To man alone beneath the heaven;
It is not fantasy’s hot fire,
Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly.
It liveth not in fierce desire,
With dead desire it doth not die;
It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,
Which heart to heart, and mind to mind,
In body and in soul can bind1.”
—Lay of the Last Minstrel.
Meanwhile, in the withdrawing-room, Humphrey Neal was asking Madam Harford to promote his suit with Helena.
“I will do what little I can for you, sir,” said the old lady, who liked him and desired to see him wedded2 to her goddaughter. “But first, I would bid you make sure of the maid’s own feeling in the matter. Then, if she approves, you had best seek out her guardian4, Dr. Twisse, the Rector of Newbury.”
“Oh! is her guardian a parson?” said Humphrey with a groan5. “I shall never find favour in his eyes; he’ll be asking what view I take of the Divine right of kings to break the law.”
“No; you will find him a liberal man, and a kind-hearted kinsman6 to my god-daughter. Once assured that the marriage is for his niece’s happiness, he will not, I think, trouble you with arguings. Why should you not speak to Helena now, and ride to Newbury to-morrow with my son. He could then say a word on your behalf.”
Humphrey caught at this idea, and asked where he should be likely to find Helena.
“I left her but now in the south parlour,” said Madam Harford. And with a smile she watched the hasty way in which Humphrey at once quitted the room, eager to bring his wooing to a happy close.
“He is a tolerably well-assured lover,” thought the old lady. “I do trust Nell will not prove uncertain of her own mind at the last minute.”
Humphrey found the south parlour lighted only by the glow from the fire; there was no sound but the soft whirr of the spinning-wheel, and in the dim room the flax on the distaff and little Nell’s yellow curls shone out brightly.
“You should keep blindman’s holiday,” he said, drawing up a stool and seating himself beside her. “Pray idle for a few minutes, and talk with me.”
“Why, sir, can I not talk and spin at the same time?” said Helena, gaily7.
“No, not when the talk is of a serious matter.”
“Is anything wrong? Is Mr. Harford worse?” asked Helena, in alarm.
“Oh, no; he is much better, and already planning when to rejoin Sir William Waller. You think of him, but never trouble your head about me.”
His sigh was too theatrical8 to deceive her. She laughed merrily.
“That reproach comes with an ill grace from your lips,” she retorted. “Did I not walk with you, and talk with you, sir, this very afternoon for an hour by the clock?”
“It will be our last walk,” said Humphrey, gloomily.
“What do you mean?” she asked, and somehow she dropped her thread and let the wheel stand idle.
“I am going away to-morrow, with Dr. Harford,” said Humphrey, intently watching the little girlish face, and hailing with great delight the look of trouble that dawned in it.
“But why?” she faltered9.
“It is because I love you that I go,” he said, eagerly. “Because I must move heaven and earth to get into favour with your guardian. Helena, tell me, could you ever wed3 one who, till this war ends, is like to be a half-ruined man? I am ashamed to propose such a marriage, but I love you with my whole heart. We are alike homeless and forlorn. Give me the right to shield and protect you, and I will spend my life in making you happy.”
She sat quite silent, with drooped10 head.
“Can you not trust one that so loves you?” pleaded Humphrey, realising now that this little gentle maid was not, after all, to prove an easy conquest.
She lifted her head for a minute, and looked shyly, yet searchingly into his eyes. There was none of the fierce passion that had terrified her in Norton’s gaze, nor was there the quiet friendliness11 she had often seen in Gabriel’s hazel eyes; surely this was the love that would satisfy her! And yet—yet—the pity of it!—could she honestly say she loved him? All at once she hid her face and burst into tears.
“Helena!” he cried, in dismay, kneeling beside her, “what have I done? What have I said to grieve you?”
“Oh, I don’t know what to do!” she sobbed12. “If my father were but here!”
He drew down one of her hands, and held it in his tenderly. “Tell me about him,” he said.
And Helena poured out all her pent-up grief, and did not draw away her hand when now and again he kissed it.
“Tell me,” said Humphrey, “had your father still been here, do you think he would have trusted you to me?”
“Yes,” said little Nell, with a sob13. “Anyone would trust you. It was not you that I doubted.”
“What, then, my beloved?”
“It was whether I loved you—enough.”
“Suppose,” said Humphrey, “I join Sir William Waller’s force when Gabriel Harford returns, and then come back in a year and ask you again. By that time you may know your own mind.”
But at this suggestion Nell had fresh light thrown on her innermost heart.
“Oh, no,” she cried, clinging to his hand. “I could not bear that you should go away for a year. They would kill you, as they killed my father.”
“And you would care a little?” said Humphrey, smiling. “Perhaps, after all, you do begin even now to love me.”
She did not reply, but she did not resist him when he clasped his arms around her, and drawing the fair little head on to his shoulder covered it with kisses.
“To-morrow,” he said, “I will ride to Newbury, and if Dr. Twisse gives his consent, who knows but he may be willing to return with me, and himself tie the knot? For in days like these I am sure Madam Harford will agree with the proverb, ‘Happy is the wooing that’s not long a-doing.’”
Yet after all it was not till Humphrey Neal and Dr. Harford had made their farewells the next morning, and had left the Manor14 House to a most dreary15 quiet—a stillness which might be felt—that Helena became quite sure of herself. The light of her life seemed to have gone out, and she wondered how she had ever endured existence at Notting Hill all through the previous autumn. The next day her spirits sank still lower. What if Dr. Twisse would not consent to the marriage? It was quite possible that he might consider Humphrey Neal’s prospects16 too much injured by the war to make him a desirable husband from the financial point of view.
And, indeed, this consideration was what chiefly filled the wooer himself with anxiety as he journeyed down to Newbury, and Dr. Harford had no little difficulty in cheering him in his depression. So downhearted had he become when they actually reached their destination, that the physician good-naturedly undertook to break the ice for him, and leaving Humphrey at the inn, took the letter from Madam Harford himself to the Rectory. He made a most excellent ambassador, for very few could resist his charm of manner, and his frank, clear way of stating a case. The Rector knew at once that he was a man whose sound judgment18 could be trusted, and he promised to call on them at the inn in an hour’s time to discuss the matter with Mr. Neal.
Fortified19 by a good supper and by a cheery talk with Dr. Harford, Humphrey underwent the ordeal20 with composure, and made a good impression on Helena’s guardian. He found also, to his amusement, that the mere21 fact that Dr. Twisse was a parson told after all in his favour. For as the good man informed them, he had only that morning been pondering over the church register, and had found that it furnished sad food for reflection. The burials were many, but the marriages had been few indeed since the war broke out.
“In truth, if the miserable22 strife23 goes on much longer, there will be no men left in the country,” he said, with a sigh. “There is nothing like a deadly war for the utter destruction of home life and happiness.”
“Little Mistress Helena hath already suffered cruelly through the war,” said Dr. Harford. “And to see her happily wedded to one able to protect her and to safeguard her property would greatly please my mother.”
Then the opinion of Sir Robert Neal was quoted as to the prospect17 of recovering the Oxfordshire property, and before long Dr. Twisse had consented to the marriage, and had agreed to return to London with Humphrey Neal that he might discuss arrangements with Helena and her godmother.
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1
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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2
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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4
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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5
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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6
kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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7
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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8
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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9
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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10
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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11
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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12
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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13
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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14
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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15
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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16
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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17
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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18
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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19
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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20
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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21
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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22
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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23
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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