—P. H. WICKSTEED.
It was on the Saturday preceding Norton’s walk with Hilary that Gabriel Harford rode once more from Gloucester to the scene of his rescue of Major Locke’s daughter. His recovery from his severe illness had long ago been complete, and the open-air life had fortunately proved the best cure for the mischief5 done to his constitution by the long months in Oxford6 Castle. Though thin and a trifle gaunt-looking after the severe campaign and the insufficient7 food, the indomitable pluck and manliness8 which had carried him through so much had stood him in good stead through all the quarrels and discussions and difficulties which had prevailed of late among the Parliamentary generals, to the great discomfort9 of the whole party.
Sir William Waller had, some time before, perceived, with the sagacity which made him the greatest tactician10 possessed11 by either Royalists or Parliamentarians, that an entire reorganisation of the army was needed and that, with the Earl of Essex at the head, nothing but disaster lay before them. The new model army was at length being formed, and, by the self-denying ordinance12, Waller retired13 to his work in the House of Commons and his soldiers were dispersed14, some being sent to serve in the new army, others despatched to various garrisons16 in the South of England.
It was with no little amusement that Gabriel recognised again the scenes of his moonlight adventure two years before, and old Amos, the gatekeeper, gave him a warm greeting.
“Eh, sir!” he exclaimed. “These be better times for the Manor17, and ’tis you we have to thank for it all.”
“Why, man! you did quite as much to save your mistress,” said Gabriel, heartily18. “We could never have found our way to her without you for guide. Well! All’s well that ends well! Are Mr. and Mrs. Neal within?”
“Yes, sir, and main glad they’ll be to see you.”
The trim bowling-green, over which Joscelyn Heyworth had helped him to escort Helena in such unceremonious haste, was now in a blaze of sunshine, and on the steps where they had nearly betrayed themselves by laughing, as they drew off their riding-boots, a large tortoiseshell cat lay basking19. From within the house came a cheerful sound of voices, and when the servant ushered20 him into the hall, he found Humphrey Neal and his pretty little wife so absorbed in playing with their baby son and heir on the hearthrug, that they had not noticed the rare arrival of a visitor.
“Captain Harford!” announced the servant, and both host and hostess came eagerly to meet the newcomer with a warmth of welcome which was unmistakable.
“I thought Sir William Waller was in the New Forest!” exclaimed Humphrey. “What good fortune brings you here?”
“We were at Ringwood about Easter, pretty well worn out with long marches and the worst weather of the whole winter, in our journey for the relief of Taunton,” said Gabriel. “But now Sir William Waller’s army is disbanded, and I was sent for a time to Gloucester with a contingent21 of the men to serve under Massey in Herefordshire.”
“They certainly work you hard and don’t overfeed you. Why, you are well-nigh as lean and hollow-cheeked as when I first saw you in that pestilent gaol22 at Oxford.”
“We have in truth been half-starved these many months,” said Gabriel. “What else can one expect when the country has been laid waste and plundered23 for nigh upon three years? And even if provisions were to be had for money, we had naught24 to pay with, thanks to the mismanagement of the authorities.”
Helena, determined25 that he should at least have all that the Manor would provide in the way of a banquet, hastened off to interview her housekeeper26, while Gabriel, with a secret pang27, watched the fatherly pride with which Humphrey showed off the perfections of the blue-eyed, curly-locked son and heir, who rolled and kicked in perfect bliss28 on the hearthrug, quite indifferent to the fact that he was in a most distracted country.
“He is the image of Helena,” said Humphrey. “All save his hands; did you ever see such a fist in a brat29 of his age? You should feel how hard he can grip. Soon we shall have him at work with the dumb bells!”
“You have been reading Mr. John Milton’s letter on Education,” said Gabriel, with a laugh, “and mean to have him as well skilled in athletics30 as an ancient Greek. I found my friend, Captain Heyworth, deep in the treatise31 the other day.”
“Oh! you mean the gentleman that married my pretty cousin Clemency32. I have heard naught of them since old Sir Robert Neal’s death. How do they fare?”
“Sadly enough; you probably didn’t hear that he lost his arm at the second battle of Newbury. It came about through sheer lack of surgeons, and through the scandalously inadequate33 aid for the wounded. Each regiment34 was supposed to have its surgeon and two mates, but at Newbury the supply had fallen into arrears35, and Heyworth’s wound gangrened, and many other men lost their lives just from neglect and from the severe privations we had to put up with.”
“And you have seen the Heyworths in their home since then?”
“Yes, I was at Katterham about two months ago. It is piteous to see that poor fellow suffering, and like to suffer all his life long, Sir Theodore Mayerne says. We are speaking of my friend, Captain Heyworth,” he explained as Helena rejoined them.
She listened to his account with eager sympathy in her gentle eyes.
“I remember him well,” she said, “both here and at Gloucester; he was ever cheerful and light-hearted. Doth he keep up his spirits even now?”
“He makes a gallant36 effort to do so,” said Gabriel, “but you can guess what it would be for a man of his active habits to be a helpless invalid37 at three-and-twenty.”
“The crippled soldiers need to be the bravest of all, for the dead have at least due honour accorded to them, and rest in peace, and the victors have praise and glory and success to crown them, but most people forget those who have to drag on a maimed life year after year,” said Helena. “How doth his wife fare? She was very good to me when I was in trouble.”
“She hath a son of her own, but not such a healthy and fine child as yours, and the anxiety of her husband hath told upon her. Still, brighter times may dawn for them. When I saw him, poor fellow, he was clearly longing38 to be back again with Sir William Waller. Indeed, he hath been sorely missed, for in February, when the men broke into mutiny, he would have been better able to cope with them than any other officer.”
“What made them mutiny?”
“Partly the endlessness of the campaign and the privations, partly that Sir William Waller, though much liked by his officers, fails to tackle his men just in the right way. Then the pay was terribly in arrears, though that was no fault of his.”
“Sir Thomas Fairfax is to be Commander-in-Chief of the New Model Army, I hear,” said Humphrey Neal.
“Yes, and Skippon Major-General. There is a strong desire that, spite of his remaining in Parliament, Cromwell should be appointed to the vacant post of Lieutenant-General, but I know not how that will be.”
There was so much to hear and to tell that the time sped quickly, and when Gabriel was obliged to return to Gloucester he carried with him a very happy picture of his friend and pretty Helena in their home, and felt that Major Locke would have been content to see the daughter whose future had filled his dying moments with anxiety, in the old Manor with husband and child to cheer her.
Partly in the hope of winning over those recently engaged in the affair of the Clubmen, but mainly with the intention of diverting Prince Rupert from his journey northward39, Massey set out from Gloucester at dawn on the 20th April, having been reinforced by the contingent from Waller’s army, which brought up his strength to about five thousand foot and three hundred and fifty horse.
It was with no little delight that Gabriel found himself marching back once more to his own well-loved county, and his spirits rose when, during the halt at Newent, he heard that his regiment was to remain there for the night, marching early the next day to Bromyard, where Massey had expectation of winning recruits from the dispersed Clubmen.
Bromyard was, he believed, the benefice held by Dr. William Coke, and unless Hilary should happen to be at Whitbourne he might be able to see her. It chanced that, owing to his long and frequent absences from Hereford, he had never heard of the death of old Mr. Wall, at Bosbury, and had no notion that Dr. Coke had been promoted to the vacant living during his two years’ probation40 in London.
His annoyance41 was therefore unspeakable when, at the last moment, Massey changed his plans, ordering his guards to undertake the expedition to Bromyard, and the rest of the troops to press on to Ledbury. With bitter regret Gabriel had to endure the sight of the blue regiment left behind for the work he so ardently42 longed to set about, and with the obedience43 of a soldier to tramp on precisely44 where he did not wish to go.
The picturesque45 town of Ledbury was bathed in the glow of the spring sunset as the Parliamentary troops emerged from the narrow cross street into the spacious46 main thoroughfare with its beautiful black and white timbered houses and, at the further end, the quaint47 town hall raised on massive black posts, between which on market days the countrywomen set their stalls. Massey and his officers dismounted at the door of the chief inn, a well-managed hostelry known as “The Feathers,” and, hungry with their long march, they were chiefly intent on ordering supper when they were checked by a curious-looking man, who, in spite of his short stature48, forced his way through them, elbowing a passage without so much as a “by your leave,” until he reached Colonel Massey.
Gabriel looked at him intently. Where had he before seen that strong square face with its air of gloomy austerity, its smouldering, resentful eyes?
“Sir,” said the man, plucking at Massey’s sleeve, “by the mercy of a good Providence49 I chanced to be in Ledbury this evening; I am sent to remind you of your promised aid.”
“Eh!” exclaimed Massey; “who are you, and what aid did I promise?”
“I am one Peter Waghorn, of Bosbury, and last autumn you bade me wait till you came hither again. You broke your word, sir, and never aided us when you were here in March, but this time I beg you to fulfil your promise and cast down the Popish cross which stands in our churchyard.”
“To be sure! I remember you now,” said Massey, and Gabriel with a sudden flash of recollection instantly recalled both the man and his story. He had last seen him at Hereford, vehemently50 addressing the people outside the cathedral. He listened with some interest to Waghorn’s words.
“Do not neglect this second call, sir,” he said, solemnly; “for as I prayed at noonday, I heard a voice bidding me to rise and haste to Ledbury. Like Abraham, I set forth51 in faith, and now I well understand why I was sent. Come back with me, sir, I implore52 you, and cast down the cross.”
There was no insincerity about this man, he evidently spoke53 from his heart and with intense anxiety awaited the officer’s answer. Massey, a good-natured soldier of fortune, caring more for the fighting than the cause, regarded him with no little amusement.
“The people desire its destruction?” he said, carelessly.
“It would be for their souls’ good,” said Waghorn. “Some do idolatrously bow to it.”
“Well, well, that’s a foolish practice. Moreover, Parliament hath ordered the crosses to be broken down,” said Massey. “I will send over some of the soldiers to-morrow morning.”
The gloomy face of the fanatic54 brightened, and without actual thanks, but with the air of one who has gained his heart’s desire, he touched his hat and withdrew.
Massey turned to Gabriel Harford.
“I want a word with you in private,” he said. “Come to my room while supper is making ready.”
Gabriel, wondering what was to happen, followed the Colonel to a room overlooking the High Street, and, at Massey’s invitation, took a place in the deep window-seat.
“I think you know Cromwell, do you not?” said the Governor of Gloucester.
“Yes, sir, I was serving under Waller when he acted with him last autumn in the Newbury campaign, and again last month in the Western campaign,” said Gabriel.
“There is a very important and secret matter that I must make known to him,” said Massey. “I can’t entrust55 the despatch15 to an ordinary man, but if you will undertake to carry it to him you will be doing him a greater service than I can explain to you. Would you be willing to resign your temporary post in my force and undertake this, even though I can give you no explanation of the signal importance of the work?”
“Yes, sir, I will gladly undertake it,” said Gabriel. “Am I to ride at once?”
“Nay, not yet,” said Massey, smiling at his ardour. “For I will at the same time send a despatch to the Commander-in-Chief, who, I understand, is still at Windsor organising the New Model with Cromwell’s aid. I can’t complete that till I have learnt what Prince Rupert is about, and if possible turned him back. But I wanted to know if you were willing to turn despatch-bearer for the nonce.”
“There is nothing I should like better than to do a service for Cromwell,” said Gabriel, his eyes kindling56. “For in truth he seems to me the greatest man I ever met.”
“Humph!” said Massey. “There’s little doubt that he is an able leader, but he’s too religious by half. The man’s a mystic, a seventeenth-century Enoch, with the soldierly zeal57 of a David to boot. By the bye, you may as well take over a detachment of the men from Waller’s army to Bosbury to-morrow. I’m as likely as not to forget that fellow’s request, and I think you have done that sort of business before, eh?”
“Yes, sir, we hewed59 down Abingdon Cross,” said Gabriel. And when the next day he found that the rest of the forces were to witness the hanging of an unhappy scout60 of Prince Rupert’s, who had shot a sentry61 in the early morning, he was glad to have had the Bosbury work entrusted62 to him.
“I would rather hew58 down fifty crosses than stand by and see a poor wretch63 hanged,” he reflected, as they marched along the rough country lanes. “A fair fight is one thing—every man takes his chance, but hanging is a hateful business.”
Then he remembered with deep regret that this despatchbearing that Massey meant to entrust to him would probably rob him of the eagerly-desired glimpse of Hilary, and also of the visit to his home at Hereford. He wondered whether it would not be possible to let his father know of his near neighbourhood, longing sorely to see him and to learn from him more than the few and long-delayed letters he had received could tell. Even if he did not see Hilary he might learn through Dr. Harford how she fared. After all if he did see her, she might possibly refuse to speak to him, as she had done in very cruel fashion at Hereford two years ago. His heart ached even now at the memory of the scene in the Cathedral porch. How was it that although the pain of his wound at Edgehill could never be vividly64 recalled, the anguish of remembering that last interview remained always so keen? Was it because the body was a mere65 garment presently to be laid aside, while love, which belonged to the soul and spirit, was eternal and changeless?
But to serve Cromwell in some real, though unknown fashion, was worth suffering for; moreover, he should see Sir Thomas Fairfax, the Commander-in-Chief, and he was naturally eager to learn more about this New Model Army, which was the main hope of his party.
He fell to thinking of the three men who had most influenced his life; his father, Falkland and Cromwell. What was it that had specially66 attracted him to such opposite types? He tried to think what characteristics they shared, and came to the conclusion that it was a certain breadth of mind and a habit of looking at the inner realities, not the externals, of religion.
He was curiously67 free from the usual habit of judging men by mere outward appearance, and the fact that both Falkland and Cromwell had been handicapped by nature, and were without form or comeliness68 had from the first been no hindrance69 to him. Their largeness of soul had irresistibly70 drawn71 him to them; for Falkland, with his wide charity, his philosophic72 Christianity, had been centuries in advance of his contemporaries; while Cromwell stood now revealed as the foremost of that band of Independents who most nearly reached the level of toleration for those of other religious views. He was ready to tolerate all sorts and conditions of men, save only the Papists and the rigid73 Episcopalians; the former because they would fain have handed England over once more to the Pope’s jurisdiction74, the latter because the recent tyranny of Laud75 and the servile adulation with which the bulk of the clergy76 justified77 the King’s misrule had made them for the time a danger to the State.
But his musings were cut short by a sudden glimpse of an orchard78 by the roadside, and the first sight they had yet had of apple-trees in blossom.
“What an early spring!” he thought to himself. “’Tis but the 21 st of April and here’s apple blossom! And there are the poplars at Bosbury already green, and the old tower which Hilary asked me about all those years ago. Well! ’tis a mercy we can’t see in life what lies before us. And to point the moral of that reflection here comes Peter Waghorn, like a blot79 on the fair picture.”
“Good-day, sir, good-day!” said the wood-carver, his dark face lighted by a gleam of triumph. “I thank the Lord you have come. My prayers have been heard, and we shall accomplish His work!”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
placid
|
|
| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
humility
|
|
| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
attainment
|
|
| n.达到，到达；［常pl.］成就，造诣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
mischief
|
|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
Oxford
|
|
| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
insufficient
|
|
| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
manliness
|
|
| 刚毅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
discomfort
|
|
| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
tactician
|
|
| n. 战术家, 策士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
ordinance
|
|
| n.法令；条令；条例 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
dispersed
|
|
| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
despatch
|
|
| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
garrisons
|
|
| 守备部队，卫戍部队( garrison的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
manor
|
|
| n.庄园，领地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
basking
|
|
| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
ushered
|
|
| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
contingent
|
|
| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
gaol
|
|
| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
plundered
|
|
| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
naught
|
|
| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
housekeeper
|
|
| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
pang
|
|
| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
bliss
|
|
| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
brat
|
|
| n.孩子；顽童 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
athletics
|
|
| n.运动，体育，田径运动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
treatise
|
|
| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
clemency
|
|
| n.温和，仁慈，宽厚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
inadequate
|
|
| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
regiment
|
|
| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
arrears
|
|
| n.到期未付之债，拖欠的款项；待做的工作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
invalid
|
|
| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
northward
|
|
| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
probation
|
|
| n.缓刑(期)，(以观后效的)察看；试用(期) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
annoyance
|
|
| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
ardently
|
|
| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
obedience
|
|
| n.服从，顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
picturesque
|
|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
spacious
|
|
| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
stature
|
|
| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
vehemently
|
|
| adv. 热烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
implore
|
|
| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
fanatic
|
|
| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
entrust
|
|
| v.信赖，信托，交托 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
kindling
|
|
| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
zeal
|
|
| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
hew
|
|
| v.砍；伐；削 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
hewed
|
|
| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的过去式和过去分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
scout
|
|
| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
sentry
|
|
| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
entrusted
|
|
| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
vividly
|
|
| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
specially
|
|
| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
comeliness
|
|
| n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
hindrance
|
|
| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
irresistibly
|
|
| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
philosophic
|
|
| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
rigid
|
|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
jurisdiction
|
|
| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
laud
|
|
| n.颂歌；v.赞美 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
clergy
|
|
| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
justified
|
|
| a.正当的，有理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
orchard
|
|
| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
blot
|
|
| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |