As the autumn months merged2 into winter Bonnibel had developed a new phase of her trouble. A great and exceeding restlessness took possession of her.
She no longer moped in her chamber3, thinking and thinking on the one subject that began to obscure even the memory of her Uncle Francis. She had brooded over Leslie's strange silence until her brain reeled with agony—now a strange longing4 for oblivion and forgetfulness took hold upon her.
"Oh! for that fabled5 Lethean draught6 which men drink and straightway all the past is forgotten!" she would murmur7 wildly as she paced the floor, wringing8 her beautiful hands and weeping. "Either Leslie has deserted9 me or he is dead. In either case it is wretchedness to remember him! Oh! that I could forget!"
Shrouded10 in her thick veil and long cloak she began to take long rambling11 walks every day, returning weary and fatigued12, so that sleep, which for awhile had deserted her pillow, began to return, and in long and heavy slumbers13 she would lose for a little while the memory of the handsome artist so deeply loved in that brief and beautiful summer. Those days were gone forever. Her brief spring of happiness was over. It seemed to her that the only solace14 that remained to her weary heart was forgetfulness.
Once, rendered desperate by her suspense15, she had written a letter to Leslie—a long and loving letter, full of tender reproaches for his silence, and containing the whole story of her uncle's tragic16 death. She had begged him to send her just one little line to assure her that she was not forgotten, and this beautiful little letter, filled with the pure thoughts of her innocent heart, she had directed to Rome, Italy.
No answer came to that yearning17 cry from the aching heart of the little wife. She waited until hope became a hideous18 mockery. She began to think how strange it was that she, little Bonnibel Vere, who looked so much like a child, with her short hair, and baby-blue eyes, was really a wife. But for the shining opal ring with its pretty inscription19, "Mizpah," which Leslie had placed upon her finger that night, she would have begun to believe that it was all a fevered dream.
She was thinking of that ring one day as she walked along the crowded street, filled with eager shoppers, for Christmas was drawing near, and people were busy providing holiday gifts for their dear ones.
"Mizpah!" she repeated to herself, walking heedlessly along the wet and sleety20 pavement. "That means 'the Lord watch between thee and me while we are absent one from another.' Oh, Leslie, Leslie!"
Absorbed in painful thoughts she began to quicken her steps, quite forgetful of the thin sheet of ice that covered the pavement, and which required very careful walking. How it happened she could not think, but the next moment she felt one ankle twisting suddenly beneath her with a dreadful pain in it,[Pg 32] and found herself falling to the ground. With an exclamation21 of terror she tried to recover her balance, but vainly. She lay extended on the ground, her hat and veil falling off and exposing her beautiful pale face with its clustering locks of sunny hair.
People crowded around her immediately, but the first to reach her was a gentleman who was coming out of a jewelry22 store in front of which she had slipped and fallen.
He lifted her up tenderly, and a woman restored her hat and veil.
Bonnibel tried to stand upon her feet and thank them both for their timely aid.
To her terror a sharp twinge of pain in her ankle warned her that she could not stand upon it. She uttered a cry of pain and her blue eyes filled with quick tears.
"I—I fear my ankle is sprained24," she said, "I cannot stand upon it."
"Never mind," said the gentleman, melted by the tears and the beauty of the sufferer. "Here is my carriage at the curbstone. Give me your address and I will take you home immediately."
Bonnibel was growing so faint from the pain of her sprained ankle that she could scarcely speak, but she murmured brokenly: "Fifth Avenue, number ——," and with a slight exclamation of surprise he lifted her into the carriage and gave the order to the driver.
She leaned her head back against the satin cushions of the carriage and closed her eyes wearily!
"I beg your pardon," said her companion's voice, arousing her suddenly from the deathly faintness that was stealing over her, "but I think you must be Miss Bonnibel Vere, Mrs. Arnold's niece. Perhaps you have heard her mention me. I am Colonel Carlyle."
Bonnibel opened her eyes with a start, and looked at him, instantly recalling the gossip of her maid, Lucy. So this was Colonel Carlyle, Felise Herbert's elderly lover. She gave him a quick, curious glance.
He was an old man, certainly, and apparently25 made no attempt to disguise the fact, for the curling locks that still clustered abundantly on his head were silvered by time, as well as the long beard that flowed down upon his breast.
His features were aristocratic in contour, his mouth rather stern, his eyes still dark and piercing, though he could not have been less than seventy years old. He was dressed with taste and elegance26, and his stately form was quite erect27 and stately.
"Yes, I have heard of you, Colonel Carlyle," Bonnibel answered, quietly, "but I cannot imagine how you could know who I am. We have never met before."
"No," he answered, with a gallant28 bow and smile, "we have not, I have never had the happiness of meeting you, though I have frequently visited at your home. But the fame of Miss Vere's beauty has gone forth29 into the land, and when you named your address I knew you could be no other."
[Pg 33]
Bonnibel bowed silently. Something in the graceful30 flattery of his words or tone jarred upon her. Besides, she was in such pain from her ankle that she felt it an effort to speak.
He observed the whiteness of her face, and said quickly:
"Pardon me, but I fear you are suffering from your sprain23."
"Somewhat," she admitted, through her white lips.
"Bear it as bravely as you can," he said. "In a few minutes you will be at home, and can have medical attention. Sprains31 are quite serious things sometimes, though I hope yours may not result that way."
"I hope not," she echoed, growing paler and paler, and biting her lips to repress the moan of pain that trembled on them. She was really suffering acute pain from the twisted ankle.
He was silent a minute, studying the beautiful, pale face with admiring eyes.
She looked up and met a world of deep sympathy shining on her from his keen, dark eyes.
"I was very fortunate in meeting you, Colonel Carlyle," she said, gently. "Believe me, I am much indebted for your timely aid."
"I am glad to have been of service to your father's daughter," said the colonel, bowing. "I knew your father intimately in the army, Miss Vere. We were friends, though the general was my junior in age and my superior in rank. I have often wondered what poor Harry's daughter was like. He was so frank, so handsome, so chivalrous32, so daring."
The girl's blue eyes lit up with pleasure at his praise of the father who had died in her infancy33, but whose memory she loved and revered34. She put out her hand, saying proudly:
"I thank you for your praise of him, Colonel Carlyle. Let my father's friend be mine also."
And the wealthy colonel gave the little hand a fervent35 pressure, feeling that those timely words of his had gained him a great advantage—one of which he would not be slow to avail himself.
He was about to express his pride and satisfaction at her words in glowing terms when, with a faint cry, she sank back against the cushions and closed her eyes. She had succumbed36 to her pain in spite of herself and fainted.
Fortunately they were within a block of the house. The colonel seated himself beside her and supported her helpless head on his arm until the carriage stopped in front of Mrs. Arnold's splendid brown-stone mansion37. Then he carefully lifted the fair burden in his arms and carried her across the pavement and up the steps, where he rang the bell.
The obsequious38 servant who opened the door to him stared in surprise and alarm at his burden, but silently threw open the drawing-room door, where Felise and her mother sat in company with a few visitors.
Both sprang up in bewilderment as Colonel Carlyle entered with a bow and laid the insensible Bonnibel down upon the sofa. She looked like one dead as she lay there with her closed eyes and deathly-white face, and limp hands hanging down helplessly.
"What has happened, Colonel Carlyle?" demanded Felise, stepping[Pg 34] forward, as he bent39 over Bonnibel, while her mother and the guests echoed her words: "What has happened?"
"Miss Vere slipped and fell upon the ice," he answered, "and has sustained some serious injury. She has suffered much pain. Let her have medical attendance at once."
"But you," said Felise, abruptly40, and almost rudely. "How came you with her?"
Colonel Carlyle looked at her in slight surprise.
"I was about crossing the pavement to enter my carriage," he explained, rather coolly, "when the accident occurred, and I had the happiness to be of service in bringing her home."
And Felise, as she watched him bending anxiously over the girl she hated, wished in her heart that Bonnibel Vere might never recover from the swoon that looked so much like death.
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1
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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2
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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3
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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4
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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6
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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7
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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8
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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9
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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10
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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11
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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12
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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13
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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14
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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15
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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16
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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17
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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18
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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19
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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20
sleety
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| 雨夹雪的，下雨雪的 | |
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21
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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22
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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23
sprain
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| n.扭伤,扭筋 | |
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24
sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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25
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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26
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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27
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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28
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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29
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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30
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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31
sprains
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| 扭伤( sprain的名词复数 ) | |
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32
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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33
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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34
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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36
succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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37
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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38
obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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39
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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40
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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