Nothing of all this was told to the Vicar, but Mrs. Fenwick knew what was going on in her friend’s mind, and spoke her own very freely. “Hitherto,” she said, “I have given you credit all through for good conduct and good feeling; but I shall be driven to condemn7 you if you now allow a foolish, morbid8, sickly idea to interfere9 with his happiness and your own.”
“But what if I can do nothing for his happiness?”
“That is nonsense. He is not a man whom you despise or dislike. If you will only meet him half-way you will soon find that your sympathies will grow.”
“There never will be a spark of sympathy between us.”
“Mary, that is most horribly wicked. What you mean is this, that he is not light and gay as a lover. Of course he remembers the occurrences of the last six months. Of course he cannot be so happy as he might have been had Walter Marrable never been at Loring. There must be something to be conquered, something to be got over, after such an episode. But you may set your face against doing that, or you may strive to do it. For his sake, if not for your own, the struggle should be made.”
“A man may struggle to draw a loaded wagon10, but he won’t move it.”
“The load in this case is of your own laying on. One hour of frank kindness on your part would dispel11 his gloom. He is not gloomy by nature.”
Then Mary Lowther tried to achieve that hour of frank kindness and again failed. She failed and was conscious of her failure, and there came a time,—and that within three weeks of her engagement,—in which she had all but made up her mind to return the ring which he had given her, and to leave Bullhampton for ever. Could it be right that she should marry a man that she did not love?
That was her argument with herself, and yet she was deterred12 from doing as she contemplated13 by a circumstance which could have had no effect on that argument. She received from her Aunt Marrable the following letter, in which was certainly no word capable of making her think that now, at last, she could love the man whom she had promised to marry. And yet this letter so affected14 her, that she told herself that she would go on and become the wife of Harry15 Gilmore. She would struggle yet again, and force herself to succeed. The wagon, no doubt, was heavily laden16, but still, with sufficient labour, it might perhaps be moved.
Miss Marrable had been asked to go over to Dunripple, when Mary Lowther went to Bullhampton. It had been long since she had been there, and she had not thought ever to make such a visit. But there came letters, and there were rejoinders,—which were going on before Mary’s departure,—and at last it was determined that Miss Marrable should go to Dunripple, and pay a visit to her cousin. But she did not do this till long after Walter Marrable had left the place. She had written to Mary soon after her arrival, and in this first letter there had been no word about Walter; but in her second letter she spoke very freely of Walter Marrable,—as the reader shall see.
Dunripple, 2nd July, 1868.
Dear Mary,
I got your letter on Saturday, and cannot help wishing that it had been written in better spirits. However, I do not doubt but that it will all come right soon. I am quite sure that the best thing you can do is to let Mr. Gilmore name an early day. Of course you never intended that there should be a long engagement. Such a thing, where there is no possible reason for it, must be out of the question. And it will be much better to take advantage of the fine weather than to put it off till the winter has nearly come. Fix some day in August or early in September. I am sure you will be much happier married than you are single; and he will be gratified, which is, I suppose, to count for something.
I am very happy here, but yet I long to get home. At my time of life, one must always be strange among strangers. Nothing can be kinder than Sir Gregory, in his sort of fashion. Gregory Marrable, the son, is, I fear, in a bad way. He is unlike his father, and laughs at his own ailments17, but everybody in the house,—except perhaps Sir Gregory,—knows that he is very ill. He never comes down at all now, but lives in two rooms, which he has together up-stairs. We go and see him every day, but he is hardly able to talk to any one. Sir Gregory never mentions the subject to me, but Mrs. Brownlow is quite confident that if anything were to happen to Gregory Marrable, Walter would be asked to come to Dunripple as the heir, and to give up the army altogether.
I get on very well with Mrs. Brownlow, but of course we cannot be like old friends. Edith is a very nice girl, but rather shy. She never talks about herself, and is too silent to be questioned. I do not, however, doubt for a moment but that she will be Walter Marrable’s wife. I think it likely that they are not engaged as yet, as in that case I think Mrs. Brownlow would tell me; but many things have been said which leave on my mind a conviction that it will be so. He is to be here again in August, and from the way in which Mrs. Brownlow speaks of his coming, there is no doubt that she expects it. That he paid great attention to Edith when he was here before, I am quite sure; and I take it he is only waiting till—
In writing so far, Miss Marrable had intended to signify that Captain Marrable had been slow to ask Edith Brownlow to be his wife while he was at Dunripple, because he could not bring himself so soon to show himself indifferent to his former love; but that now he would not hesitate, knowing as he would know, that his former love had bestowed18 herself elsewhere; but in this there would have been a grievous accusation19 against Mary, and she was therefore compelled to fill up her sentence in some other form;—
till things should have arranged themselves a little.
And it will be all for the best. She is a very nice, quiet, lady-like girl, and so great a favourite with her uncle, that should his son die before him, his great object in life will be her welfare. Walter Marrable, as her husband, would live at Dunripple, just as though the place were his own. And indeed there would be no one between him and the property except his own father. Some arrangement could be made as to buying out his life interest,—for which indeed he has taken the money beforehand with a vengeance,—and then Walter would be settled for life. Would not this be all for the best?
I shall go home about the 14th. They want me to stay, but I shall have been away quite long enough. I don’t know whether people ought to go from home at all after a certain age. I get cross because I can’t have the sort of chair I like to sit on; and then they don’t put any green tea into the pot, and I don’t like to ask to have any made, as I doubt whether they have any green tea in the house. And I find it bad to be among invalids20 with whom, indeed, I can sympathise, but for whom I cannot pretend that I feel any great affection. As we grow old we become incapable21 of new tenderness, and rather resent the calls that are made upon us for pity. The luxury of devotion to misery22 is as much the privilege of the young as is that of devotion to love.
Write soon, dearest; and remember that the best news I can have, will be tidings as to the day fixed23 for your marriage. And remember, too, that I won’t have any question about your being married at Bullhampton. It would be quite improper24. He must come to Loring; and I needn’t say how glad I shall be to see the Fenwicks. Parson John will expect to marry you, but Mr. Fenwick might come and assist.
Your most affectionate aunt,
Sarah Marrable.
It was not the entreaty25 made by her aunt that an early day should be fixed for the marriage which made Mary Lowther determine that she would yet once more attempt to drag the wagon. She could have withstood such entreaty as that, and, had the letter gone no further, would probably have replied to it by saying that no day could be fixed at all. But, with the letter there came an assurance that Walter Marrable had forgotten her, was about to marry Edith Brownlow, and that therefore all ideas of love and truth and sympathy and joint26 beating of mutual27 hearts, with the rest of it, might be thrown to the winds. She would marry Harry Gilmore, and take care that he had good dinners, and would give her mind to flannel28 petticoats and coal for the poor of Bullhampton, and would altogether come down from the pedestal which she had once striven to erect29 for herself. From that high but tottering30 pedestal, propped31 up on shafts32 of romance and poetry, she would come down; but there would remain for her the lower, firmer standing33 block, of which duty was the sole support. It was no doubt most unreasonable34 that any such change should come upon her in consequence of her aunt’s letter. She had never for a moment told herself that Walter Marrable could ever be anything to her, since that day on which she had by her own deed liberated35 him from his troth; and, indeed, had done more than that, had forced him to accept that liberation. Why then should his engagement with another woman have any effect with her either in one direction or in the other? She herself had submitted to a new engagement,—had done so before he had shown any sign of being fickle36. She could not therefore be angry with him. And yet, because he could be fickle, because he could do that very thing which she had openly declared her purpose of doing, she persuaded herself,—for a week or two,—that any sacrifice made to him would be a sacrifice to folly37, and a neglect of duty.
At this time, during this week or two, there came to her direct from the jewellers in London, a magnificent set of rubies38,—ear-rings, brooch, bracelets39, and necklace. The rubies she had seen before, and knew that they had belonged to Mr. Gilmore’s mother. Mrs. Fenwick had told him that the setting was so old that no lady could wear them now, and there had been a presentiment40 that they would be forthcoming in a new form. Mary had said that, of course, such ornaments41 as these would come into her hands only when she became Mrs. Gilmore. Mrs. Fenwick had laughed and told her that she did not understand the romantic generosity42 of her lover. And now the jewellery had come to her at the parsonage without a word from Gilmore, and was spread out in its pretty cases on the vicarage drawing-room table. Now, if ever, must she say that she could not do as she had promised.
“Mary,” said Mrs. Fenwick, “you must go up to him to-morrow, and tell him how noble he is.”
Mary waited, perhaps, for a whole minute before she answered. She would willingly have given the jewels away for ever and ever, so that they might not have been there now to trouble her. But she did answer at last, knowing, as she did so, that her last chance was gone.
“He is noble,” she said, slowly; “and I will go and tell him so. I’ll go now, if it is not too late.”
“Do, do. You’ll be sure to find him.” And Mrs. Fenwick, in her enthusiasm, embraced her friend and kissed her.
Mary put on her hat and walked off at once through the garden and across the fields, and into the Privets; and close to the house she met her lover. He did not see her till he heard her step, and then turned short round, almost as though fearing something.
“Harry,” she said, “those jewels have come. Oh, dear. They are not mine yet. Why did you have them sent to me?”
There was something in the word yet, or in her tone as she spoke it, which made his heart leap as it had never leaped before.
“If they’re not yours, I don’t know whom they belong to,” he said. And his eye was bright, and his voice almost shook with emotion.
“Are you doing anything?” she asked.
“Nothing on earth.”
“Then come and see them.”
So they walked off, and he, at any rate, on that occasion was a happy lover. For a few minutes,—perhaps for an hour,—he did allow himself to believe that he was destined43 to enjoy that rapture44 of requited45 affection, in longing46 for which his very soul had become sick. As she walked back with him to the vicarage her hand rested heavily on his arm, and when she asked him some question about his land, she was able so to modulate47 her voice as to make him believe that she was learning to regard his interests as her own. He stopped her at the gate leading into the vicarage garden, and once more made to her an assurance of his regard.
“Mary,” he said, “if love will beget48 love, I think that you must love me at last.”
“I will love you,” she said, pressing his arm still more closely. But even then she could not bring herself to tell him that she did love him.
点击收听单词发音
1 wilfully | |
adv.任性固执地;蓄意地 | |
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2 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 | |
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3 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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4 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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5 zealous | |
adj.狂热的,热心的 | |
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6 undoing | |
n.毁灭的原因,祸根;破坏,毁灭 | |
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7 condemn | |
vt.谴责,指责;宣判(罪犯),判刑 | |
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8 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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9 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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10 wagon | |
n.四轮马车,手推车,面包车;无盖运货列车 | |
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11 dispel | |
vt.驱走,驱散,消除 | |
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12 deterred | |
v.阻止,制止( deter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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14 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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15 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
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16 laden | |
adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
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17 ailments | |
疾病(尤指慢性病),不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
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18 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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20 invalids | |
病人,残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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21 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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22 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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23 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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24 improper | |
adj.不适当的,不合适的,不正确的,不合礼仪的 | |
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25 entreaty | |
n.恳求,哀求 | |
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26 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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27 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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28 flannel | |
n.法兰绒;法兰绒衣服 | |
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29 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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30 tottering | |
adj.蹒跚的,动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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31 propped | |
支撑,支持,维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32 shafts | |
n.轴( shaft的名词复数 );(箭、高尔夫球棒等的)杆;通风井;一阵(疼痛、害怕等) | |
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33 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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34 unreasonable | |
adj.不讲道理的,不合情理的,过度的 | |
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35 liberated | |
a.无拘束的,放纵的 | |
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36 fickle | |
adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的,不坚定的 | |
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37 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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38 rubies | |
红宝石( ruby的名词复数 ); 红宝石色,深红色 | |
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39 bracelets | |
n.手镯,臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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40 presentiment | |
n.预感,预觉 | |
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41 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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42 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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43 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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44 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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45 requited | |
v.报答( requite的过去式和过去分词 );酬谢;回报;报复 | |
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46 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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47 modulate | |
v.调整,调节(音的强弱);变调 | |
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48 beget | |
v.引起;产生 | |
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