But since then Oona had gone far and wandered wide in a shadowy world which she shared with no one, and in which there were mystic forces beyond her fathoming16, influences which caught the wanderer all unwitting, and drew her hither or thither17 unawares, against her will. She was no longer the princess and sovereign of life as she had been in the earlier portion of it, but rather its subject or possible victim, moved by powers which she could not understand nor resist, and which overcame her before she was aware of their existence. She thought of all this as her boat made its way, propelled by the long, strong strokes of Hamish, amid the shadows; but not angrily, not miserably18 as she had sometimes done, with a sadness which (if it was sadness at all) was sweet, and a secret exhilaration for which she could not account. The mother seemed somehow to step into the visionary conflict which was going on, a half-seen, unknown, but powerful champion on the side of——Was it on the side of Oona? She shrank a little from that identification, and said to herself, on the side of good. For that there was a struggle going on between good and evil, which in some mysterious way centred in Lord Erradeen, she was mysteriously aware, she could not tell how.
“Yon young lord will be the better of his mother,” Hamish was saying, his voice coming to her vaguely19, running on without any thought of reply, mingled20 with the larger sound of the oars21 upon the rowlocks, the long sweep of them through the loch, the gurgle and tinkle22 of the water as the boat cut through. Hamish was faintly visible and even retained till it grew quite dark some trace of colour in his favourite garment. “He’ll be the better of his mother,” he said; “there will aye be a want when there’s no a leddy in the house. Weeman servants are no to lippen to. A young man when he has not a wife, he will be muckle the better for his mother.”
Oona heard the words vaguely like a chant amid all those sounds of the loch which were the music and accompaniment of her own being. She ran up the slope when they landed, and burst into the little drawing-room which was so bright after the darkness of the evening world, with a pleasure in her little adventure, and in having something to tell which is only known in the deep recesses23, the unbroken quiet of rural life. Mrs. Forrester was just beginning, as she herself said, to “weary” for Oona’s return. She had put down her knitting and taken a book. Again she had put aside her book and taken the knitting. Oona was late. Oona meant the world and life to the solitary24 lady on the crest25 of the isle26. The house, the little retired27 nest amid the trees, was full and cheerful when she was there, and though Mysie and the cook, “ben the house,” gave now and then a sign of life, yet nothing was complete until the sound of the boat drawn28 up on the shingle29, the unshipping oars, the light firm foot on the path, followed by the heavier tread, scattering30 the gravel31, of Hamish, gave token that all the little population were gathered within the circle of their rocks and waters. Then Mrs. Forrester brightened and turned her face towards the door with cheerful expectation: for it became a little too cold now to go down to the beach to meet the boat, even with the fur cloak upon her shoulders, which had been her wont32 on summer nights, and even on wintry days.
“His mother, poor young man! Dear me, that is very interesting, Oona. I was not sure he had a mother. That’s good news: for I always took an interest in Lord Erradeen, like one of our own boys. Indeed, you know, Oona, I always thought him like Rob, though their complexions33 are different. Dear me! I am very glad you were on the spot, and able to show her a little civility. But he should have been there, oh! he should have been there, to meet her. If any of the boys were to do that to me, I would not know what to think—to leave me to the civility of any person that might be passing. Oh, fie! no, I would not know what to think.”
“I know what you would think,” said Oona, “that there must have been some mistake, that they did not know the hour of the train, or did not know which train, or that they had been too late of starting, or—something. You would be sure to find a good reason, mamma.”
“Well, that’s true, Oona; no doubt it would be something of that kind, for it is impossible that a nice lad (and Lord Erradeen was always that) would show himself neglectful of his mother. Poor lady! and she would be tired after her journey. I am very glad you were there to show her a little attention. She will perhaps think, as so many of those English do, that we’re cold and distant in the north. My dear, you can just ring for the tea: and we’ll go and call upon her to-morrow, Oona. Well, perhaps not to-morrow; but wait till she is well rested. We’ll go on Thursday, and you can just mention it about, wherever you are to-morrow, that everybody may know. It is such a fine thing: for a young man to have his mother with him (when he has not a wife), that we must give her a warm welcome, poor lady,” Mrs. Forrester said. She had no reason to call Mrs. Methven poor, but did it as a child does, with a meaning of kindness. She was in fact much pleased and excited by the news. It seemed to throw a gleam of possible comfort over the head of the loch. “The late lord had no woman about him,” she said to herself after Oona had left the room. She had quite forgotten that she was beginning to “weary.” “Did you hear, Mysie,” she went on when “the tea” appeared with all its wealth of scones34, “that Lord Erradeen was expecting his mother? I am almost as glad to hear it as if one of our own boys had come home.”
“It is a real good thing for the young lord, mem,” said Mysie; “and no doubt you’ll be going to see her, being such near neighbours, and my lord such great friends with the isle.”
“I would not say very great friends, oh no,” said Mrs. Forrester, deprecatory, but with a smile of pleasure on her face. “There is little to tempt35 a young gentleman here. But no doubt we will call as soon as she is rested—Miss Oona and me.”
This formed the staple36 of their conversation all the evening, and made the little room cheerful with a sentiment of expectation.
“And what kind of a person did you find her, Oona? And do you think she will be a pleasant neighbour? And he was at the water-side to meet her, when he saw the boat? And was he kind? and did he show a right feeling?”
These questions Mrs. Forrester asked over and over again. She put herself in the place of the mother who had arrived so unexpectedly without any one to meet her.
“And you will be sure to mention it, whoever you see to-morrow,” she repeated several times, “that she may see we have all a regard for him. I know by myself that is the first thing you think of,” Mrs. Forrester added with a pleasant smile. “The boys” were everything they ought to be. There were no eccentricities37, nothing out of the way, about them to make public opinion doubtful. Wherever they went, their mother, pleased, but not surprised, heard everything that was pleasant of them. She “knew by herself” that this was what Walter’s mother would want to hear.
And Oona “mentioned it” to the Ellermore Campbells, with whom she had some engagement next morning, and where she met Miss Herbert from the Lodge38. Julia was already popular with her nearest neighbours, and had an attendant at her side in the shape of a friend invited by Sir Thomas as an ardent39 sportsman, but of whom Julia had taken the command from his first appearance. She was in high spirits, finding everything go well with her, and slightly off her balance with the opening up of new prosperity. She threw herself into the discussion with all the certainty of an old acquaintance.
“I don’t understand why you should be so pleased,” said Julia. “Are you pleased? or is it only a make-believe? Oh, no, dear Oona; I do not suppose you are so naughty as that. You never were naughty in your life—was she? Never tore her pinafore, or dirtied her frock? It is pretty of you, all you girls, to take an interest in Walter’s mother; but for my part I like young men best without their mothers,” Miss Herbert said, with a laugh, and a glance towards the attendant squire40, who said to himself that here was a girl above all pretences41, who knew better than to attempt to throw dust in the eyes of wise men like himself.
Some of the Ellermore girls laughed, for there is nothing that girls and boys are more afraid of than this reputation of never having dirtied their pinafores; while their mother, with the easy conviction of a woman so full of sons and daughters that she is glad, whenever she can, to shirk her responsibilities, said:
“Well, that is true enough: a young man should not be encumbered42 with an old woman; and if I were Mrs. Methven——”
“But thank Heaven, you are not at all like Mrs. Methven,” said Julia. “She is always after that unfortunate boy. It did not matter where he went, he was never free of her. Sitting up for him, fancy! making him give her an account of everything. He had to count up how many times he came to see me.”
“Which perhaps would be difficult,” some one said.
Julia laughed—that laugh of triumph which disturbs feminine nerves.
“He did come pretty often,” she said, “poor fellow. Oh, most innocently! to get me to play his accompaniments. Don’t you know he sings? Oh, yes, very tolerably: if he would but open his mouth, I used to tell him; but some people like to be scolded, I think.”
“By you,” said the attendant in an undertone.
Julia gave him a look which repaid him.
“I always had to take his part. Poor Walter!” she said with a sigh. “And then when I had him by myself I scolded him. Isn’t that the right way? I used to get into great trouble about that boy,” she added. “When one has known a person all one’s life one can’t help taking an interest——And he was so mismanaged in his youth.”
“Here is a Daniel come to judgment,” said Jeanie Campbell: “so much wiser than the rest of us. Lord Erradeen must be years older than you are. Let us call, mother, all the same, and see what sort of a dragon she is.”
“I shall call, of course,” the mother said; “and I don’t want to hear anything about dragons. I am one too, I suppose. Thank you, Oona, for telling me. I should not like to be wanting in politeness. Your mother will be going to-morrow, I shouldn’t wonder? Well, we shall go the next day, girls. Erradeen marches with Ellermore, and I know your father wishes to pay every respect.”
“I suppose when you’re a lord,” said Tom, who was very far down in the family, and of no account, “you can go upon a rule of your own; but it would be far greater fun for Erradeen if he would mix himself up more with other people. Did anybody ever find out who that fellow was that was staying with him? Braithwaite thought he must be something very fine indeed—a foreign prince, or that sort. He said such a fellow couldn’t be English without being well known. It seems he knew everybody, and everything you could think of. A tremendous swell43, according to Braithwaite. Oona, who was he? you ought to know.”
At this all eyes turned to Oona, who grew red in spite of herself.
“I have no way of knowing,” she said. “I saw such a person once—but I never heard who he was.”
“I am not superstitious,” said Mrs. Campbell, “but there are people seen about that old castle that—make your blood run cold. No, I never saw anything myself; but your father says——”
“My father never met this fellow,” cried Tom. “He wasn’t a fellow to make any mistake about. Neither old nor young—oh, yes, oldish: between forty and fifty; as straight as a rod, with eyes that go through and through you; and a voice—I think Erradeen himself funks him. Yes, I do. He turned quite white when he heard his voice.”
“There are all kinds of strange stories about that old castle,” said one of the Campbell sisters in an explanatory tone, addressing Julia. “You must not be astonished if you hear of unearthly lights, and some dreadful ordeal44 the heir has to go through, and ghosts of every description.”
“I wish, Jeanie,” said Tom, “when a fellow asks a question, that you would not break in with your nonsense. Who is talking of ghosts? I am asking who a fellow was—a very fine gentleman, I can tell you; something you don’t see the like of often——” The young man was much offended by his sister’s profanity. He went to the door with Oona, fuming45. “These girls never understand,” he said; “they make a joke of everything. This was one of the grandest fellows I ever saw—and then they come in with their rubbish about ghosts!”
“Never mind,” Oona said, giving him her hand. The conversation somehow had been more than she herself could bear, and she had come away with a sense of perplexity and indignation. Tom, who was hot and indignant too, was more in sympathy with her than the others who talked about ghosts, which made her angry she could scarcely tell why.
“Let me walk with you,” said Julia Herbert, following. “I have sent Major Antrobus to look after the carriage. He is a friend of my cousin Sir Thomas, and supposed to be a great sportsman, but not so devoted46 to slaughter47 as was hoped. Instead of slaughtering48, he is slaughtered49, Lady Herbert says. I am sure I don’t know by whom. Do let me walk with you a little way. It is so nice to be with you.” Julia looked into Oona’s face with something of the ingratiating air which she assumed to her victims of the other sex. “Dear Miss Forrester——” and then she stopped with a laugh. “I don’t dare to call you by your Christian50 name.”
“It must be I then that am the dragon, though I did not know it,” Oona said; but she did not ask to be called by her Christian name.
“I see—you are angry with me for what I said of Mrs. Methven. It is quite true, however; that is the kind of woman she is. But I don’t excuse Walter, for all that. He was very wicked to her. Ever since he was a boy at school he has been nasty to his mother. Everybody says it is her own fault, but still it was not nice of him, do you think? Oh, I think him very nice, in many ways. I have known him so long. He has always been most agreeable to me—sometimes too agreeable,” said Julia with a smile, pausing, dwelling51 upon the recollection. “But his mother and he never got on. Sometimes those that are the very nicest out of doors are rather disagreeable at home. Haven’t you seen that? Oh, I have, a hundred times. Of course the mother is sure to be to blame. She ought to have made a cheerful home for him, you know, and asked young people, and cheerful people, instead of a set of fogies. But she never would do that. She expected him to put up with her old-fashioned ways.”
Oona made no reply. She was disturbed in the ideal that had been rising within her—an ideal not all made up of sunshine and virtue52, but where at least the darker shades were of a more elevated description than petty disobediences on one hand and exactions on the other. Life becomes mean and small when dragged down to this prosaic53 level, which was the natural level in Julia’s mind, not pitiful and debasing, as it appeared to Oona. As there was no response to what she had said, Julia resumed, putting her hand with a great show of affection within Oona’s arm.
“I want you to let me be your friend,” she said, “and I don’t want you to be deceived. I fear you think too well of people; and when you hear anything against them, then you feel displeased54. Oh, yes, I know. You are not pleased with me for telling the truth about the Methvens.”
“I wonder rather,” said Oona, somewhat coldly, “that being so much a friend of Lord Erradeen you should—betray him; for we should never have known this without you.”
“Oh, betray him; what hard words!” cried Julia, making believe to shrink and hide her face. “I would not betray him for worlds, poor dear Walter, if I had a secret of his. But this is no secret at all,” she added, with a laugh; “everybody knows they never got on. And between ourselves, Walter has been a sad bad boy. Oh, yes, there is no doubt about it. I know more of the world than a gentle creature like you, and I know that no man is very good. Oh, don’t say a word, for you don’t understand. There are none of them very good. What goes on when they are knocking about the world—we don’t know what it is: but it is no good. Everybody that knows human nature knows that. But Walter has gone further, you know, than the ordinary. Oh, he has been a bad boy. He took up with Captain Underwood before he knew anything about Kinloch Houran, while he was not much more than a boy: and everybody knows what Captain Underwood is. He has gambled and betted, and done a great many still more dreadful things. And poor Mrs. Methven scolded and cried and nagged55: and that has made everything worse.”
Oona’s countenance56 changed very much during this conversation. It flushed and paled, and grew stern with indignation, and quivered with pity. It seemed to her that all that was said must be true: it had not the air of an invention. She asked, with a trembling voice, “If this is so, how is it that you still care for him? still——” she would have said—pursue him; but Oona’s womanly instincts were too strong for this, and she faltered57 and paused, and said, feebly, “still—keep him in your thoughts?”
“Oh, we must not be too hard, you know,” said Julia, smiling; “a man must sow his wild oats. Oh, I should myself had I been a man. I should not have been content with your humdrum58 life. I should have stormed all over the place and had a taste of everything. Don’t you think it is better for them when they have been downright bad? I do; it makes them more humble59. They know, if you came to inquire into them, there would not be a word to say for them. I think it is a good thing, for my part; I don’t mind. I am not afraid of it. But still it must be confessed that Walter has been, oh! very bad! and unkind to his mother; not what people call a good son. And what is the use of her coming here? She is coming only to spoil sport, to poke5 her nose into everything. I have no patience with that kind of woman. Now I can see in your face you are quite shocked with me. You think it is I who am bad. But you know I have taken a great fancy to you, and I want you to know.”
“I have no wish to know,” said Oona. She had grown very pale—with the feeling of having been out in a storm and exposed to the beating of remorseless rain, the fierce hail that sometimes sweeps the hills. She heard Julia’s laugh ringing through like something fiendish in the midst of her suffering. She was glad to escape, though beaten down and penetrated60 by the bitter storm. The silence was grateful to her, and to feel herself alone. She scarcely doubted that it was all true. There was something in Miss Herbert’s tone which brought conviction with it: the levity61 and indulgence were abhorrent62 to Oona, but they sounded true. Julia pressed her hand as she turned back, saying something about Major Antrobus and the carriage, with a laugh at Oona’s startled looks, “Don’t look so pale; you are too sensitive. It is nothing more than all of them do. Good-bye, dear,” Julia said. She bent63 forward with a half-offer of a kiss, from which Oona shrank: and then went away laughing, calling out, “People will think you have seen one of those ghosts.”
A ghost! Oona went upon her way, silent, aching in heart and spirit. What was a ghost, as they said, in comparison? No ghost but must know secrets that would at the least make levity and irreverence64 impossible. Nothing but a human voice could mock and jibe65 at that horror and mystery of evil before which Oona’s spirit trembled. She had walked some way alone upon the daylight road, with the wholesome66 wind blowing in her face, and the calm of nature restoring her to composure, but not relieving the ache in her heart, before she came to the edge of the bank, and called in her clear voice to Hamish in the boat.
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1
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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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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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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avow
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| v.承认，公开宣称 | |
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fathoming
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| 测量 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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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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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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complexions
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| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
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scones
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| n.烤饼，烤小圆面包( scone的名词复数 ) | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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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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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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48
slaughtering
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的现在分词 ) | |
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slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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52
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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53
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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nagged
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| adj.经常遭责怪的；被压制的；感到厌烦的；被激怒的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的过去式和过去分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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humdrum
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| adj.单调的，乏味的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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abhorrent
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| adj.可恶的，可恨的，讨厌的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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irreverence
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| n.不尊敬 | |
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jibe
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| v.嘲笑，与...一致，使转向；n.嘲笑，嘲弄 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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