For cheer, all my cousin’s sober and well-considered confidence could not keep that in my heart. Of Yvonne, I could get not one word directly. I saw her hand in the fact that nothing more was heard of the charge of “spy” against me. Yet this benefit had a bitterness in it, for I knew she must have done it through Anderson. Intolerably did that knowledge grate.
Mother Pêche came daily to the wicket, but could never boast a message for my ear—and in this reticence3 of Yvonne’s I saw a hardness of resolve which made my heart sink. Father Fafard, 192too, came daily with food for me, and with many a little loving kindness; but of Yvonne he would not speak. Marc, one day, encountered him on the subject, but prevailed not at all, in so much that they two parted in some heat.
At last from Mother Pêche came word that my dear maid was ill, obscurely ailing4, pale-lipped, and with no more of the fathomless5 light in her great eyes. The reassurance6 that this gave me on the score of her love was beyond measure overbalanced by the new fear that it bred and nourished. Would not the strain become too great for her—so great that either her promise to wait would break down, or else her health? Here was a dilemma7, and upon one or the other of the horns of it I writhed8 hourly. It cost little to feed me, those weeks in the Grand Pré chapel9 prison.
Meanwhile, it is but just to our English jailers—they were men of New England chiefly, from Boston, Plymouth, Salem, and that vicinage—to record it of them that they were kind and little loved their employment. They held the doom10 of banishment12 to be just, but they deplored13 the inescapable harshness of it. As I came to learn, it was for New England’s sake chiefly, and at her instance, that old England had ordained14 the great expulsion. Boston would not trust the Acadians, and vowed15 she could no longer endure a wasp’s nest at her door. Thus it was that the 193decree had at last gone forth16; and even I could not quite deny the justice of it. I knew that patient forbearance had long been tried in vain; and I bethought me, too, of the great Louis’ once plan, to banish11 and utterly17 purge18 away all the English of New England and New York.
Of affairs and public policy in the world outside our walls I learned from Lieutenant19 Waldron, who came in often among us and made me his debtor20 by many kindly21 courtesies. He had an interest in me from the first—in the beginning, as I felt, an interest merely of curiosity, for he doubtless wondered that Mademoiselle de Lamourie should stoop to be entangled22 with two lovers. But soon he conceived a friendship for me, which I heartily23 reciprocated24. I have ever loved the English as a brave and worthy25 enemy; and this young officer from Plymouth town presented to my admiration26 a fair epitome27 of the qualities I most liked in his race. In appearance he was not unlike Anderson, but of slimmer build, with the air of the fighter added, and a something besides which I felt, but could not name. This something Anderson lacked—and the lack was subtly conspicuous28 in a character which even my jealous rivalry29 was forced to call worthy of love.
The reservation in my own mind I found to lie in Waldron’s also, and with even more consequence attached to it. Anderson having chanced 194to be one day the subject of our conversation, I let slip hint of the way it galled30 me to feel myself in his debt for exemption31 from the charge of spying.
“I can easily understand,” said he, “that you feel it intolerable. I am surprised, more and more daily, at Mademoiselle de Lamourie’s acceptance of his suit. Oh, you French,—may I say it, monsieur?—what a merchandise you make of your young girls!”
“You put it unpleasantly, sir,” said I; “but too truly for me to resent it. You surprise me, however, in what you imply of Anderson. I liked him heartily at first sight. I know him to be brave, though he does not carry arms. He is capable and clear-sighted, kind and frank; and surely he has beauty to delight a woman’s eyes. I am in despair when I think of him.”
“He is all you say,” acknowledged Waldron, with a shrewd twinkle in his sharp blue eyes; “nevertheless there is something he is not, which damns him for me. I don’t quite like him, and that’s a fact. At the same time I know he’s a fine fellow, and I ought to like him. I don’t mind telling you, for your discomfort32, that he has done all that man could do to get you out of this place. He has been to Halifax about it, and dared to make himself very disagreeable to the governor when he was refused. It is not his fault you are not out and off by this time.”
195“Thank God, he failed!” said I, with fervour.
“So should I say in your case, monsieur,” he replied, with a kind of dry goodwill33.
To this obliging officer—in more kindly after-years, I am proud to say, destined34 to become my close friend—I owed some flattering messages from Madame de Lamourie. I knew she liked me—had ever liked me, save during those days of my ignominious35 eclipse when I seemed to all Grand Pré an accomplice36 of the Black Abbé and Vaurin. I had a suspicion that she would not be deeply displeased37 should I, by any hook or crook38, accomplish the discomfiture39 of Anderson. But I well knew her friendliness40 to me would not go so far as open championship. She would obey her husband, for peace’ sake; and take her satisfaction in a little more delicate malice41. I pictured her as making the handsome English Quaker subtly miserable42 by times.
From Giles de Lamourie, however, I received no greeting. I took it that he regarded me as a menace not only to his own authority, but to his daughter’s peace. A prudent43 marriage,—a regular, well-ordered, decently arranged for marriage,—in such he fancied happiness for Yvonne. But I concerned me not at all for opposition44 of his. I thought that Yvonne, if ever she should choose, could bring him to her feet.
At last there came a break in the monotony of 196the days—a break which, for all its bitterness, was welcomed. Word came that another ship was tardily45 ready for its freight of exiles. The weary faces of the guard brightened, for here was evidence that something was being done. Within the chapel rose a hum of expectation, and all speculated on their chances. For if exile was to be, “Let it come quickly” was the cry of all.
But no—not of all. I feared it, with a physical fear till then unknown to me. To me it meant a new and appalling46 barrier. Here but two wooden walls and a stone’s throw of wintry space fenced me from her bodily presence. But after exile, how many seas, and vicissitudes47, and uncomprehending alien faces!
But I was not to go this time; nor yet my cousin Marc, who, having at last received from Quebec authentic48 word of the health and safety of his Puritan, was looking out upon events with his old enviable calm.
On the day when a stir in the cottages betokened49 that embarkation50 was to begin, the south windows of the chapel were in demand. They afforded a clear view of the village and a partial view of the landing-place. Benches were piled before them, and we took turns by the half hour in looking out, those at the post of observation passing messages back to the eager rows behind. It was plain at once that the cottages at the west end of the 197village were to be cleared in a block. On a sudden there was a sharp outcry from the three Le Boutilliers, as they saw their homely51 house-gear being carried from their doorways52 and heaped upon a lumbering53 hay-wagon. They were of a nervous stock, and forthwith began a great lamentation54, thinking that their wives and families were to be sent away without them. When the little procession started down the street toward the landing—the old grandmother and the two littlest children perched on the wagon-load, the wives and other children walking beside in attitudes that proclaimed their tears—the good fellows became so excited as to trouble our company.
“Chut, men!” cried Marc, in a tone of sharp command. “Are you become women all at once? There will be no separation of families this time, when there is but one ship and no room for mistakes. The guards yonder will be calling for you presently, never fear.”
This quieted them; for my cousin had a convincing way with him, and they accounted his wisdom something beyond natural.
Then there came by two more wagons55, and another sorrowful procession, appearing from the direction of the Habitants; and the word “Le Marchands” went muttering through the prison. Le Marchand settlement was moving to the ship—and even now a cloud of black smoke, with red 198tongues visible on the morning air, showed us what would befall the houses of Grand Pré when the folk of Grand Pré should be gone.
The Le Marchand men made no sign, save to glower56 under their brows and grip the window sashes with tense fingers. They were of different stuff from the Le Boutilliers, these black Le Marchands. They set their teeth hard, and waited.
So it went on through the morning, one man after another seeing his family led away to the ship—his family and some scant57 portion of his goods; and thus we came to know what men among us were like to be called forth on this voyage.
Presently the big door was thrown open, and all faces flashed about to the new interest. Outside stood a double red line of English soldiers. An officer—the round-faced Colonel Winslow himself—stepped in, a scroll58 of paper curling in his hand. In a precise and something pompous59 voice he read aloud the names of those to go. The Le Marchands were first on the roll; then the Le Boutilliers, Ba’tiste Chouan, Jean and Tamin Masson, and a long list that promised to thin our crowded benches by one-third. But I was left among the unsummoned; and my cousin Marc, and long Philibert Trou, and the wily fox La Mouche; and I saw Marc’s lips compress with 199a significant satisfaction when he saw these two remaining. Vaguely60 I thought—“He has a plan!” But thereafter, in my gloom, I thought no more of it.
So these chosen ones marched off between their guards; and that afternoon the ship went out on the ebb61 tide with a wind that carried her, white-sailed, around the dark point of Blomidon. Grand Pré chapel prison settled apathetically62 back to a deeper calm.
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1
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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fathomless
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| a.深不可测的 | |
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reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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banishment
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| n.放逐，驱逐 | |
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deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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purge
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| n.整肃，清除，泻药，净化；vt.净化，清除，摆脱；vi.清除，通便，腹泻，变得清洁 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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debtor
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| n.借方，债务人 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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22
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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24
reciprocated
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| v.报答，酬答( reciprocate的过去式和过去分词 )；（机器的部件）直线往复运动 | |
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25
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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epitome
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| n.典型，梗概 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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30
galled
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| v.使…擦痛( gall的过去式和过去分词 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
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31
exemption
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| n.豁免，免税额，免除 | |
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32
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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33
goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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34
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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35
ignominious
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| adj.可鄙的，不光彩的，耻辱的 | |
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36
accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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39
discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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40
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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41
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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42
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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43
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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44
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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45
tardily
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| adv.缓慢 | |
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46
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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47
vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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48
authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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49
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
embarkation
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| n. 乘船, 搭机, 开船 | |
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51
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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52
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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53
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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54
lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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55
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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56
glower
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| v.怒目而视 | |
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57
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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58
scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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59
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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60
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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61
ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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apathetically
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| adv.不露感情地；无动于衷地；不感兴趣地；冷淡地 | |
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