Fenwick had written a very angry letter to Lord Trowbridge, to which he had got no answer, and Lord Trowbridge had written a very silly letter to the bishop8, in replying to which the bishop had snubbed him. “I am informed by my friend, Mr. Gilmore,” said the Vicar to the Marquis, “that your lordship has stated openly that I have made visits to a young woman in Salisbury which are disgraceful to me, to my cloth, and to the parish of which I am the incumbent10. I do not believe that your lordship will deny that you have done so, and I, therefore, call upon you at once to apologise to me for the calumny11, which, in its nature, is as injurious and wicked as calumny can be, and to promise that you will not repeat the offence.” The Marquis, when he received this, had not as yet written that letter to the bishop on which he had resolved after his interview with Gilmore,—feeling, perhaps, some qualms12 of conscience, thinking that it might be well that he should consult his son,—though with a full conviction that, if he did so, his son would not allow him to write to the bishop at all,—possibly with some feeling that he had been too hard upon his enemy, the Vicar. But, when the letter from Bullhampton reached him, all feelings of doubt, caution, and mercy, were thrown to the winds. The tone of the letter was essentially13 aggressive and impudent14. It was the word calumny that offended him most, that, and the idea that he, the Marquis of Trowbridge, should be called upon to promise not to commit an offence! The pestilent infidel at Bullhampton, as he called our friend, had not attempted to deny the visits to the young woman at Salisbury. And the Marquis had made fresh inquiry15 which had completely corroborated16 his previous information. He had learned Mrs. Stiggs’s address, and the name of Trotter’s Buildings, which details were to his mind circumstantial, corroborative17, and damnatory. Some dim account of the battle at the Three Honest Men had reached him, and the undoubted fact that Carry Brattle was maintained by the Vicar. Then he remembered all Fenwick’s old anxiety on behalf of the brother, whom the Marquis had taught himself to regard as the very man who had murdered his tenant18. He reminded himself, too, of the murderer’s present escape from justice by aid of this pestilent clergyman; and thus became convinced that in dealing19 with Mr. Fenwick, as it was his undoubted duty to do, he had to deal with one of the very worst of the human race. His lordship’s mind was one utterly20 incapable21 of sifting22 evidence,—unable even to understand evidence when it came to him. He was not a bad man. He desired nothing that was not his own, and remitted23 much that was. He feared God, honoured the Queen, and loved his country. He was not self-indulgent. He did his duties as he knew them. But he was an arrogant24 old fool, who could not keep himself from mischief25,—who could only be kept from mischief by the aid of some such master as his son. As soon as he received the Vicar’s letter he at once sat down and wrote to the bishop. He was so sure that he was right, that he sent Fenwick’s letter to the bishop, acknowledging what he himself had said at Heytesbury, and justifying26 it altogether by an elaborate account of the Vicar’s wickedness. “And now, my lord, let me ask you,” said he, in conclusion, “whether you deem this a proper man to have the care of souls in the large and important parish of Bullhampton.”
The bishop felt himself to be very much bullied27. He had no doubt whatsoever28 about his parson. He knew that Fenwick was too strong a man to be acted upon beneficially by such advice as to his private conduct as a bishop might give, and too good a man to need any caution as to his conduct. “My Lord Marquis,” he said, in reply, “in returning the endorsed29 letter from Mr. Fenwick to your lordship, I can only say that nothing has been brought before me by your lordship which seems to me to require my interference. I should be wrong if I did not add to this the expression of my opinion that Mr. Fenwick is a moral man, doing his duty in his parish well, and an example in my diocese to be followed, rather than a stumbling block.”
When this letter reached the Castle Lord St. George was there. The poor old Marquis was cut to the quick. He immediately perceived,—so he told himself,—that the bishop was an old woman, who understood nothing; but he was sure that St. George would not look at the matter in the same light. And yet it was impossible not to tell St. George. Much as he dreaded30 his son, he did honestly tell everything to his Mentor31. He had already told St. George of Fenwick’s letter to him and of his letter to the bishop, and St. George had whistled. Now he showed the bishop’s letter to his son. St. George read the letter, refolded it slowly, shrugged32 his shoulders, and said, as he returned it to his father,—
“Well, my lord, I suppose you like a hornet’s nest.”
This was the uncomfortable position of things at Bullhampton about the beginning of June, at which time Mary Lowther was again staying with her friend Mrs. Fenwick. Carry Brattle was still at Salisbury, but had not been seen by the Vicar for more than a fortnight. The Marquis’s letter, backed as it was in part by his wife’s counsel, had, much to his own disgust, deterred33 him from seeing the girl. His wife, however, had herself visited Trotter’s Buildings, and had seen Carry, taking to her a little present from her mother, who did not dare to go over to Salisbury to see her child, because of words that had passed between her and her husband.
Mrs. Fenwick, on her return home, had reported that Carry was silent, sullen34, and idle; that her only speech was an expression of a wish that she was dead, and that Mrs. Stiggs had said that she could get no good of her. In the meantime Sam Brattle had not yet turned up, and the 5th of June was at hand.
Mary Lowther was again at the vicarage, and of course it was necessary that she and Mr. Gilmore should meet each other. A promise had been made to her that no advice should be pressed upon her,—the meaning of which, of course, was that nothing should be said to her urging her to marry Mr. Gilmore. But it was of course understood by all the parties concerned that Mr. Gilmore was to be allowed to come to the house; and, indeed, this was understood by the Fenwicks to mean almost as plainly that she would at least endeavour to bring herself to accept him when he did come. To Mary herself, as she made the journey, the same meaning seemed to be almost inevitable35; and as she perceived this, she told herself that she had been wrong to leave home. She knew,—she thought she knew,—that she must refuse him, and in doing so would simply be making fresh trouble. Would it not have been better for her to have remained at Loring,—to have put herself at once on a par9 with her aunt, and have commenced her life of solitary36 spinsterhood and dull routine? But, then, why should she refuse him? She endeavoured to argue it out with herself in the railway carriage. She had been told that Walter Marrable would certainly marry Edith Brownlow, and she believed it. No doubt it was much better that he should do so. At any rate, she and Walter were separated for ever. When he wrote to her, declaring his purpose of remaining in England, he had said not a word of renewing his engagement with her. No doubt she loved him. About that she did not for a moment endeavour to deceive herself. No doubt, if that fate in life which she most desired might be hers, she would become the wife of Walter Marrable. But that fate would not be hers, and then there arose the question whether, on that account, she was unfit to be the wife of any other man. Of this she was quite certain, that should it ever seem to her to be her duty to accept the other man, she would first explain to him clearly the position in which she found herself. At last the whole matter resolved itself to this;—was it possible for her to divest37 her idea of life of all romance, and to look for contentment and satisfaction in the performance of duties to others? The prospect38 of an old maid’s life at Loring was not pleasant to her eyes; but she would bear that, and worse than that, rather than do wrong. It was, however, so hard for her to know what was right and what was wrong! Supposing that she were to consent to marry Mr. Gilmore, would she be forsworn when at the altar she promised to love him? All her care would be henceforth for him, all her heart, as far as she could command her heart, and certainly all her truth. There should not be a secret of her mind hidden from him. She would force herself to love him, and to forget that other man. He should be the object of all her idolatry. She would, in that case, do her very utmost to reward him for the constancy of the affection with which he had regarded her; and yet, as she was driven in at the vicarage gate, she told herself that it would have been better for her to remain at Loring.
During the first evening Mr. Gilmore’s name was not mentioned. There were subjects enough for conversation, as the period was one of great excitement in Bullhampton.
“What did you think of our chapel39?” asked Mrs. Fenwick.
“I had no idea it was so big.”
“Why, they are not going to leave us a single soul to go to church. Mr. Puddleham means to make a clean sweep of the parish.”
“You don’t mean to say that any have left you?”
“Well; none as yet,” replied Mrs. Fenwick. “But then the chapel isn’t finished; and the Marquis has not yet sent his order to his tenants40 to become dissenters41. We expect that he will do so, unless he can persuade the bishop to turn Frank out of the living.”
“But the bishop couldn’t turn him out.”
“Of course, he couldn’t,—and wouldn’t if he could. The bishop and Frank are the best friends in the world. But that has nothing to do with it. You mustn’t abuse the chapel to Frank; just at this moment the subject is tabooed. My belief is that the whole edifice42 will have to come down, and that the confusion of Mr. Puddleham and the Marquis will be something more complete than ever was yet seen. In the meantime, I put my finger to my lip, and just look at Frank whenever the chapel is mentioned.”
And then there was the matter of the murder, and the somewhat sad consideration of Sam’s protracted43 absence.
“And will you have to pay four hundred pounds, Mr. Fenwick?” Mary asked.
“I shall be liable to pay it if he does not appear to-morrow, and no doubt must absolutely pay it if he does not turn up soon.”
“But you don’t think that he was one of them?”
“I am quite sure he was not. But he has had trouble in his family, and he got into a quarrel, and I fancy he has left the country. The police say that he has been traced to Liverpool.”
“And will the other men be convicted?” Mrs. Fenwick asked.
“I believe they will, and most fervently44 hope so. They have some evidence about the wheels of a small cart in which Burrows45 certainly, and, I believe, no doubt Acorn46 also, were seen to drive across Pycroft Common early on the Sunday morning. A part of the tire had come off, and another bit, somewhat broader, and an inch or so too short, had been substituted. The impress made by this wheel in the mud, just round the corner by the farm gate, was measured and copied at the time, and they say that this will go far to identify the men. That the man’s cart was there is certain,—also that he was in the same cart at Pycroft Common an hour or two after the murder.”
“That does seem clear,” said Mary.
“But somebody suggests that Sam had borrowed the cart. I believe, however, that it will all come out;—only, if I have to pay four hundred pounds I shall think that Farmer Trumbull has cost me very dear.”
On the next morning Gilmore came to the vicarage. It had been arranged that he would drive Fenwick over to Heytesbury, and that he would call for him after breakfast. A somewhat late hour,—two in the afternoon,—had been fixed47 for going on with the murder case, as it was necessary that a certain constable48 should come down from London on that morning; and, therefore, there would be no need for the two men to start very early from Bullhampton. This was explained to Mary by Mrs. Fenwick. “He dines here to-day,” she had said when they met in the morning before prayers, “and you may as well get over the first awkwardness at once.” Mary had assented49 to this, and, after breakfast, Gilmore made his appearance among them in the garden. He was just one moment alone with the girl he loved.
“Miss Lowther,” he said, “I cannot be with you for an instant without telling you that I am unchanged.”
Mary made no reply, and he said nothing further. Mrs. Fenwick was with them so quickly that there was no need for a reply,—and then he was gone. During the whole day the two friends talked of the murder, and of the Brattles, and the chapel,—which was thoroughly50 inspected from the roof to the floor,—but not a word was said about the loves of Harry51 Gilmore or Walter Marrable. Gilmore’s name was often mentioned as the whole story was told of Lord Trowbridge’s new quarrel, and of the correspondence with the bishop,—of which Fenwick had learned the particulars from the bishop’s chaplain. And in the telling of this story Mrs. Fenwick did not scruple52 to express her opinion that Harry Gilmore had behaved well, with good spirit, and like a true friend. “If the Marquis had been anywhere near his own age I believe he would have horsewhipped him,” said the Vicar’s wife, with that partiality for the corporal chastisement53 of an enemy which is certainly not uncommon54 to the feminine mind. This was all very well, and called for no special remark from Mary, and possibly might have an effect.
The gentlemen returned late in the evening, and the Squire55 dressed at the vicarage. But the great event of the day had to be told before anyone was allowed to dress. Between four and five o’clock, just as the magistrates were going to leave the bench, Sam Brattle had walked into Court.
“And your money is safe?” said his wife.
“Yes, my money is safe; but, I declare, I think more of Sam’s truth. He was there, as it seemed, all of a sudden. The police had learned nothing of him. He just walked into the court, and we heard his voice. ‘They tell me I’m wanted,’ he said; and so he gave himself up.”
“And what was done?” asked his wife.
“It was too late to do anything; so they allowed a remand for another week, and Sam was walked off to prison.”
At dinner time the conversation was still about the murder. It had been committed after Mary Lowther had left Bullhampton; but she had heard all the details, and was now as able to be interested about it as were the others. It was Gilmore’s opinion that, instead of proceeding56 against Sam, they would put him into the witness-box and make him tell what he knew about the presence of the other two men. Fenwick declared that, if they did so, such was Sam’s obstinacy57 that he would tell nothing. It was his own idea,—as he had explained both to his wife and to Gilmore,—that Carry Brattle could give more evidence respecting the murder than her brother. Of this he said nothing at present, but he had informed Constable Toffy that if Caroline Brattle were wanted for the examination she would be found at the house of Mrs. Stiggs.
Thus for an hour or two the peculiar58 awkwardness of the meeting between Harry Gilmore and Mary was removed. He was enabled to talk with energy on a matter of interest, and she could join the conversation. But when they were round the tea-table it seemed to be arranged by common consent that Trumbull’s murder and the Brattles should, for a while, be laid aside. Then Mary became silent and Gilmore became awkward. When inquiries59 were made as to Miss Marrable, he did not know whether to seem to claim, or not to claim, that lady’s acquaintance. He could not, of course, allude60 to his visit to Loring, and yet he could hardly save himself from having to acknowledge that he had been there. However, the hour wore itself away, and he was allowed to take his departure.
During the next two days he did not see Mary Lowthcr. On the Friday he met her with Mrs. Fenwick as the two were returning from the mill. They had gone to visit Mrs. Brattle and Fanny, and to administer such comfort as was possible in the present circumstances. The poor woman told them that the father was now as silent about his son as about his daughter, but that he had himself gone over to Heytesbury to secure legal advice for the lad, and to learn from Mr. Jones, the attorney, what might be the true aspect of the case. Of what he had learned he had told nothing to the women at the mill, but the two ladies had expressed their strong opinion of Sam’s innocence61. All this was narrated62 by Mrs. Fenwick to Gilmore, and Mary Lowther was enabled to take her part in the narrative63. The Squire was walking between the two, and it seemed to him as he walked that Mary at least had no desire to avoid him. He became high in hope, and began to wish that even now, at this moment, he might be left alone with her and might learn his fate. He parted from them when they were near the village, and as he went he held Mary’s hand within his own for a few moments. There was no return of his pressure, but it seemed to him that her hand was left with him almost willingly.
“What do you think of him?” her friend said to her, as soon as he had parted from them.
“What do I think of him? I have always thought well of him.”
“I know you have; to think otherwise of one who is positively64 so good would be impossible. But do you feel more kindly65 to him than you used?”
“Janet,” said Mary, after pausing awhile, “you had better leave me alone. Don’t be angry with me; but really it will be better that you should leave me alone.”
“I won’t be angry with you, and I will leave you alone,” said Mrs. Fenwick. And, as she considered this request afterwards, it seemed to her that the very making of such a request implied a determination on the girl’s part to bring herself to accept the man’s offer,—if it might be possible.
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1
magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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inefficient
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| adj.效率低的，无效的 | |
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forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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10
incumbent
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| adj.成为责任的，有义务的；现任的，在职的 | |
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calumny
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| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
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qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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corroborated
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| v.证实，支持（某种说法、信仰、理论等）( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
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corroborative
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| adj.确证（性）的，确凿的 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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sifting
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| n.筛，过滤v.筛( sift的现在分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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remitted
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| v.免除（债务），宽恕( remit的过去式和过去分词 )；使某事缓和；寄回，传送 | |
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arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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justifying
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| 证明…有理( justify的现在分词 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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endorsed
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| vt.& vi.endorse的过去式或过去分词形式v.赞同( endorse的过去式和过去分词 )；在（尤指支票的）背面签字；在（文件的）背面写评论；在广告上说本人使用并赞同某产品 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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mentor
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| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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deterred
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| v.阻止，制止( deter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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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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divest
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| v.脱去，剥除 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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dissenters
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| n.持异议者，持不同意见者( dissenter的名词复数 ) | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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burrows
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| n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 )；翻寻 | |
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acorn
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| n.橡实，橡子 | |
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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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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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51
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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52
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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53
chastisement
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| n.惩罚 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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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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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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62
narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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64
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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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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