The guest looked at Audry, who came in first. “Is that your daughter?” he said to Richard Mowbray. “By my troth, sir, but you have cause to be proud of her.”
Master Mowbray presented the child and she louted[23] low and went to her place. Meanwhile, Mistress Mowbray had signed to Aline to be seated. When Master Cleveland looked across again he saw Aline and started visibly. He did not as a rule take the least interest in children, but this was a revelation. “I did not know that you had two daughters,” he said, and was going to say something further, when Mistress Mowbray, who had noticed his pleased surprise, cut him short by saying: “She is Master Mowbray’s cousin, a Gillespie, her great grandmother married one of those Scots; the family of course came to grief and Richard seems to think it is his business to see after her. But you would254 not believe the trouble she is, to look at her. It’s amazing how sly and dishonest some girls can be. I have something to say to you later, Aline, about what I found in your room this morning.”
23 The “lout” was the predecessor1 of the curtsey.
Aline shook and looked terrified, to Mistress Mowbray’s joy, who was delighted at confusing her before the stranger.
Master Cleveland felt his heart fill with enmity toward Mistress Mowbray. “I am sure that woman is a liar,” he said to himself, and he could hardly take his eyes off Aline all through the meal, except for an occasional glance at Audry, who also fascinated him not a little.
“Well, I shall never think children uninteresting again,” he thought, “if ever they can look like that. ’Sdeath, I should like to see those two when they grow up, they will be fine women. That Gillespie girl is quite uncanny,—simply to look at her makes one feel a low born brute2. Widow Pelham shall have a new cottage, by my halidame she shall; and Jock Mostyn shall have a pension. God in heaven, what a face, and what hands! I did not know there were such hands.”
After dinner Mistress Mowbray went with her guest and Master Richard through the Hall and the gardens, and the children escaped.
Cleveland saw Aline again for a moment. He was coming back from the garden and she nearly ran into him. “I cry you mercy, Master,” she said.
“Then give me some Michaelmas daisies as a token of repentance,” he said laughing.
There was a magnificent show of huge blooms along one of the quaint4 old paths, so she ran and gathered255 them and held them out. He took them from her hand with a ceremonious bow and put them in his bonnet5. “My favour!” he said, “it is a pity there is no tourney, little lady. Mother of God,” he added to himself, “it’s time I turned over a new leaf.”
At supper Mistress Mowbray said nothing to Aline, because her husband was present. He for his part saw that the child was looking unhappy, but had forgotten the remark at dinner, as Mistress Mowbray was always saying sharp things; so he tried to enliven her.
“Thou hast never read to me again, little one, to-morrow thou must read something from one of those old books that thou hast found in the library.”
Aline trembled; then Cousin Richard knew too, she thought. What should she do with herself?
“Methinks I would as lief have some more Malory,” he went on, “and Audry would like that too, or mayhap ye would like to ride over to Stanhope with me, what think ye, the two of you?”
Aline breathed again. Then perhaps he did not know after all. “I would fain go to Stanhope,” she said.
“So would I,” said Audry, as both the children saw that it might put off the evil day with Mistress Mowbray. “It will be our last chance of a good ride before the winter, it may come any time now.”
The next morning therefore, the three rode over the moors6 to Stanhope. It was a glorious day and Aline for a time forgot her troubles.
The day following they had to go in to Middleton Market, so it was not till after rere-supper that Eleanor Mowbray took Aline apart and said,—“Come with me, I want to speak with you.”
256
Aline’s heart sank.
“I want to know,” Mistress Mowbray began, “what you mean by taking such liberties in my house? I have told you what you may have and what you may not have, and you dare to take things to which you have no right.”
Aline hung her head.
“You may well look ashamed, you young hussie, but I tell you there is going to be an end to this kind of thing. I cannot think why Master Mowbray interfered8 with my arrangements about the library, when I had forbidden you to go in, but he will not interfere7 this time I’ll warrant you.
“I went up into your room yesterday and found there a length of fine new linen9. What business have you to be buying fine linen withal, when I say that any coarse dowlas is good enough for you? When you are in this house you will crave10 my leave before you do such things; you will do as I say and dress as I say or, certes, I will know wherefore.”
Aline felt relieved. After all it was only the linen and Mistress Mowbray even thought she had bought it; but the angry dame3 went on;—“The more I see of you the more I mislike your conduct and I do not care for such baggage to associate with my daughter. It would be my will to turn you from the house, but Master Mowbray sheweth a foolish kindness toward you, so I have compacted with my sister Anne that Audry shall go over to Appleby right speedily and pay her a long visit. She hath ever wanted to have the child there and it will be an opportunity for Audry to come to know her respectable cousins, and meanwhile I can keep you more under my eye.”
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Poor little Aline. At the moment this seemed more terrible even than anything that could have happened if the book had been discovered.
“Moreover,” said Mistress Mowbray, “you are getting too much of the fine lady altogether, you seem to forget that you are not a member of this family and that your position should in sooth be that of a menial.”
Eleanor Mowbray calculated that, with Audry out of the way, it would be more possible for her to wreak11 her spite on the child without it being known. Why should this pauper12 dependent, this mere13 skelpie, dare to thwart14 her will? Master Gower and Master Latour indeed! should she not be mistress in her own house? And by way of further justification15, was not Aline depriving Audry of her birthright, since, attracted as all undoubtedly16 were by Audry, they were attracted by Aline still more?
She then sent for Audry and Aline escaped to her room and flung herself on her bed. She was too heartbroken even to cry and could only moan piteously,—“Oh, Father dear, why did you go away and leave your little girl all alone in the world?” She then took out the miniatures of her father and mother and gazed at them. “Mother dear, when Father was alive, your little motherless girl could be happy; but now it is so very hard; but she will try to be brave.” She then knelt down and prayed, and after that the unnatural17 tension passed and the tears flowed freely, so that when Audry came up to their room she was calmer.
“I call it a downright shame,” said Audry. “If I am to go to Aunt Anne, why should not you come too? Aline, dear, I cannot bear to go away without you. I258 think I love you more than any one else in the world. Of course I shall have my cousins, but, oh! I shall miss you; and you will be so lonely.”
“Yes, but grieve not, Audry, darling, you will come back again, and in sooth you should have a good time and Master Mowbray anyway will be kind to me and so will Elspeth.”
“But that is not the same thing at all; there will be no one even to brush your hair, so this will be almost the last time.”
The children were by now half undressed and Audry with the assistance of the new comb went through the somewhat lengthy18 process of brushing and combing the wonderful hair that reached nearly to Aline’s knees.
When Aline had done the same to her, they put on their bed-gowns and Audry said, “You must sleep with me to-night.” So Aline got into her bed and although they both cried a little, they were soon asleep locked in each other’s arms. The moon peeped in and lit up the picture with a streak19 of light, which fell where one of Aline’s beautiful hands with its delicate fingers and perfect skin lay out on the coverlet. No one but the moon saw the picture, but she perhaps understood neither its beauty nor its pathos20.
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1
predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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4
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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5
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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6
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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7
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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8
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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9
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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10
crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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11
wreak
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| v.发泄；报复 | |
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12
pauper
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| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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13
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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14
thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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15
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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16
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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17
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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18
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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19
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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20
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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