Mere4 book lore5 never instilled6 virility7 into a man, and Frederick Inglis, B.A., A.M., B.Sc., D.Ph., gilded8 to the last button with the cleverness of the schools, was an amiable9 fellow whose cultured and finnicking exterior10 covered unhappy voids of self-distrust. It had been very well for him so long as he could play with a few new drugs, look quietly clever, and leave the grimness of the responsibility to Murchison. Dr. Inglis had found private practice a pleasant pastime. He had come from the laboratories full to the brim with the latest scientific sensations, and a preconceived pity for the average sawbones in the provinces. He boasted a brilliant air so long as he was second in command. It was possible to pose behind the barrier of another man’s strength.
That same Saturday night Murchison’s highly educated assistant had been dragged out of bed at two in the morning, and taken in a bumping milk-cart to a farm some five miles north of Roxton. His youth had been flouted11 on the very threshold by a stern, keen-eyed woman who had expressed herself dissatisfied with the offer of a juvenile12 opinion. Dr. Inglis had blushed, and rallied his dignity. Dr. Murchison had intrusted the practice to him; what more could a mere farmer’s wife desire?
Above, in a big bed, Dr. Inglis discovered a fat man writhing13 with what appeared to be a prosaic14 and violent colic. A simple case, perhaps, to the lay understanding, but abdominal16 diagnosis17 may be a nightmare to a surgeon. It is like feeling for a pea through the thickness of a pillow.
Two straight-backed, hard-faced, and very awesome18 ladies stood at the bottom of the bed and watched Dr. Inglis with sceptical alertness. The assistant fumbled19, stammered20, and looked hot. The women exchanged glances. A man’s personal fitness is soon gauged21 in a sick-room.
“Well, doctor, what’s your opinion?”
The challenge was given with a tilt22 of the nose and a somewhat suggestive sniff23.
“Abdominal colic, madam. The pain is often very violent.”
“Ah, eh, and what may abdominal colic be due to?”
Dr. Inglis bridled24 at the tone, and attempted the part of Zeus.
“Many causes, very many causes. Mr. Baxter has never had such an attack before, I presume.”
“Never.”
“Yes—how are you feeling, sir?”
“Bad, mighty25 bad,” came the voice from the feather pillows.
The two austere26 women seemed to grow taller and more aggressive.
“Do you think you understand the case, doctor?”
“Madam!”
“I wish Dr. Murchison had come himself; my husband has such faith in him.”
Dr. Inglis grew hot with noble indignation.
“Just as you please,” he said, with hauteur27, yet looking awed28 by the tall women beside the bed. “My qualifications are as good as any man’s in Roxton.”
The conceit29 failed before those two hard and Calvinistic faces.
“I believe in experience, sir; no offence to you.”
“Then you wish me to send for Dr. Murchison?”
“I do.”
And the theoretical youth experienced guilty relief despite the insult to his age and dignity.
Sunday morning came with a flood of gold over Marley Down. The greens and purples were brilliant beyond belief; a blue haze30 covered the distant hills; woodland and pasture glimmered31 in the valleys. The faint chiming of the bells of Roxton stirred the air as Kate Murchison walked the garden before the cottage, looking like one who had been awake all night beside a sick-bed. Her face betrayed lines of exhaustion32, a dulling of the natural freshness, streaks33 of shadow under the eyes. She had that half-blind expression, the expression of those whose thoughts are engrossed34 by sorrow; the trick of seeing without comprehending the significance of the things about her.
She turned suddenly by the gate, and stood looking over the down. The very brilliancy of the summer coloring almost hurt her tired eyes. A familiar sound drowned the Roxton chiming as she listened, and brought a sharp twinge of anxiety to her face. Rounding the pine woods the rakish outline of her husband’s car showed up over the banks of gorse between the cottage and the high-road. The machine came panting over the down, leaving a drifting trail of dust to sully the sunlight. Catherine caught her breath with impatient dread35. This day of all days, when defeat was heavy on her husband! Could they not let him rest? If these selfish sick folk only knew!
Dr. Inglis’s gold-rimmed pince-nez glittered nervously36 over the fence. He was a spare, boyish-looking fellow, with twine-colored hair, weak eyes, and a mouth that attempted resolute37 precision. Catherine hated him for the moment as he lifted his hat, and opened the gate with a deprecating and colorless smile. Dr. Inglis had the air of a young man much worried, one whose self-esteem had been severely38 ruffled39, and who had been forbidden sleep and a hearty40 breakfast.
“Good-morning. A mean thing, I’m sure, to bother Dr. Murchison, but really—”
Catherine met him, looking straight and stanch41 in contrast to the theorist’s faded feebleness.
“What is the matter?”
“Mr. Baxter, of Boland’s Farm, is seriously ill. An obscure case. His wife wishes—”
Catherine foreshadowed what was to come. The assistant appeared to have suffered at the hands of anxious and nagging42 relatives.
“Well?”
“A serious case, I’m afraid. I am sure Dr. Murchison would not wish me to assume all the responsibility. The wife, Mrs. Baxter, is rather an excitable woman—”
His apologetics would have been amusing at any other season. Catherine bit her lip and ignored the limp youth’s deprecating and sensitive distress43.
“They wish to see my husband?”
“Yes; I must suggest, Mrs. Murchison—”
“I understand the matter perfectly44. Dr. Murchison cannot come.”
She was bold, nay45, aggressive, and the theorist looked blank behind his glasses.
“Am I to infer—?”
“Dr. Murchison is not well,” and she hesitated, groping fiercely for excuses; “he has had—I think—some kind of ptomaine poisoning. Yes, he is better now, and asleep. I cannot have him disturbed.”
“Indeed! I am excessively sorry. May I—?”
She saw the proposal quivering on his lips, and beat it back ere it was uttered.
“Thank you, no; you had better call in Dr. Hicks; he will advise you temporarily. Dr. Murchison will be able to resume work, I hope, to-morrow. If the case is very urgent—”
Dr. Inglis tugged46 at his gloves.
“I will send over word,” he said, dejectedly.
“Thank you; you sympathize, I am sure.”
“Of course.” And being a nice youth he showed his consideration by retreating and buttoning his coat up over his burden of incompetence47.
The physical prostration48 of a strong man who has sinned against his body is as nothing to the bitter humiliation49 of his soul. Ethical50 defeat is the most poignant51 of all disasters. Like an athlete who has strained heart and lungs only to be beaten, he feels that anguish52 of exhaustion, that miserable53 sense of impotence, the conviction that his strength has been of no avail. Spiritual defeat has its more subtle agonies. In some such overwhelming of the soul the man may turn his face like Hezekiah to the wall, and refuse to be comforted because of his own shame.
To Catherine her husband’s awakening54 anguish had been pitiable in the extreme. He had lain like one wounded to the death, refusing to be comforted or to be assured of hope. Slowly, as she had sat by him and held his hand, he had told her everything, blurting55 out the confession56 with a sullen57 yet desperate self-hate. The very pathos58 of her trust in him, the divine quickness in her to forgive, had been as girdles of thorn about his body. What had he done to justify59 her love? Disgraced and humiliated60 her in this haven61 of rest her hands had made for him!
To appreciate to the full the irony62 of life, a man has but to be unfortunate for—perhaps—three days. It was about four in the afternoon when Catherine, sitting beside her husband’s bed, heard the unwelcome panting of the car. The man Gage63 had driven fast from Boland’s Farm. He had a letter from Dr. Inglis, an urgent message, so he had been told.
Catherine met him at the gate, and took the letter to her husband.
“A message, dear, from Dr. Inglis.”
He reached for it with a hand that trembled, his eyes faltering64 from her face. She sat down by the bed, watching him silently as he tore open the envelope and read the letter.
“Dear Murchison,—Please come over at once, if possible. Hicks has diagnosed acute internal strangulated hernia. He has been called off to a midwifery case. The relatives are getting out of hand. I think an immediate65 operation will be necessary. I have been to Lombard Street, and got the instruments together.
“Inglis.”
The jerky, straggling sentences betrayed the theorist’s loss of nerve and self-control. It was evident that the gentleman with the gilded degrees was in no enviable panic.
“Well, dear?”
She bent66 over him, and touched his forehead.
“I shall have to go,” he said, sombrely.
“Go, but you are not fit!”
He sat up in bed, looked at her, and gave a wry67 and miserable smile.
“If I had not been such an infernal fool! The last time, Kate, I swear!”
She caught the letter and read it through.
“Inglis is a miserable thing to lean on.”
“Don’t blame the youngster. At least he is sober.”
She winced69, as though his self-condemnation hurt her, and surrendering her fortitude70 of a sudden, broke out into tears. Murchison looked at her helplessly, feeling like a man bound and chained by the shame of his own manhood. He felt himself unworthy to touch her, too much humiliated even to offer comfort. The very sincerity71 of his self-disgust drove him to action. He sprang out of bed and began to dress.
Catherine, still sobbing72, went to the window and strove to overcome the shuddering73 weakness that had seized her. Her husband’s determination appeared to increase at the expense of her surrender. It was as though they had exchanged moods in a moment, and that the wife’s tears had given the man courage.
“Kate.”
She leaned against the window, and brushed her tears aside with her hand.
“Forgive me, dear. I was a fool, an accursed fool. Never again. Trust me.”
He touched her arm appealingly, like an awed lover who fears to offend. Catherine turned her head and looked at him, her courage shining through her tears.
“Your words hurt me. You called yourself a drunkard. No, no, you are not that. Oh, my beloved, I need you now—and you must go.”
His arms were round her in an instant.
“Wife, look up. God help me, I will conquer the curse! How can I fail, with you?”
“Never again?—swear it.”
“Never. It was a trick of the brain, a damned piece of moral vanity. And I am a man who advises others!”
She turned, and, standing15 before the glass, pinned on her hat and threw her dust cloak round her.
“I will come with you.”
“Where?”
“Home, to the children,” and she gave a great sob68. “Mrs. Graham can look after the cottage. You will want me at home.”
“Wife, I want you always.”
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1
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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bungle
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| v.搞糟；n.拙劣的工作 | |
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slitting
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| n.纵裂（缝）v.切开，撕开( slit的现在分词 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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instilled
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| v.逐渐使某人获得（某种可取的品质），逐步灌输( instill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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virility
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| n.雄劲，丈夫气 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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flouted
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| v.藐视，轻视( flout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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abdominal
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| adj.腹（部）的，下腹的；n.腹肌 | |
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diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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awesome
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| adj.令人惊叹的，难得吓人的，很好的 | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gauged
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| adj.校准的；标准的；量规的；量计的v.（用仪器）测量( gauge的过去式和过去分词 )；估计；计量；划分 | |
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22
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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24
bridled
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的过去式和过去分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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hauteur
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| n.傲慢 | |
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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31
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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33
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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34
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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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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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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41
stanch
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| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
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42
nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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43
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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44
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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45
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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46
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
incompetence
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| n.不胜任，不称职 | |
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48
prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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49
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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50
ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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51
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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52
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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53
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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54
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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55
blurting
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的现在分词 ) | |
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56
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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57
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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59
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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60
humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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61
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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62
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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63
gage
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| n.标准尺寸，规格；量规，量表 [=gauge] | |
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64
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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65
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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66
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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67
wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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68
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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69
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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71
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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72
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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73
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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