The broad Dee Water floated silently by, murmuring a little after the rains; mostly silent however—the water lapping against the reeds and fretting5 the low cavernous banks when the wind blew hard, but on the whole slipping past with a certain large peace and attentive6 stateliness.
My brother Hob abode7 with me in the manse of Balmaghie to be my man. It was great good fortune thus to keep him; and in{145} the coming troublous days I ken8 not what I should have done without his good counsel and strongly willing right hand. My father and mother came over to see me on the old pony9 from Ardarroch, my mother riding on a pillion behind my father, and both of them ready on the sign of the least brae to get off and walk most of the way, with the bridle10 over my father’s arm, while my mother discoursed11 of the terrible thing it was to have two of your sons so far from home, strangers, as it were, in a strange land.
It had not seemed so terrible to her when we went to Edinburgh, both because she had never been to the city herself, and never intended to go. On these occasions Hob and I had passed out of sight along the green road to Balmaclellan on the way to Minnyhive, and there was an end of us till the spring, save for the little presents which came by the carrier, and the letters I had to write every fortnight.
But this parish of Balmaghie! It was a far cry and a coarse road, said my mother, and she was sure that we both took our lives in our hands each time that we went across its uncanny pastures.
Nevertheless, once there, she did not halt{146} nor slacken till she had taken in hand the furniture and plenishing of the manse, and brought some kind of order out of the piled and tortured confusion, which had been the best that Hob and I could attain12.
“Keep us, laddies!” she cried, after the first hopeless look at our handiwork. “I canna think on either o’ ye takin’ a wife. Yet I’m feared that a wife ye maun get atween ye. For I canna thole to let ye gang on this wild gate, wi’ the minister’s meal o’ meat to ready, and only gomeril Hob to do it.”
“Then ye’ll let Anna come to bide13 with us for a while, if ye are so vexed14 for us,” I said, to try her.
“Na, indeed, I canna do that. Anna is needed at hame where she is. There’s your faither now—he’s grown that bairnly he thinks there can be nae guid grass in the meadow that Anna’s foot treads not on. The hens wouldna lay, the kye wouldna let doon their milk withoot Anna. Ardarroch stands on the braeface because ’tis anchored doon wi’ Anna. Saw ye ever sic a fyke made aboot a lass?”
“Quintin has!” said Hob with intention, for which I did not thank him.
“What!” cried my mother, instantly taking{147} fire, “hae some o’ the impudent15 queans o’ Balmaghie been settin’ their caps at him already?”
“There ye are, mither,” said Hob, “ye speak bravely aboot Quintin gettin’ married. But as soon as we speak aboot ony lass—plaff, ye gang up like a waft16 o’ tow thrown in the fire.”
“I wad like to see the besom that wad make up to my Quintin!” said my mother, her indignation beginning to simmer down.
“Then come over to the Drum——” he was beginning.
“Hob,” said I, sternly, “that is enough.”
And when I spoke17 to him thus Hob was amenable18 enough.
“Aweel, mither!” continued Hob in an injured tone, “ye speak aboot mairrying. Quintin there, ye say, is to get mairried. But how can he get mairried withoot a lass that is fond o’ him? It juist canna be done, at least no in the parish o’ Balmaghie.”
It was my intent to accompany my father and mother back to Ardarroch in name of an escort, but, in truth, chiefly that I might accept the invitation of the laird of Earlstoun and once more see Mary Gordon, the lass{148} whose image I had carried so long on my heart.
For, strange as it may appear, when she went forth19 from the kirk that day she left a look behind her which went straight to my heart. It was like a dart20 thrown at random21 which sticks and is lost, yet inly rankles22 and will not let itself be forgotten.
I tried to shut the desire of seeing her again out of my heart. But do what I could this was not to be. It would rise, coming between me and the very paper on which I wrote my sermon, before I began to learn to mandate23. When the sun looked over the water in the morning and shone on the globed pearls of dew in the hollow palms of the broad dockleaves on the gracious clover blooms, and on the bending heads of the spiked24 grasses, I rejoiced to think that he shone also on Earlstoun and the sunny head of a fairer and more graceful25 flower.
God forgive a sinful man! At these times I ought to have been thinking of something else. But when a man carries such an earthly passion in his heart, all the panoply26 of heavenly love is impotent to restrain thoughts that fly swift as the light from hilltop to hilltop at the sun-rising.{149}
So I went home for a day or two to Ardarroch, where with a kind of gratitude27 I stripped my coat and fell to the building of dykes28 about the home park, and the mending of mangers and corn-chests with hammer and nail, till my mother remonstrated29. “Quintin, are ye not ashamed, you with a parish of hungry souls to be knockin’ at hinges and liftin’ muckle stanes on the hillsides o’ Ardarroch?”
But Anna kept close to me all these days, understanding my mood. We had always loved one another, she and I. I had used to say that it was Anna who ought to have been the minister; for her eyes were full of a fair and gracious light, the gentle outshining of a true spirit within. And as for me, after I had been with her awhile, in that silence of sympathy, I was a better and a stronger man—at least, one less unfit for holy office.
Right gladly would I have taken Anna back with me to the manse of Balmaghie, but I knew well that she would not go.
“Quintin,” she was wont30 to say, “our faither and mither are not so young as they once were. My faither forgets things whiles, and the herd31 lads are not to trust to. David there is for ever on the trot32 to this farm-town and{150} that other—to the clachan o’ St. John, to the New Town of Galloway, or to Balmaclellan—’tis all one to him. He cannot bide at home after the horses are out of the collar and the chain drops from the swingle-tree into the furrow33.”
“But some day ye will find a lad for yourself, Anna, and then you will also be leaving Ardarroch and the auld34 folk behind ye.”
My sister smiled a quiet smile and her eyes were far away.
“Maybe—maybe,” she said, temperately35, “but that day is not yet.”
“Has never a lad come wooin’ ye, Anna? Was there not Johnny of Ironmacanny, Peter Tait frae the Bogue, or——”
“Aye,” said Anna, “they cam’ and they gaed away to ither lasses that were readier to loe them. For I never saw a lad yet that I could like as well as my great silly brother who should be thinking more concerning his sermon-making than about putting daft thoughts into the heads of maidens36.”
After this there was silence between us for a while. We had been sitting in the barn with both doors open. The wide arch to the front, opening out into the quadrangle of the courtyard,{151} let in a cool drawing sough of air, and the smaller door at the back let it out again, and gave us at the same time a sweet eye-blink into the orchard37, where the apples were hanging mellow38 and pleasant on the branches, and the leaves hardly yet loosening themselves for their fall. The light sifted39 through the leaves from the westering sun, dappling the grass and wavering upon the hard-beaten earthen floor of the barn.
“I am going over by to Earlstoun!” I said to Anna, without looking up.
Anna and I spoke but half our talks out loud. We had been such close comrades all our lives that we understood much without needing to clothe our thoughts in words.
Apparently40 Anna did not hear what I said, so I repeated it.
“Dinna,” was all she answered.
“And wherefore should I not?” I persisted, argumentatively. “The laird most kindly invited me, indeed laid it on me like an obligation that I should come.”
“Ye are going over to Earlstoun to see the laird?”
“Why, yes,” I said; “that is, he has a desire to see me. He is the greatest of all the{152} Covenant41 men, and we have much in common to speak about.”
“To-morrow he will be riding by to the market at Kirkcudbright, where he has business. Ye can ride with him to the cross roads of Clachan Pluck and talk all that your heart desires of Kirk and State.”
“Anna,” said I, seriously, “I tell you again I am going to the house of Earlstoun to-morrow.”
In a moment she dropped her pretence42 of banter43.
“Quintin, ye will only make your heart the sorer, laddie.”
“And wherefore?” said I.
“See the sparkle on the water out there,” she said, pointing to the bosom3 of Loch Ken far below us, seen through the open door of the barn; “it’s bonny. But can ye gather it in your hand, or wear it in your bosom? Dear and delightsome is this good smell of apples and of orchard freshness, but can ye fold these and carry them with you to the bare manse of Balmaghie for comfort to your heart? No more can ye take the haughtiness44 of the great man’s daughter, the glance of proud eyes, the heart of one accustomed to obedience45, and{153} bring them into subjection to a poor man’s necessities.”
“Love can do all,” said I, sententiously.
“Aye,” she said, “where love is, it can indeed work all things. But I bid ye remember that love dwells not yet in Mary Gordon’s breast for any man. Hers is not a heart to bend. For rank or fame she may give herself, but not for love.”
“Nevertheless,” said I, “I will go to the house of Earlstoun to-morrow at ten o’ the clock.”
Anna rose and laid her hand on mine.
“I kenned46 it,” she said, “and little would I think of you, brother of mine, if ye had ta’en my excellent advice.”
点击收听单词发音
1 snug | |
adj.温暖舒适的,合身的,安全的;v.使整洁干净,舒适地依靠,紧贴;n.(英)酒吧里的私房 | |
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2 beeches | |
n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 );山毛榉木材 | |
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3 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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4 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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5 fretting | |
n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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6 attentive | |
adj.注意的,专心的;关心(别人)的,殷勤的 | |
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7 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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8 ken | |
n.视野,知识领域 | |
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9 pony | |
adj.小型的;n.小马 | |
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10 bridle | |
n.笼头,束缚;vt.抑制,约束;动怒 | |
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11 discoursed | |
演说(discourse的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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12 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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13 bide | |
v.忍耐;等候;住 | |
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14 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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15 impudent | |
adj.鲁莽的,卑鄙的,厚颜无耻的 | |
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16 waft | |
v.飘浮,飘荡;n.一股;一阵微风;飘荡 | |
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17 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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18 amenable | |
adj.经得起检验的;顺从的;对负有义务的 | |
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19 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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20 dart | |
v.猛冲,投掷;n.飞镖,猛冲 | |
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21 random | |
adj.随机的;任意的;n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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22 rankles | |
v.(使)痛苦不已,(使)怨恨不已( rankle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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23 mandate | |
n.托管地;命令,指示 | |
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24 spiked | |
adj.有穗的;成锥形的;有尖顶的 | |
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25 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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26 panoply | |
n.全副甲胄,礼服 | |
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27 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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28 dykes | |
abbr.diagonal wire cutters 斜线切割机n.堤( dyke的名词复数 );坝;堰;沟 | |
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29 remonstrated | |
v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 );告诫 | |
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30 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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31 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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32 trot | |
n.疾走,慢跑;n.老太婆;现成译本;(复数)trots:腹泻(与the 连用);v.小跑,快步走,赶紧 | |
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33 furrow | |
n.沟;垄沟;轨迹;车辙;皱纹 | |
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34 auld | |
adj.老的,旧的 | |
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35 temperately | |
adv.节制地,适度地 | |
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36 maidens | |
处女( maiden的名词复数 ); 少女; 未婚女子; (板球运动)未得分的一轮投球 | |
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37 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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38 mellow | |
adj.柔和的;熟透的;v.变柔和;(使)成熟 | |
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39 sifted | |
v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 );筛滤;细查;详审 | |
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40 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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41 covenant | |
n.盟约,契约;v.订盟约 | |
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42 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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43 banter | |
n.嘲弄,戏谑;v.取笑,逗弄,开玩笑 | |
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44 haughtiness | |
n.傲慢;傲气 | |
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45 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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46 kenned | |
v.知道( ken的过去式和过去分词 );懂得;看到;认出 | |
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