“No, no!” she cried. “You must not hinder me. If I can’t drive, I will walk! I would go to the child to-night, if I had to crawl on my hands and knees! I promised her mother to look after her. How could I stay at home and think of her lying there? Oh, children, children, pray for Peggy! Pray that she may be spared, and that her poor parents may be spared this awful—awful news!”
Then she kissed her own girls, clasped them to her in a passionate4 embrace, and drove off to the Larches in the carriage which had brought the young people home.
Lady Darcy came out to meet her, and gripped her hand in welcome.
“You have come! I knew you would. I am so thankful to see you. The doctor has come, and will stay all night. He has sent for a nurse—”
“And—my Peggy?”
Lady Darcy’s lips quivered.
“Very, very ill—much worse than Rosalind! Her poor little arms! I was so wicked, I thought it was her fault, and I had no pity, and now it seems that she has saved my darling’s life. They can’t tell us about it yet, but it was she who wrapped the curtain round Rosalind, and burned herself in pressing out the flames. Rosalind kept crying, ‘Peggy! Peggy!’ and we thought she meant that it was Peggy’s fault. We had heard so much of her mischievous5 tricks. My husband found her lying on the floor. She was unconscious; but she came round when they were dressing6 her arms. I think she will know you—”
“Take me to her, please!” Mrs Asplin said quickly. She had to wait several moments before she could control her voice sufficiently7 to add, “And Rosalind, how is she?”
“There is no danger. Her neck is scarred, and her hair singed8 and burned. She is suffering from the shock, but the doctor says it is not serious. Peggy—”
She paused, and the other walked on resolutely9, not daring to ask for the termination of that sentence. She crept into the little room, bent10 over the bed, and looked down on Peggy’s face through a mist of tears. It was drawn11 and haggard with pain, and the eyes met hers without a ray of light in their hollow depths. That she recognised was evident, but the pain which she was suffering was too intense to leave room for any other feeling. She lay motionless, with her bandaged arms stretched before her, and her face looked so small and white against the pillow that Mrs Asplin trembled to think how little strength was there to fight against the terrible shock and strain. Only once in all that long night did Peggy show any consciousness of her surroundings, but then her eyes lit up with a gleam of remembrance, her lips moved, and Mrs Asplin bent down to catch the faintly whispered words—
“The twenty-sixth—next Monday! Don’t tell Arthur!”
“‘The twenty-sixth!’ What is that, darling? Ah, I remember—Arthur’s examination! You mean if he knew you were ill, it would upset him for his work?”
An infinitesimal movement of the head answered “Yes,” and she gave the promise in trembling tones—
“No, my precious, we won’t tell him. He could not help, and it would only distress12 you to feel that he was upset. Don’t trouble about it, darling. It will be all right.”
Then Peggy shut her eyes and wandered away into a strange world, in which accustomed things disappeared, and time was not, and nothing remained but pain and weariness and mystery. Those of us who have come near to death have visited this world too, and know the blackness of it, and the weary waking.
Peggy lay in her little white bed, and heard voices speaking in her ear, and saw strange shapes flit to and fro. Quite suddenly, as it appeared, a face would be bending over her own, and as she watched it with languid curiosity, wondering what manner of thing it could be, it would melt away and vanish in the distance. At other times again it would grow larger and larger, until it assumed gigantic proportions, and she cried out in fear of the huge, saucer-like eyes. There was a weary puzzle in her brain, an effort to understand, but everything seemed mixed up and incomprehensible. She would look round the room and see the sunshine peeping in through the chinks of the blinds, and when she closed her eyes for a moment—just a single fleeting13 moment—lo! the gas was lit, and someone was nodding in a chair by her side. And it was by no means always the same room. She was tired, and wanted badly to rest, yet she was always rushing about here, there, and everywhere, striving vainly to dress herself in clothes which fell off as soon as they were fastened, hurrying to catch a train to reach a certain destination; but in each instance the end was the same—she was falling, falling, falling—always falling—from the crag of an Alpine14 precipice15, from the pinnacle16 of a tower, from the top of a flight of stairs. The slip and the terror pursued her wherever she went; she would shriek17 aloud, and feel soft hands pressed on her cheeks, soft voices murmuring in her ear.
One vision stood out plainly from those nightmare dreams—the vision of a face which suddenly appeared in the midst of the big grey cloud which enveloped18 her on every side—a beautiful face which was strangely like, and yet unlike, something she had seen long, long ago in a world which she had well-nigh forgotten. It was pale and thin, and the golden hair fell in a short curly crop on the blue garment which was swathed over the shoulders. It was like one of the heads of celestial19 choir-boys which she had seen on Christmas cards and in books of engravings, yet something about the eyes and mouth seemed familiar. She stared at it curiously20, and then suddenly a strange, weak little voice faltered21 out a well-known name.
“Rosalind!” it cried, and a quick exclamation22 of joy sounded from the side of the bed. Who had spoken? The first voice had been strangely like her own, but at an immeasurable distance. She shut her eyes to think about it, and the fair-haired vision disappeared, and was seen no more.
There was a big, bearded man also who came in from time to time, and Peggy grew to dread23 his appearance, for with it came terrible stabbing pain, as if her whole body were on the rack. He was one of the Spanish Inquisitors, of whom she had read, and she was an English prisoner whom he was torturing! Well, he might do his worst! She would die before she would turn traitor24 and betray her flag and country. The Savilles were a fighting race, and would a thousand times rather face death than dishonour25.
One day, when she felt rather stronger than usual, she told him so to his face, and he laughed—she was quite sure he laughed, the hard-hearted wretch26! And someone else said, “Poor little love!” which was surely an extraordinary expression for a Spanish Inquisitor. That was one of the annoying things in this new life—people were so exceedingly stupid in their conversation! Now and again she herself had something which she was especially anxious to say, and when she set it forth27 with infinite difficulty and pains the only answer which she received was a soothing28, “Yes, dear, yes!”
“No, dear, no!” or a still more maddening, “Yes, darling, I quite understand!”—which she knew perfectly29 well to be an untruth. Really, these good people seemed to think that she was demented, and did not know what she was saying. As a matter of fact, it was exactly the other way about; but she was too tired to argue. And then one day came a sleep when she neither dreamt nor slipped nor fell, but opened her eyes refreshed and cheerful, and beheld30 Mrs Asplin sitting by a table drinking tea and eating what appeared to be a particularly tempting31 slice of cake.
“I want some cake!” she said clearly; and Mrs Asplin jumped as if a cannon32 had been fired off at her ear, and rushed breathlessly to the bedside, stuttering and stammering33 in amazement—
“Wh–wh–wh–what?”
“Cake!” repeated Peggy shrilly34. “I want some! And tea! I want my tea!”
Surely it was a very natural request! What else could you expect from a girl who had been asleep and wakened up feeling hungry? What on earth was there in those commonplace words to make a grown-up woman cry like a baby, and why need everyone in the house rush in and stare at her as if she were a figure in a waxwork35? Lord Darcy, Lady Darcy, Rosalind, the old French maid—they were all there—and, as sure as her name was Peggy Saville, they were all four, handkerchief in hand, mopping their eyes like so many marionettes!
Nobody gave her the cake for which she had asked. Peggy considered it exceedingly rude and ill-bred; but while she was thinking of it she grew tired again, and, rolling round into a soft little bundle among the blankets, fell afresh into sweet refreshing36 slumbers37.
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1
larches
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| n.落叶松（木材）( larch的名词复数 ) | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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singed
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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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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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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15
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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pinnacle
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| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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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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22
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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30
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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31
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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32
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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33
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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34
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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35
waxwork
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| n.蜡像 | |
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36
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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37
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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