She would sit by him for hours together, like a charming piece of still-life, when he pleased, and was ready to converse7 or to listen, to walk, to sing, to follow his lead in everything, as only a woman-child, full of the beautiful enthusiasm of youthful admiration8, can do. Nothing except perhaps the devotion of a young wife, when she really loves the man much older than herself, whom she has married, can equal the devotion of a girl to her father. She admired everything about him—his beautiful refined head, his fine voice, his grace and high breeding, his sermons, and what she called his genius. To find this faultless father to be anything less than a demi-god was terrible to Rose. I do not mean to say that she got within a hundred miles of this discovery all at once; nay9, the first result of the vague and dreamy doubts that stole into her mind was rather an increase of enthusiasm for her father, an instinctive10 making-up to her own ideal for the sense of failure in him, of which she was vaguely conscious. Rose loved her mother after a totally different fashion, in an ordinary and matter-of-fact way, but she had no romance of feeling towards her; and when her whole little world, began, as it were, to sway upon its axis11, to yield beneath her feet, as if it might swing round altogether in space, turning what she had supposed the brighter side into shadow, and elevating that which she had held lowly enough, she, poor girl, grew giddy with this strange and sickening sensation. She was at the age, too, when everything is apt to reel about the young experimentalist taking her first steps in life. She was vaguely conscious of being now a free agent, consulted as to her own movements, no longer told curtly12 to do this and that, but exercising personal choice as to what she should do. This change is of itself sufficiently13 bewildering. Nature makes, as it were, a pause at this first crisis of personal life. The child, wondering, half-delighted and half-troubled to have no longer its duties clearly and sharply indicated, falls into a partial trance, and neglects many things for sheer want of use and knowledge how to act for itself.
This was Rose’s position. Between the mother, who, a little mortified14 and hurt at her child’s want of sympathy with her, did not give her orders, but only suggested employment, and the father, who said, “Never mind, let her alone,” she stood, not knowing how to settle the question, but inclining naturally to the side on which she was most indulged and smiled upon, though with a secret uneasiness which she could not shake off, and moral sense of a false situation which grew upon her day by day.
Rose had lovers, too, in this new, miraculous15 life upon which she had entered: two lovers, not yet declared, but very evident to all knowing eyes; and in the village there were many keen observers. One of these suitors was the most wealthy proprietor16, in the neighborhood—a man much above her own age, yet not old, and perfectly17 qualified18 to please a lady’s eye; and the other, a young naval19 lieutenant20 without a penny, the son of Mrs. Wodehouse, who lived on the Green, and had nothing in the world but her pension as an officer’s widow. Of course I do not need to say that it was the poor man whom Rose preferred. She was not in love with him—far from it; but she was so completely on the verge21 of universal awakening,{18} that a word or touch might be enough to arouse her whole being at any moment—might open her eyes to her own position and that of her parents, and show her the nature of her individual sentiments, as by a sudden gleam of light. Rose, however, was not the least in the world aware of this; and at the present moment she was no further advanced than was consistent with saying frankly22 that she liked Wodehouse very much—and feeling (but of this she said nothing) more glad when she saw him coming than about any other event in her simple days.
Dinglefield is a sociable23 place, and there is something in a soft summer evening after a very hot, blazing summer day which fosters a disposition24 to stroll about and interchange greetings with your neighbors. As it began to darken upon the evening of this particular day, various people in the houses about stepped out of their wide-open windows after dinner, and, tempted25 by the beauty of twilight26, strayed along the road or over the Green to the rectory garden, which was by universal acknowledgment “the most perfect spot” in the village. Much has been said about the charms of twilight, but little, I think, of its peculiar27 English beauty, which is not so magical as the momentary28 interval29 between light and dark in the south, or the lingering, prolonged, silvery, and ineffable30 dimness of those northern twilights which last half the night; but has a dusky softness altogether peculiar to itself, like the shadowing of downy wings. The air was delicious, fresh after the hot day, yet so warm as to make wrappings quite unnecessary. The sky, still somewhat pale in its blue after the languor31 of the heat, looked down faint yet friendly, as if glad to see again a little movement and sense of life. A few subdued32 stars peeped out here and there, and the wide stretch of country lay dim underneath33, revealing itself in long soft lines of gray, till it struck into a higher tone of blue on the horizon where earth and heaven met. All the Damerels who were out of bed were in the garden, and the neighbors, who had made this pleasant terrace the end of their walk, were scattered34 about in various groups. Mr. Incledon, who was Rose’s wealthy lover, came late and stood talking with Mrs. Damerel, watching with wistful eyes her appropriation35 by his rival, young Wodehouse—whose mother, hooded36 in the white Shetland shawl, which she had thrown over her cap to come out, sat on a garden-chair with her feet upon the rector’s Persian rug, listening to him while he talked, with the devout37 admiration which became a member of his flock. The rector was talking politics with General Peronnet, and Mrs. Wodehouse thought it was beautiful to see how thoroughly38 he understood a subject which was so much out of his way as the abolition39 of purchase in the army. “If he had been in parliament now!” she said to the general’s wife, who thought her husband was the object of the eulogy40. There were two or three other members of this group listening to the rector’s brilliant talk, saying a few words, wise or foolish, as occasion served. Others were walking about upon the lawn, and one lady, with her dress lifted, was hastening off the grass which she had just discovered to be wet with dew. Upon none of them, however, did Mr. Incledon’s attention turn. He followed with his eyes a pair whose young figures grew less and less in the distance, half lost in the darkness. The persistence41 with which he watched them seemed a reproach to the mother, with whom he talked by fits and starts, and whose anxiety was not at all awakened42 by the fact that Rose was almost out of sight. “I am afraid Rose is not so careful as she ought to be about the dew on the grass,” she said, half apologetically, half smiling, in reply to his look.
“Shall I go and tell her you think so?” said Mr. Incledon, hastily. He was a man of about five-and-thirty, good looking, sensible, and well dispositioned; a personage thoroughly comme il faut. He was the sort of suitor whom proper parents love to see approaching a favorite child. He could give his wife everything a woman could desire—provide for her handsomely, surround her with luxury, fill her life with pleasures and prettinesses, and give her an excellent position. And the man himself was free of cranks and crotchets, full of good sense, well educated, good tempered. Where are girls’ eyes, that they do not perceive such advantages? Mrs. Damerel hesitated a moment between{19} sympathy with her child and sympathy with this admirable man. There was a struggle in her mind which was to have the predominance. At length some gleam of recollection or association struck her, and moved the balance in Rose’s favor, who she felt sure did not want Mr. Incledon just at that moment.
“Never mind,” she said tranquilly43, “it will not hurt her;” and resumed a conversation about the music in the church, which was poor. Mr. Incledon was very musical, but he had no more heart for anthems44 at that moment than had he never sung a note.
Rose had strayed a little way down the slope with Edward Wodehouse. They were not talking much, and what they did say was about nothing in particular—the garden, the wild flowers among the grass on this less polished and less cultured lawn which sloped down the little hill. At the moment when the elder suitor’s glances had directed Mrs. Damerel’s attention towards them they were standing45 under a gnarled old hawthorn-tree, round which was a little platform of soft turf.
“We lose the view lower down,” said Rose; and there they stopped accordingly, neither of them caring to turn back. The soft plain stretched away in long lines before them into the haze46 and distance like the sea. And as they stood there, the young moon, which had been hidden behind a clump47 of high trees, suddenly glinted out upon them with that soft, dewy glimmer48 which makes the growing crescent so doubly sweet. They were both a little taken aback, as if they had been surprised by some one suddenly meeting and looking at them—though indeed there was not a syllable49 of their simple talk that all the world might not have heard. Both made a step on as if to return again after this surprise, and then they both laughed, with a little innocent embarrassment50, and turned back to the view.
“What a lovely night!” said Rose, with a faint little sigh. She had already said these not remarkable51 words two or three times at least, and she had nothing in the world to sigh about, but was in fact happier than usual; though a little sad, she knew not why.
“Look at those lights down below there,” said young Wodehouse; “how they shine out among the trees!”
“Yes, that is from Ankermead,”, said Rose; “you know it?—the prettiest little house!”
“When we are away, we poor mariners,” he said, with a little laugh which was more affected52 than real, “that is, I think, the thing that goes to our hearts most.”
“What?”
“The lights in the windows—of course I don’t mean at sea,” said young Wodehouse; “but when we are cruising about a strange coast, for instance, just one of those twinkles shining out of the darkness—you can see lights a long way off—gives a fellow a stab, and makes him think of home.”
“But it is pleasant to think of home,” said Rose. “Oh, what am I saying? I beg your pardon, Mr. Wodehouse. To be sure, I know what you mean. When I was at school something used to come in my throat when I remembered—many a time I have stood at the window, and pretended I was looking out, and cried.”
“Ah!” said Wodehouse, half sympathetic, half smiling, “but then you know it would not do if I looked over the ship’s side and cried—though I have had a great mind to do it sometimes, in my midshipman days.”
“To cry is a comfort,” said Rose; “what do you men do, instead?”
“We smoke, Miss Damerel; and think. How often I shall think of this night and the lights yonder, and mix up this sweet evening with an interior, perhaps sweeter still!”
“I don’t think so,” said Rose, with a soft laugh, in which there was, however, a shade of embarrassment which somewhat surprised herself. “The room is rather stuffy53, and the lamps not bright, if you were near enough; and two old people half dozing54 over the tea-table, one with the newspaper, one with her worsted-work. It is very humdrum55, and not sweet at all inside.”
“Well, perhaps they are all the fonder of each other for being humdrum; and it must have been sweet when they were young.”
“They were never young,” said Rose, with a silvery peal56 of laughter, turning to go back to the lawn. “See what tricks imagination plays! You would not like to spend an evening there, though the lights are so pretty outside.”{20}
“Imagination will play many a trick with me before I forget it,” said young Wodehouse in subdued tones. Rose’s heart fluttered a little—a very little—with the softest preliminary sensations of mingled57 happiness and alarm. She did not understand the flutter, but somehow felt it right to fly from it, tripping back to the serenity58 of society on the lawn. As for the young man, he had a great longing59 to say something more, but a feeling which was mingled of reverence60 for her youth and dread61 of frightening her by a premature62 declaration kept him silent.
He followed her into the hum of friendly talk, and then across the lawn to the house, where the neighbors streamed in for tea. The bright lights in the rectory drawing-room dazzled them both—the windows were wide open; crowds of moths63 were flickering64 in and out, dashing themselves, poor suicides, against the circle of light; and all the charmed dimness grew more magical as the sky deepened into night, and the moon rose higher and began to throw long shadows across the lawn. “On such a night” lovers once prattled65 in Shakespeare’s sweetest vein66. All that they said, and a great deal more, came into young Wodehouse’s charmed heart and stole it away. He heard himself saying the words, and wondered how it was that he himself was so entirely67 happy and sad, and thought how he might perhaps soon say them to himself as his ship rustled68 through the water, and the moonlight slept broad and level and uninterrupted by any poetry of shadows upon the sea. To think of that filled his heart with a soft, unspeakable pang69; and yet the very pain had a sweetness in it, and sense of exaltation. “There are the lights still,” he said, standing over her where she had seated herself near the window. “I shall always remember them, though you will not allow of any romance”—
“Romance! oh no,” said Rose lightly; “only two old people. We have not any romance here.”
Mr. Incledon, who had been watching his opportunity so long, now came forward with a cup of tea. Poor Edward was too much abstracted in his thoughts and in her, and with the confusion of a little crisis of sentiment, to think of the usual attentions of society which he owed to her. He started and blushed when he saw how negligent70 he had been, and almost stumbled over her chair in his anxiety to retrieve71 his carelessness. “My dear Wodehouse, Miss Damerel cannot drink more than one cup of tea at a time,” said the elder suitor, with that air of indulgent pity for his vagaries72 which so irritates a young man; and he mounted guard over Rose for the rest of the evening. The good neighbors began to go home when they had taken their tea, and the rector and his daughter went with them to the gate, when there was a soft babble73 and commotion74 of good nights, and every two people repeated to each other, “What a lovely moon!” and “What a glorious night!” As for poor Wodehouse, in his climax75 of youth and love, his very heart was melted within him. Twice he turned back, murmuring to his mother some inarticulate explanation that he had forgotten something—that he wanted to speak to the rector—and twice went back to her solemnly saying it did not matter. “No, no,” he said to himself, “he must not be premature.”
Rose took another turn round the lawn with her father before they went in. Mrs. Damerel was visible inside, sending the tray away, putting stray books in their places, and stray bits of work in the work-basket, before the bell should ring for prayers. Mr. Damerel looked in as he passed with an indulgent smile.
“She calleth her maidens76 about her,” he said, “though it is not to spin, Rose, but to pray. Somehow it enhances the luxury of our stroll to see your mother there, putting everything in order with that careful and troubled face—eh, child, don’t you think with me?”
“But does it enhance her luxury to have us walking and talking while she has everything to lay by?” said Rose with an uncomfortable sense that her own work and several books which she had left about were among those which her mother was putting away.
“Ah, you have found out that there are two sides to a question,” said her father, patting her on the cheek, with his gentle habitual77 smile; but he gave no answer to her question; and then the maids became visible, trooping in, in their white caps and aprons78, and the rector with a sigh and a last look at the midnight and the dim, dewy{21} landscape, went in to domesticity and duty, which he did not like so well.
Rose went to her room that night with a thrill of all her gentle being which she could not explain. She looked out from her window among the honeysuckles, and was so disappointed as almost to cry when she found the lights out, and the little cottage on Ankermead lost in the darkness. She could have cried, and yet but for that fanciful trouble, how happy the child was! Everything embraced her—the clinging tendrils of the honeysuckle, so laden79 with dew and sweetness; the shadows of the trees, which held out their arms to her; the soft, caressing80 moon which touched her face and surrounded it with a pale glory. Nothing but good and happiness was around, behind, before her, and a trembling of happiness to come, even sweeter than anything she had ever known, whispered over her in soft, indefinite murmurs81, like the summer air in the petals82 of a flower. She opened her bosom83 to it, with a delicious half-consciousness fresh as any rose that lets its leaves be touched by the sweet south. This Rose in June expanded, grew richer, and of a more damask rosiness84, but could not tell why.
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1
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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axis
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| n.轴，轴线，中心线；坐标轴，基准线 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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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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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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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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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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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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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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appropriation
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| n.拨款，批准支出 | |
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hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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abolition
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| n.废除，取消 | |
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eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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anthems
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| n.赞美诗( anthem的名词复数 )；圣歌；赞歌；颂歌 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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47
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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49
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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50
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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53
stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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54
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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55
humdrum
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| adj.单调的，乏味的 | |
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56
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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58
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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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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61
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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62
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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64
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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prattled
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| v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话( prattle的过去式和过去分词 )；发出连续而无意义的声音；闲扯；东拉西扯 | |
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66
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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67
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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68
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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70
negligent
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| adj.疏忽的；玩忽的；粗心大意的 | |
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71
retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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72
vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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73
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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75
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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76
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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78
aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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80
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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81
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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82
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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83
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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84
rosiness
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| n.玫瑰色；淡红色；光明；有希望 | |
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