For three years the vicar, Sprats, and Lucian lived in a world of their own, with the Pepperdines as a closely fitting environment. Miss Pepperdine was accustomed to remark that she did not know whether Lucian really lived at the farm or at the vicarage, but as the vicar often made a similar observation with respect to his daughter, things appeared to be equalised. It was true that the two children treated the houses with equal freedom. If they happened to be at the farm about dinner-time they dined there, but the vicarage would have served them equally well if it had harboured them when the luncheon-bell rang. Mr. Pepperdine was greatly delighted when he found them filling a side of his board: their remarks on things in general, their debates, disputes, and more than all, their quarrels, afforded him much amusement. They were not so well understood by Miss Pepperdine, who considered the young lady from the vicarage to be something of a hoyden11, and thought it the vicar’s duty to marry again and provide his offspring with a mother.
‘And a pretty time she’d have!’ remarked Mr. Pepperdine, to whom this sage12 reflection was offered. ‘A nice handful for anybody, is that young Sprats—as full of mischief13 as an egg is full of meat. But a good ge’l, a good ge’l, Keziah, and with a warm heart, you make no mistake.’
Sprats’s kindness of heart, indeed, was famous throughout the village. She was her father’s almoner, and tempered charity with discrimination in a way that would have done credit to a professional philanthropist. She made periodical visits through the village, followed by Lucian, who meekly14 carried a large basket containing toothsome and seasonable doles16, which were handed out to this or that old woman in accordance with Sprats’s instructions. The instinct of mothering something was strong within her. From the moment of her return from school she had taken her father in hand and had shaken him up and pulled him together. He had contracted bad habits as regards food and was{64} becoming dyspeptic; he was careless about his personal comfort and neglectful of his health—Sprats dragooned him into the paths of rectitude. But she extended her mothering instincts to Lucian even more than to her father. She treated him at times as if he were a child with whom it was unnecessary to reason; there was always an affectionate solicitude17 in her attitude towards him which was, perhaps, most marked when she bullied18 him into subjection. Once when he was ill and confined to his room for a week or two she took up her quarters at the farm, summarily dismissed Keziah and Judith from attendance on the invalid19, and nursed him back to convalescence20. It was useless to argue with her on these occasions. Sprats, as Boggles had truly said, was not one to be denied of anything, and every year made it more manifest that when she had picked Lucian up in the turnip-field and had fallen headlong into the ditch with him, it had been a figure of her future interest in his welfare.
It was in the fourth summer of Lucian’s residence at Simonstower, and he was fifteen and Sprats nearly two years older, when the serpent stole into their Paradise. Until the serpent came all had gone well with them. Sprats was growing a fine girl; she was more rudely healthy than ever, and just as sunburned; her freckles21 had increased rather than decreased; her hair, which was growing deeper in colour, was a perpetual nuisance to her. She had grown a little quieter in manner, but would break out at times; the mere22 fact that she wore longer skirts did not prevent her from climbing trees or playing cricket. And she and Lucian were still hand-in-glove, still David and Jonathan; she had no friends of her own sex, and he none of his; each was in a happy state of perfect content. But the stage of absolute perfection is by no means assured even in the Arcadia of childhood—it may endure for a time, but sooner or later it must be broken in upon, and not seldom in a rudely sudden way.
The breaking up of the old things began one Sunday{65} morning in summer, in the cool shade of the ancient church. Nothing heralded23 the momentous24 event; everything was as placid25 as it always was. Lucian, sitting in the pew sacred to the family of Pepperdine, looked about him and saw just what he saw every Sunday. Mr. Pepperdine was at the end of the pew in his best clothes; Miss Pepperdine was gorgeous in black silk and bugles26; Miss Judith looked very handsome in her pearl-grey. In the vicarage pew, all alone, sat Sprats in solemn state. Her freckled27 face shone with much polishing; her sailor hat was quite straight; as for the rest of her, she was clothed in a simple blouse and a plain skirt, and there were no tears in either. All the rest was as usual. The vicar’s surplice had been newly washed, and Sprats had mended a bit of his hood10, which had become frayed28 by hanging on a nail in the vestry, but otherwise he presented no different appearance to that which always characterised him. There were the same faces, and the same expressions upon them, in every pew, and that surely was the same bee that always buzzed while they waited for the service to begin, and the three bells in the tower droned out. ‘Come to church—come to church—come to church!’
It was at this very moment that the serpent stole into Paradise. The vicar had broken the silence with ‘When the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness,’ and everybody had begun to rustle29 the leaves of their prayer-books, when the side-door of the chancel opened and the Earl of Simonstower, very tall, and very gaunt, and very irascible in appearance, entered in advance of two ladies, whom he marshalled to the castle pew with as much grace and dignity as his gout would allow. Lucian and Sprats, with a wink30 to each other which no one else perceived, examined the earl’s companions during the recitation of the General Confession31, looking through the slits32 of their hypocritical fingers. The elder lady appeared to be a woman of fashion: she was dressed in a style not often seen at{66} Simonstower, and her attire33, her lorgnette, her vinaigrette, her fan, and her airs and graces formed a delightful34 contrast to the demeanour of the old earl, who was famous for the rustiness35 of his garments, and stuck like a leech36 to the fashion of the ‘forties.’
But it was neither earl nor simpering madam at which Lucian gazed at surreptitious moments during the rest of the service. The second of the ladies to enter into the pew of the great house was a girl of sixteen, ravishingly pretty, and gay as a peacock in female flaunts37 and fineries which dazzled Lucian’s eyes. She was dark, and her eyes were shaded by exceptionally long lashes38 which swept a creamy cheek whereon there appeared the bloom of the peach, fresh, original, bewitching; her hair, curling over her shoulders from beneath a white sun-bonnet, artfully designed to communicate an air of innocence39 to its wearer, was of the same blue-black hue40 that distinguished41 Lucian’s own curls. It chanced that the boy had just read some extracts from Don Juan: it seemed to him that here was Haidee in the very flesh. A remarkably42 strange sensation suddenly developed in the near region of his heart—Lucian for the first time in his life had fallen in love. He felt sick and queer and almost stifled43; Miss Pepperdine noticed a drawn44 expression on his face, and passed him a mint lozenge. He put it in his mouth—something nearly choked him, but he had a vague suspicion that the lozenge had nothing to do with it.
Mr. Chilverstone had a trick of being long-winded if he found a text that appealed to him, and when Lucian heard the subject of that morning’s discourse45 he feared that the congregation was in for a sermon of at least half an hour’s duration. The presence of the Earl of Simonstower, however, kept the vicar within reasonable bounds, and Lucian was devoutly46 thankful. He had never wished for anything so much in all his life as he then wished to be out of church and safely hidden in the vicarage, where he always lunched on Sunday, or in some corner of the woods. For the girl in the earl’s{67} pew was discomposing, not merely because of her prettiness but because she would stare at him, Lucian. He, temperamentally shy where women were concerned, had only dared to look at her now and then; she, on the contrary, having once seen him looked at nothing else. He knew that she was staring at him all through the sermon. He grew hot and uncomfortable and wriggled47, and Miss Judith increased his confusion by asking him if he were not quite well. It was with a great sense of relief that he heard Mr. Chilverstone wind up his sermon and begin the Ascription—he felt that he could not stand the fire of the girl’s eyes any longer.
He joined Sprats in the porch and seemed in a great hurry to retreat upon the vicarage. Sprats, however, had other views—she wanted to speak to various old women and to Miss Pepperdine, and Lucian had to remain with her. Fate was cruel—the earl, for some mad reason or other, brought his visitors down the church instead of taking them out by the chancel door; consequently Haidee passed close by Lucian. He looked at her; she raised demure48 eyelids49 and looked at him. The soul within him became as water—he was lost. He seemed to float into space; his head burned, his heart turned icy-cold, and he shut his eyes, or thought he did. When he opened them again the girl, a dainty dream of white, was vanishing, and Sprats and Miss Judith were asking him if he didn’t feel well. New-born love fostered dissimulation50: he complained of a sick headache. The maternal51 instinct was immediately aroused in Sprats: she conducted him homewards, stretched him on a comfortable sofa in a darkened room, and bathed his forehead with eau-de-cologne. Her care and attention were pleasant, but Lucian’s thoughts were of the girl whose eyes had smitten53 him to the heart.
The sick headache formed an excellent cloak for the shortcomings of the afternoon and evening. He recovered sufficiently54 to eat some lunch, and he afterwards{68} lay on a rug in the garden and was tended by the faithful Sprats with a fan and more eau-de-cologne. He kept his eyes shut most of the time, and thought of Haidee. Her name, he said to himself, must be Haidee—no other name would fit her eyes, her hair, and her red lips. He trembled when he thought of her lips; Sprats noticed it, and wondered if he was going to have rheumatic fever or ague. She fetched a clinical thermometer out of the house and took his temperature. It was quite normal, and she was reassured55, but still a little puzzled. When tea-time came she brought his tea and her own out into the garden—she observed that he ate languidly, and only asked twice for strawberries. She refused to allow him to go to church in the evening, and conducted him to the farm herself. On the way, talking of the events of the day, she asked him if he had noticed the stuck-up doll in the earl’s pew. Lucian dissembled, and replied in an indifferent tone—it appeared from his reply that he had chiefly observed the elder lady, and had wondered who she was. Sprats was able to inform him upon this point—she was a Mrs. Brinklow, a connection, cousin, half-cousin, or something, of Lord Simonstower’s, and the girl was her daughter, and her name was Haidee.
Lucian knew it—it was Fate, it was Destiny. He had had dreams that some such mate as this was reserved for him in the Pandora’s box which was now being opened to him. Haidee! He nearly choked with emotion, and Sprats became certain that he was suffering from indigestion. She had private conversation with Miss Pepperdine at the farm on the subject of Lucian’s indisposition, with the result that a cooling draught56 was administered to him and immediate52 bed insisted upon. He retired57 with meek15 resignation; as a matter of fact solitude58 was attractive—he wanted to think of Haidee.
In the silent watches of the night—disturbed but twice, once by Miss Pepperdine with more medicine, and once by Miss Judith with nothing but solicitude—{69}he realised the entire situation. Haidee had dawned upon him, and the Thing was begun which made all poets mighty59. He would be miserable60, but he would be great. She was a high-born maiden61, who sat in the pews of earls, and he was—he was not exactly sure what he was. She would doubtless look upon him with scorn: well, he would make the world ring with his name and fame; he would die in a cloud of glory, fighting for some oppressed nation, as Byron did, and then she would be sorry, and possibly weep for him. By eleven o’clock he felt as if he had been in love all his life; by midnight he was asleep and dreaming that Haidee was locked up in a castle on the Rhine, and that he had sworn to release her and carry her away to liberty and love. He woke early next morning, and wrote some verses in the metre and style of my Lord Byron’s famous address to a maiden of Athens; by breakfast-time he knew them by heart.
It was all in accordance with the decrees of Fate that Lucian and Haidee were quickly brought into each other’s company. Two days after the interchange of glances in the church porch the boy rushed into the dining-room at the vicarage one afternoon, and found himself confronted by a group of persons, of whom he for the first bewildering moment recognised but one. When he realised that the earth was not going to open and swallow him, and that he could not escape without shame, he saw that the Earl of Simonstower, Mrs. Brinklow, Mr. Chilverstone, and Sprats were in the room as well as Haidee. It was fortunate that Mrs. Brinklow, who had an eye for masculine beauty and admired pretty boys, took a great fancy to him, and immediately began to pet him in a manner which he bitterly resented. That cooled him, and gave him self-possession. He contrived62 to extricate63 himself from her caresses64 with dignity, and replied to the questions which the earl put to him about his studies with modesty65 and courage. Sprats conducted Haidee to the garden to inspect her collection of animals; Lucian{70} went with them, and became painfully aware that for every glance which he and Haidee bestowed66 on rabbits, white mice, piebald rats, and guinea-pigs, they gave two to each other. Each glance acted like an electric thrill—it seemed to Lucian that she was the very spirit of love, made flesh for him to worship. Sprats, however, had an opinion of Miss Brinklow which was diametrically opposed to his own, and she expressed it with great freedom. On any other occasion he would have quarrelled with her: the shame and modesty of love kept him silent; he dared not defend his lady against one of her own sex.
It was in the economy of Lucian’s dream that he and Haidee were to be separated by cruel and inexorable Fate: Haidee, however, had no intention of permitting Fate or anything else to rob her of her just dues. On the afternoon of the very next day Lord Simonstower sent for Lucian to read an Italian magazine to him; Haidee, whose mother loved long siestas67 on summer days, and was naturally inclined to let her daughter manage her own affairs, contrived to waylay68 the boy with the beautiful eyes as he left the Castle, and as pretty a piece of comedy ensued as one could wish to see. They met again, and then they met in secret, and Lucian became bold and Haidee alluring69, and the woods by the river, and the ruins in the Castle, might have whispered of romantic scenes. And at last Lucian could keep his secret no longer, and there came a day when he poured into Sprats’s surprised and sisterly ear the momentous tidings that he and Haidee had plighted70 their troth for ever and a day, and loved more madly and despairingly than lovers ever had loved since Leander swam to Hero across the Hellespont.
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1
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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gorged
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| v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的过去式和过去分词 )；作呕 | |
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satiety
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| n.饱和；(市场的)充分供应 | |
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6
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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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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hoyden
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| n.野丫头，淘气姑娘 | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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doles
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| 救济物( dole的名词复数 )； 失业救济金 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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freckles
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| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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bugles
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| 妙脆角，一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食； 号角( bugle的名词复数 )； 喇叭； 匍匐筋骨草； （装饰女服用的）柱状玻璃（或塑料）小珠 | |
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27
freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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slits
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| n.狭长的口子，裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开，撕开( slit的第三人称单数 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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rustiness
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| 生锈，声音沙哑； 荒疏； 锈蚀 | |
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leech
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| n.水蛭，吸血鬼，榨取他人利益的人；vt.以水蛭吸血；vi.依附于别人 | |
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flaunts
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的第三人称单数 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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38
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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41
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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42
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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43
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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44
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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45
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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46
devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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47
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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48
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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49
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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50
dissimulation
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| n.掩饰，虚伪，装糊涂 | |
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51
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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52
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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53
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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54
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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56
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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57
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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59
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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61
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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63
extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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64
caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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65
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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66
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
siestas
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| n.（气候炎热国家的）午睡，午休( siesta的名词复数 ) | |
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68
waylay
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| v.埋伏，伏击 | |
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69
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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70
plighted
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| vt.保证，约定（plight的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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