A light, white form descended8 from the ridge to the ford9. I needed not the black lace shawl about the head and shoulders to tell me it was she, before a feature or a line could be distinguished10. The blood at every tingling11 finger-tip thrilled the announcement of her coming.
I grasped desperately12 at all I had planned to say—now slipping from me. I felt that she was intrenched in a fixed13 resolve; and I felt that not my life alone,—ready to become a very small matter,—but hers, her true life, depended upon my breaking that resolve. Yet how was I to conquer her, I who at sight of her was at her feet? I knew—with that inner knowledge by which I know God is—that she, the whitest of women, intended unwittingly 169a sin against her body in wedding a man unloved—that she, in my eyes the wisest, most clear-visioned of women, contemplated15 a folly16 beyond words. But how could I so far escape my reverence17 for her as to convict her of this folly and this sin?
But now all my thoughts, words, pleas, sprayed into air. She came—and I stepped into her path, whispering:
“Yvonne!”
She was almost within reach of my hand, had I stretched it out,—but I dared not touch her. She gave the faintest cry. Taken at so sudden a disadvantage, she had not time to mask herself, and her great eyes told for one heart-beat what I knew her lips would have denied. Her fingers locked and unlocked where they caught the black mantilla across her bosom. She stood for an instant motionless; then glanced back up the hill with a desperate fear.
“They will see you!” she half sobbed18. “You will be caught and thrown into prison. Oh, hide yourself, hide at once!”
“Not without you,” I interrupted.
“Then with me!” she cried pantingly, and led the way, almost running, back of the willow19, down a thread of a path, to a hidden place behind a bend of the stream. Glancing back at the last moment, I saw a squad20 of soldiers coming over the hill.
170As soon as she felt that I was safely out of sight and earshot, she turned and faced me with a sudden swift anger.
“Why have you done this? Why have you forced me to this?” she cried.
“Because I love you,” said I slowly. “Because”—
She drew herself up.
“You do not know,” said she, “what I have promised to Monsieur Anderson. I have promised to redeem21 my word to him when he can show you to me safe and well.”
I laughed with sheer joy.
“He shall wait long then,” said I. “Sooner than he should claim the guerdon I will fall upon my sword, though my will is, rather, to live for you, beloved.”
“Had the soldiers seen you and taken you,” said she, in her eagerness forgetting her disguise, “he would have been able to claim me to-morrow. They may yet take you. Oh, go, go at once!”
“They shall not take me. Now that I know you love me, Yvonne,—for you have betrayed it,—my life is, next to yours, the most precious thing to me in the world. I go at once to Quebec to settle my affairs and prepare a home for you. Then I will come,—it will be but in a month or two, when this trouble is overpast,—and I will take you away.”
171Her face, all her form, drooped22 with a sort of weariness, as if her will had been too long taxed.
“You will find me the wife of George Anderson,” she said faintly.
It was as if I had been struck upon the temples. My mouth opened, and shut again without words. First rage, then amazement23, then despair, ran through me in hot surges.
“But—your promise—not till he could show me to you,” I managed to stammer24.
“I gave it in good faith,” she said simply. “I can no longer hold him off by it, for I have seen you safe and well.”
“I am not safe, as you may soon see,” said I fiercely, “and not long shall I be well, as you will learn.” Then, perceiving that this was a sorry kind of threat, and little manly25, I made haste to amend26 it.
“No, no,” I cried, “forget that! But stick to the letter of your promises, I beseech27 you. Why push to go back of that? Unless,” I added, with bitterness, “you want the excuse!”
She shuddered28, and forgot to resent the brutality29.
“Go!” she pleaded. “Save yourself—for my sake—Paul!” And her voice broke.
“That you may wed14 with the clearer conscience!” I went on, merciless in my pain.
She crouched30 down, a drear and pitiful figure, on the slope of sod, and wept silently, her hands 172over her eyes. I looked at her helplessly. I wanted to throw myself at her feet. Then the right thing seemed that I should gather her up into my arms—but I dared not touch her. At last I said, doubtfully:
“But—you love me!”
No answer.
“You do love me, Yvonne?”
She lifted her face, and with a childish bravery dashed off the tears, first with one hand, then the other. She looked me straight in the eyes.
“I do not,” said she, daring the lie. “But you—you disturb me!”
This astonishing remark did not shake my confidence, but it threw me out of my argument. I shifted ground.
“You do not love him!” I exclaimed, lamely31 enough.
“I respect him!” said she, cool now, and controlling the situation. I felt that I had lost my one moment of advantage—the moment when I should have taken her into my arms. Not timidity, but reverence, had balked32 me. My heart turned, as it were, in my breast, with a hot, dumb fury—at myself.
“The respect that cannot breed love for a lover will soon breed contempt,” said I, holding myself hard to mere33 reasoning.
173She ignored this idle answer. She arose and came close up to me.
“Paul,” she said, scarcely above a whisper, “will you save yourself for my sake? If I say—if I say that I do love you a little—that if it could have been different—been you—I should have been—oh, glad, glad!—then will you go, for my sake?”
“No, no indeed!” shouted the heart within me at this confession34. But with hope came cunning. I temporized35.
“And if I go, for your sake,” I asked, “when do you propose to become the wife of the Englishman?”
“Not for a long time, I will promise you,” said she earnestly. “Not for a year—no, not for two years, if you like. Oh,”—with a catch in her voice,—“not till I can feel differently about you, Paul!” And she hung her head at the admission.
“Dear,” I said, “most dear and wonderful, can you not even now see how monstrous36 it would be if I should seem, for a moment, to relinquish37 you to another? Soul and body must tell you you are mine, as I am yours. But your eyes are shut. You are a maid, and you do not realize what it is that I would save you from. It is your very whiteness blinds you, so that you do not see the intolerableness of what they would thrust upon 174you. For you it would be a sin. You do not see it—but you would see it, awaking to the truth when it was too late. From the horror of that awakening38 I must save you. I must”—
But she did not see; though her brain must have comprehended, her body did not; and therefore there could be no real comprehension of a matter so vital. She brushed aside my passionate39 argument, and came close up to me.
“Paul, dear,” she said, “I think I know the beauty of sacrifice. I am sure I know what is right. You cannot shake me. I know what must be in the end. But if you will go and save yourself, I promise that the end shall be far off—so that he may grow angry, and perhaps even set me free, as I have almost asked him to do. But now this is good-by, dear. You shall go. You will not disobey me. But you may say good-by to me. And as once you kissed my feet (they have been proud ever since), so—though it is a sin, I know—you may kiss my lips, just once,—and go.”
How little she knew what she was doing! Even as she spoke40 she was in my arms. The next moment she was trembling violently, and then she strove to tear herself away. But I was inexorable, and folded her close for yet an instant longer, till she was still. I raised my head and pushed her a little away, holding her by both arms that I might see her face.
175“Oh,” she gasped41, “you are cruel! I did not mean that you should kiss me so—so hard.”
“My—wife!” I whispered irrelevantly42.
“Let me go, sir,” she said, with her old imperious air, trying to remove herself from my grasp upon her arms. But I did not think it necessary to obey her. Then her face saddened in a way that made me afraid.
“You have done wrong, Paul,” she said heavily. “I meant you should just touch me and go. You took unmanly advantage. Alas43! I fear I have a bad heart. I cannot be so angry as I ought. But I am resolved. You know, now, that I love you; that no other can ever have my love. But that knowledge is the end of all between us, even of the friendship which might, one day, have comforted me. Go, I command you, if you would not have me an unhappy woman forever!”
She wrenched44 herself free. Then, seeing me, as she thought, hesitate for an answer, she added firmly:
“I love you! But I love honour more, and obedience45 to the right, and my plighted46 word. Go!”
“I will not go, my beloved, till you swear to tell the Englishman to-morrow that you love me and intend to be my wife.”
“Listen,” she said. “If you do not go at once, I promise you that I will be George Anderson’s wife to-morrow.”
176I stared at her dumbly. Was it conceivable that she should mean such madness? Her eyes were fathomlessly sorrowful, her mouth was set. How was I to decide?
But fortune elected to save me the decision. A sharp voice came from the bank above—
“I arrest you, in the king’s name!”
We glanced up. There stood a squad of red-coats, a spruce young officer at their head.
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收听单词发音
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1
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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temperately
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| adv.节制地，适度地 | |
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lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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11
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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14
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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15
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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17
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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18
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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19
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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21
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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22
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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amend
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| vt.修改，修订，改进；n.[pl.]赔罪，赔偿 | |
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beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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28
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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29
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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30
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
lamely
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| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
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32
balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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33
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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35
temporized
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| v.敷衍( temporize的过去式和过去分词 )；拖延；顺应时势；暂时同意 | |
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36
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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37
relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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38
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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39
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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40
spoke
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| 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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41
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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42
irrelevantly
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| adv.不恰当地，不合适地；不相关地 | |
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43
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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44
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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45
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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46
plighted
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| vt.保证，约定（plight的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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