I felt almost as guilty as if I had suddenly got some share in Miss Mortimer’s secret. “She was going upstairs when I came in,” said I; but I could not find it in my heart to say what new accident had done this.
Aunt Milly looked at her chair and her footstool, and the work-basket she had left behind, as if she might possibly ascertain1 something from them. “My dear, it will be well to avoid the strangers to-night,” she said, nodding her head, as if this conclusion was, on the whole, not unsatisfactory; “and, indeed, Milly, though you may think it strange of me to say so, I am not sorry; for Miss Kate, I am afraid, would be very likely to mention something about that poor young man, whoever he may be!” said Aunt Milly, with a sigh. “Dear, dear, to think what troubles people make, both for themselves and others, that might be avoided by a little openness. Why couldn’t he have told me, my dear? If he has claims, I’d have seen him satisfied to the very last farthing, Milly! and if he hasn’t claims, why should he persecute2 Sarah and me?”
“But it might be something he couldn’t tell,” said I, rashly.
“Something he couldn’t tell? What do you mean, child? What sort of a connection could he have with our family that he couldn’t tell?” cried Miss Milly. “I see what you mean. He might be a natural son. Harry3 has put that into your head, now, for I am sure you never could have thought of it of yourself. Milly, Milly, it’s dreadful to say, but I’d be more thankful than I can tell you, to know that he was. I shouldn’t forget he was my father’s son all the same; he should be amply provided for—amply, my dear; ah, but it’s far too good news to be true; and, besides, what would Sarah care for him, if he were illegitimate? It could not hurt us in the least. Nothing, but what would be an injury to us, can explain Sarah’s looks.{306} Don’t let us think of it any more, Milly. Come and show me, dear, what you’re going to wear to-night. I should like you to look pretty, though they are all old people; for they’re old friends as well. Come upstairs with me, and show me what you are to have on.”
I went, not without some trepidation4, for I did not know what Aunt Milly would say when she knew I had nothing but white muslin. She did shake her head when she saw it spread out ready to put on. She even faltered5 forth6 some half questions as to what I had in my wardrobe, whether I had not a nice——; but there dear Aunt Milly stopped. She would not hurt my feelings whatever I might wear; and I don’t deny I felt a little mortified7 myself to see it laid out like a little girl’s best frock. However, I am thankful to say Harry never had an idea that it was not the very best thing I could wear.
“There are some lace flounces,” said Aunt Milly, half to herself, eyeing the poor white frock over again, “that might brighten it up a little;” then she turned round suddenly and kissed me by way of apology. “My dear, don’t be affronted8, I’m sure you will look very pretty in it;—only I should have preferred, just for this one night,—but, to be sure, you never thought of bringing out all your things for such a short visit, and us such quiet people. Never mind, Milly dear, it will look very nice, I am sure. I have a very pretty scarf you shall wear thrown over it; it may not be quite in the fashion; but fine lace never goes out of fashion, you know. I mean to give it you anyhow; and here’s a little jewel-box, with some ornaments9 in it; I used to wear them myself when I was a girl, and I had them reset10 just for a little remembrance of this visit. Put them on, for my sake, to-night; and remember, dear, that what we’ve been talking about so much these few days is a family secret. If anybody should say anything that seems to touch on it, or should even mention Mr. Luigi’s name, don’t look as if you were conscious of anything. It may come to nothing, you know. I am very glad you like them, my dear. I am quite pleased I thought of it. But recollect11, Milly, my love, to be on your guard.”
With these words she left me, running away from my thanks for her present. I was very much pleased with her present, and even at that moment, when people might suppose I had more serious things to think of, I must say it did give me a flutter of gratification to find bracelets12 in the jewel-box. How kind and thoughtful it was of Aunt Milly! I wonder if{307} she knew I hadn’t any? I showed them to Lizzie, who thought anything so grand had never been seen, and to baby, who would have liked to have them to play with, and finally to Harry when he came in, and I had to prepare for our drive. Harry found some fault (of course) with their style, but was quite as pleased as I was. And, indeed, it was very good of him to be pleased, for I had almost to go down on my knees to him to keep him from buying me something of the kind when we came to Chester, and he naturally grudged13 that any one should give them to me but himself.
To think of me saying so much about such a small affair as bracelets, when things so much more important were surrounding us on every side! I am afraid to say it, but it is true, that when I went down into the drawing-room that evening I was thinking too much about my beautiful scarf and these same bracelets to notice, at the first moment, who was there. The first thing that brought me to myself was hearing the voice of Miss Mortimer behind her screen. I was so amazed that, instinctively14, without giving any reason to myself for it, I pushed forward to see her. There she sat, that dreadful, wonderful witch of a woman—so far from being moved by any feeling of nature which might have led her to avoid the strangers, as innocent Aunt Milly supposed—sitting there as if on a throne, entirely15 assuming the part of mistress of the house, and receiving the homage16 of her guests. Evidently everybody was surprised—everybody had understood Miss Mortimer to have withdrawn17 from any but the most secluded18 life and I do not think I ever felt such a thrill of wonder and pity, and almost horror, as when, after all I had seen and noted19, after her convulsive trembling and watchful20 readiness for any attack, after the way in which, this very day, she had retreated, stubborn but exhausted21, upstairs, I saw her sitting here, in full evening dress, with jewels and ornaments; her watchful eyes gleaming stealthily round, and her ears alive to every sound.
As I came forward I caught sight of Aunt Milly sitting silent by herself by a table, with a face full of the deepest perplexity and distress22. She raised her troubled eyes to me, and grasped at my hand for a moment, as if to strengthen herself. She could not make it out—any attempt to decipher her sister’s purpose was in vain to Aunt Milly—the light might as well have tried to comprehend the darkness. But I had not time to say anything to her. Miss Mortimer had called Harry, who drew me along with him; and it was she who introduced us to{308} the rector and his sister, and to that heavy old Sir George, and the Penrhyns of Eden Castle. I am sure I cannot tell what she said; it was principally Harry she spoke23 of, and I remember that she called him their heir and nearest relation, which gained us a very flattering reception from the strangers. But the mere24 fact of seeing her there, with her bare arms and shoulders shining thin through just such another scarf as I had on, and her eyes meeting everybody else’s with a certain wide-open vigilant25 stare, and her head held stiffly erect26 to dissemble that trembling, which, even still, she could not overcome, at once confounded and engrossed27 me so much that I could observe nothing else. Harry got into conversation with the gentlemen, and Miss Kate, from the Rectory, a woman evidently full of curiosity and enterprise, seized upon Miss Mortimer. I managed to get away to Aunt Milly; she took my hand again, and pressed it almost painfully. “My dear, what do you suppose this means?” said Aunt Milly, looking wistfully up in my face.
“To defy everybody,” I said, scarcely knowing what I was saying; “but, dear Aunt Milly, you warned me to be on my guard. You look so troubled, people will fancy something is wrong.”
When I said that, she got up hastily and joined the others. I can’t tell how the strangers felt; but for all of us who belonged to the house, it is impossible to imagine any scene more extraordinary. To see the dauntless, unnatural29 wickedness of that woman facing and defying everybody—to see her take the principal place, and ignore the troubled, terrified sister, whose guests these people really were—out of all the mysterious veil of secrecy30 and darkness in which she had been wrapped, to watch her emerging thus, not only as if nothing were wrong with her, but as if, in reality, she was the soul of everything, and dear Aunt Milly only her shadow and servant! When Miss Mortimer took the head of the table at dinner, and Aunt Milly astonished, and not knowing what to make of it, dropped into a seat near the foot, where Harry was, our dismay and wonder were nearly at their climax31. Aunt Milly clasped my hands hard; she had got a chair placed in the corner beside me, and whispered—
“I don’t mind it, my dear, don’t think I mind it. If all was well, and I had known her meaning!”
I understood that perfectly32; but then all was not well, and nobody had known the weird33 woman’s meaning. Now she had it all in her own hands. With her grey hair, and her thin{309} bare aged28 shoulders peeping out of her scarf, she made a dreadful pretence34 of flirting35 with that old Sir George; and curious Miss Kate sat scrutinising her, and making perpetual remarks; and Aunt Milly and I looked on with awe36 and alarm which I could not describe. I could scarcely answer Mr. Penrhyn when he spoke to me. I fear he must have thought me a very poor representative of the Mortimers. But I could not keep my attention from that figure at the head of the table. I could not help wondering, did she see the writing and the man’s hand upon the wall? for in all her pretences37, and affectations, and coquetries,—those strange coquetries, and gestures, and movements of the head and hands, which might have been pretty in a young beauty, but were so dismal38 in a white-haired old woman—remember, she never once forgot. I could see it plain in her eyes all the time. If the handwriting had come upon the wall, as it did in Belshazzar’s palace, it would not have surprised her. No allusion39 that could be made would shock or startle her. She knew everything that could come; and, in her devilish daring, she was prepared for all.
I hope it is not very wicked of me to use such words; indeed, I cannot tell what others I could use.
Things went on so till we got back to the drawing-room, which was a relief in its way. And by dint40 of continuing so long, the pressure had, of course, grown easier, and I had actually begun to make a little acquaintance with Mrs. Penrhyn, who was young, and had little children of her own, and quite insisted I should take her upstairs to see baby, when I was suddenly recalled from that very agreeable talk we were just falling into, by the sharp voice of Miss Kate.
“Have you heard any more of that young Italian, Miss Milly?” said Miss Kate; “he that struck me, you know, as having so odd a resemblance to your family?—very strange! and did you not perceive it yourself? I hear he has been seen about here again, and his servant, that stout41 person. Ah, how very sad he doesn’t know English, that poor fellow! perhaps he has picked up a little since. Of all the sad things in the world, I know nothing so melancholy42 as being in the midst of light, and yet, for such a trifling43 thing as the want of language, remaining in darkness. I have never forgiven myself for neglecting Italian since that day. Ah, I wish I knew Italian as you do, Miss Mortimer. Who can tell what use I might have been to that poor benighted44 man!”
I had turned aside, with the words stopped on my very lips,{310} to listen. So had Aunt Milly, looking aghast, and with every tinge45 of colour blanched46 from her face. Miss Mortimer did not observe me; but she noticed her sister, and stared at her with actually a little pause and smile of malice47, to direct everybody’s attention to her startled face, before she spoke.
“I can’t speak even my own language now,” was all Miss Mortimer said; and all the time looked at Aunt Milly with that derisive48 look, as if to show that whoever was agitated49 by this reference it was not herself. I was so wicked as to think she meant to turn over the scandal, if any should rise, upon her sister; and it made my blood boil; but, to be sure, I was quite in error there.
“Oh, I am sure after to-night—!” cried Miss Kate; “Indeed, my dear Miss Mortimer, I must congratulate you. I hope it is the beginning of a new life. If you would but take a little interest in the parish, with your improved health, I am sure it would do so much good; and if you should happen to meet that unfortunate young man, and would be induced to explain the truth to him a little in his own language——”
Here Miss Mortimer gave an extraordinary kind of gasp50, without, however, uttering any sound. Nobody observed it but me, as my eyes were fixed51 on her. Then she spoke as if she could not help herself, drawing back into the shadow.
“He speaks English!” she said, with an extraordinary tone of being compelled to say something—as if some influence within her had constrained52 the words from her unwilling53 tongue.
“But, ah, it is the servant I speak of,” cried Miss Kate; “one soul is just as precious as another; it is he, poor unfortunate man! If you should meet him in any of your drives,—he is very stout, and has a large beard, and is so completely the foreigner that you can’t mistake him,—if you would only stop the carriage and say a word in season.”
There was another wonderful contraction54 of all the muscles of Miss Mortimer’s face, and this time a kind of hysterical55 sound came with it.
“If I meet him,” she said, slowly, “I’ll give him a word in season—don’t be afraid,” and she laughed.
It made me shiver and tremble all over. I was thankful that Ellis came that moment with tea, and I could get up and go into another corner of the room to recover myself. I don’t know how Aunt Milly bore it. She had not a particle of{311} colour in her face the whole evening after. But Miss Mortimer went upstairs steadily56 when all the guests were gone. I do not know what befell when she got into her own room. I do not think they had much rest there that night. If she had fallen down in a fit, or expired at the head of the table that evening, it would not have surprised me. She had lived through it; but I am sure neither she nor her poor faithful maid closed their eyes that night.
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1
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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persecute
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| vt.迫害，虐待；纠缠，骚扰 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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5
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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6
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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8
affronted
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| adj.被侮辱的，被冒犯的v.勇敢地面对( affront的过去式和过去分词 )；相遇 | |
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9
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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10
reset
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| v.重新安排，复位；n.重新放置；重放之物 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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13
grudged
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| 怀恨（grudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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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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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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43
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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benighted
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| adj.蒙昧的 | |
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45
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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46
blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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47
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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48
derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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49
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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50
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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51
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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52
constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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53
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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54
contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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55
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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56
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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