; for Madame was a philosopher, and speedily accommodated herself to circumstances. We had not walked a quarter of an hour when every trace of gloom had left her face, which had assumed its customary brightness, and she began to sing with a spiteful hilarity27 as we walked forward, and indeed seemed to be approaching one of the waggish28, frolicsom moods. But her fun in these moods was solitary29. The joke, whatever it was, remained in her own keeping. When we approached the ruined brick tower — in old times a pigeon-house — she grew quite frisky30, and twirled her basket in the air, and capered31 to her own singing.
Under the shadow of the broken wall, and its ivy32, she sat down with a frolicsome33 plump, and opened her basket, inviting34 me to partake, which I declined. I must do her justice, however, upon the suspicion of poison, which she quite disposed of by gobbling up, to her own share, everything which the basket contained.
The reader is not to suppose that Madame’s cheerful demeanour indicated that I was forgiven. Nothing of the kind. One syllable35 more, on our walk home, she addressed not to me. And when we reached the terrace, she said —
“You will please, Maud, remain for two-three minutes in the Dutch garden, while I speak with Mr. Ruthyn in the study.”
This was spoken with a high head and an insufferable smile; and I more haughtily37, but quite gravely, turned without disputing, and descended38 the steps to the quaint39 little garden she had indicated.
I was surprised and very glad to see my father there. I ran to him, and began, “Oh! papa!” and then stopped short, adding only, “may I speak to you now?”
He smiled kindly40 and gravely on me.
“Well, Maud, say your say.”
“Oh, sir, it is only this: I entreat41 that our walks, mine and Madame’s may be confined to the grounds.”
“And why?”
“I— I’m afraid to go with her.”
“Afraid!” he repeated, looking hard at me. “Have you lately had a letter from Lady Knollys?”
“No, papa, not for two months or more.”
There was a pause.
“And why afraid, Maud?”
“She brought me one day to Church Scarsdale; you know what a solitary place it is, sir; and she frightened me so that I was afraid to go with her into the churchyard. But she went and left me alone on the other side of the stream, and an impudent42 man passing by stopped and spoke36 to me, and seemed inclined to laugh at me, and altogether frightened me very much, and he did not go till Madame happened to return.”
“What kind of man — young or old?”
“A young man; he looked like a farmer’s son, but very impudent, and stood there talking to me whether I would or not; and Madame did not care at all, and laughed at me for being frightened; and, indeed, I am very uncomfortable with her.”
He gave me another shrewd look, and then looked down cloudily and thought.
“You say you are uncomfortable and frightened. How is this — what causes these feelings?”
“I don’t know, sir; she likes frightening me; I am so afraid of her — we are all afraid of her, I think. The servants, I mean, as well as I.”
My father nodded his head contemptuous, twice or thrice, and muttered, “A pack of fools?”
“And she was so very angry to-day with me, because I would not walk again with her to Church Scarsdale. I am very much afraid of her. I—” and quite unpremeditatedly I burst into tears.
“There, there, little Maud, you must not cry. She is here only for your good. If you are afraid — even foolishly afraid — it is enough. Be it as you say; your walks are henceforward confined to the grounds; I’ll tell her so.”
I thanked him through my tears very earnestly.
“But, Maud, beware of prejudice; women are unjust and violent in their judgments43. Your family has suffered in some of its members by such injustice44. It behoves us to be careful not to practise it.”
That evening in the drawing-room my father said, in his usual abrupt45 way —
“About my departure, Maud: I’ve had a letter from London this morning, and I think I shall be called away sooner than I at first supposed, and for a little time we must manage apart from one another. Do not be alarmed. You shall not be in Madame de la Rougierre’s charge, but under the care of a relation; but even so, little Maud will miss her old father, I think.”
His tone was very tender, so were his looks; he was looking down on me with a smile, and tears were in his eyes. This softening46 was new to me. I felt a strange thrill of surprise, delight, and love, and springing up, I threw my arms about his neck and wept in silence. He, I think, shed tears also.
“You said a visitor was coming; some one, you mean, to go away with. Ah, yes, you love him better than me.”
“No, dear, no; but I fear him; and I am sorry to leave you, little Maud.”
“It won’t be very long,” I pleaded.
“No, dear,” he answered with a sigh.
I was tempted47 almost to question him more closely on the subject, but he seemed to divine what was in my mind, for he said —
“Let us speak no more of it, but only bear in mind, Maud, what I told you about the oak cabinet, the key of which is here,” and he held it up as formerly48; “you remember what you are to do in case Doctor Bryerly should come while I am away?”
“Yes, sir.”
His manner had changed, and I had returned to my accustomed formalities.
It was only a few days later that Dr. Bryerly actually did arrive at Knowl, quite unexpectedly, except, I suppose, by my father. He was to stay only one night.
He was twice closeted in the little study up-stairs with my father, who seemed to me, even for him, unusually dejected, and Mrs. Rusk inveighing49 against “them rubbitch,” as she always termed the Swedenborgians, told me “they were making him quite shaky-like, and he would not last no time, if that lanky50, lean ghost of a fellow in black was to keep prowling in and out of his room like a tame cat.”
I lay awake that night, wondering what the mystery might be that connected my father and Dr. Bryerly. There was something more than the convictions of their strange religion could account for. There was something that profoundly agitated51 my father. It may not be reasonable, but so it is. The person whose presence, though we know nothing of the cause of that effect, is palpably attended with pain to anyone who is dear to us, grown odious52, and I began to detest53 Dr. Bryerly.
It was a grey, dark morning, and in a dark pass in the gallery, near the staircase, I came full upon the ungainly Doctor, in his glossy54 black suit.
I think, if my mind had been less anxiously excited on the subject of his visit, or if I had not disliked him so much, I should not have found courage to accost55 him as I did. There was something sly, I thought, in his dark, lean face; and he looked so low, so like a Scotch56 artisan in his Sunday clothes, that I felt a sudden pang57 of indignation, at the thought that a great gentleman, like my father, should have suffered under his influence, and I stopped suddenly, instead of passing him by with a mere58 salutation, as he expected, “May I ask a question, Doctor Bryerly?”
“Certainly.”
“Are you the friend whom my father expects?”
“I don’t quite see.”
“The friend, I mean, with whom he is to make an expedition to some distance, I think, and for some little time?”
“No,” said the Doctor, with a shake of his head.
“And who is he?”
“I really have not a notion, Miss.”
“Why, he said that you knew,” I replied.
The Doctor looked honestly puzzled.
“Will he stay long away? pray tell me.”
The Doctor looked into my troubled face with inquiring and darkened eyes, like one who half reads another’s meaning; and then he said a little briskly, but not sharply —
“Well, I don’t know, I’m sure, Miss; no, indeed, you must have mistaken; there’s nothing that I know.”
There was a little pause, and he added —
“No. He never mentioned any friend to me.” I fancied that he was made uncomfortable by my question, and wanted to hide the truth. Perhaps I was partly right.
“Oh! Doctor Bryerly, pray, pray, who is the friend, and where is he going.”
“I do assure you,” he said, with a strange sort of impatience59, “I don’t know; it is all nonsense.”
And he turned to go, looking, I think, annoyed and disconcerted.
A terrific suspicion crossed my brain like lightning.
“Doctor, one word,” I said, I believe, quite wildly. “Do you — do you think his mind is at all affected60?”
“Insane?” he said, looking at me with a sudden, sharp inquisitiveness61, that brightened into a smile. “Pooh, pooh! Heaven forbid! not a saner62 man in England.”
Then with a little nod he walked on, carrying, as I believed, notwithstanding his disclaimer, the secret with him. In the afternoon Doctor Bryerly went away.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
contented
|
|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
sarcastic
|
|
| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
tout
|
|
| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
resolute
|
|
| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
wheedling
|
|
| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
coaxing
|
|
| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
obstinacy
|
|
| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
scowl
|
|
| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
sneer
|
|
| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
amiably
|
|
| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
idiomatic
|
|
| adj.成语的，符合语言习惯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
malignant
|
|
| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
warped
|
|
| adj.反常的；乖戾的；（变）弯曲的；变形的v.弄弯，变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
frantic
|
|
| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
rogue
|
|
| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
wringing
|
|
| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
agitation
|
|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
sinister
|
|
| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
meditating
|
|
| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
gauging
|
|
| n.测量[试]，测定，计量v.（用仪器）测量( gauge的现在分词 )；估计；计量；划分 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
equanimity
|
|
| n.沉着，镇定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
hilarity
|
|
| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
waggish
|
|
| adj.诙谐的，滑稽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
frisky
|
|
| adj.活泼的，欢闹的；n.活泼，闹着玩；adv.活泼地，闹着玩地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
capered
|
|
| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
ivy
|
|
| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
frolicsome
|
|
| adj.嬉戏的，闹着玩的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
inviting
|
|
| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
syllable
|
|
| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
haughtily
|
|
| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
entreat
|
|
| v.恳求，恳请 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
impudent
|
|
| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
judgments
|
|
| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
injustice
|
|
| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
abrupt
|
|
| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
softening
|
|
| 变软，软化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
inveighing
|
|
| v.猛烈抨击，痛骂，谩骂( inveigh的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
lanky
|
|
| adj.瘦长的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
odious
|
|
| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
detest
|
|
| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
glossy
|
|
| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
accost
|
|
| v.向人搭话，打招呼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
scotch
|
|
| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
pang
|
|
| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
inquisitiveness
|
|
| 好奇，求知欲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
saner
|
|
| adj.心智健全的( sane的比较级 )；神志正常的；明智的；稳健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |