It is the nature of such old haunted places as Saltwoods that they impress you with their stillness by day and their stirring by night. Then the old boards creak as if to the tread of forgotten steps; old echoes answer to voices long silent; there is a rustle1 down the narrow passages as of garments the very texture2 of which is forgotten; there are sighs in the night airs, and little cold blasts wandering round corners, even on the stillest night. You tell yourself that it is the crumbling3 brick and wood work setting ever a little more towards destruction; but it seems rather as if the years-laden habitation had acquired a sentient4 being of its own; that when, like the aged5, it lies wakeful in the night, the memories of the past come back to it; that it laments6, with sighs, lost life, lost mirth, lost dignity.
But Baby would at no time, have had, in her practical young mind, room for such fancies as these; and now, the very real well-grounded fears which were strong upon her lent every stealthy creak about her a hideous7 material significance, every sighing breath the echo of a present tragedy.
Supposing Muhammed were really to creep into the Runkle's room—Sir Arthur might not have locked his door. It is all very well, in a fit of rage, to wish an irritating relative disposed of; it is a very different thing to wake in the middle of the night and think of the murderer at his work. Poor old Runkle...! Or, suppose Lady Gerardine were to do herself a mischief8, were to ... there are ideas to which one cannot bear to give concrete shape, even in one's own imagination.
The girl lit a candle, sprang out of bed, and huddled9 on a dressing-gown. How foolish, how selfish, how wicked she had been to leave the fevered woman alone with Jani—Jani, the most helpless and unreasoning of human beings!
The old house might have been in league with the evil passions it housed that night, so loudly did it seem to protest against Aspasia's interference.
Heard any one ever door so groan10 on its hinges, ever boards so complain under tread of light foot? What menacing shadows leapt from every corner! It was enough to scare any less courageous11 heart from its purpose. But on went Baby, down the little stairs, past Lady Aspasia's door (the creature snored—it was quite what Baby expected of her); round the corner of the passage, past Sir Arthur's little room. What a dead silence in there! She was afraid to listen to the suggestion, and scurried12 by, past M. Chatelard's room. Her aunt's door at last in sight. Baby stopped with a great start, her heart in her mouth, the candle almost dropping from her grasp—what was that black thing lying at such sinister13 length across the threshold? A heap of clothes? ... Jani? No—diminutive Jani could never spread to such bulk. Then what?
The thing moved slowly, reared itself to its knees, turned a wild black head, a wild black-bearded face, fierce eyes, towards Aspasia; then rose, with a spring.
Aspasia, in her mind, flung the light from her and ran into the darkness, shrieking14: "The Panther, the Panther!" But Aspasia, in the flesh, stood rooted to the spot, in a paralysis16 of terror, unable to move a muscle.
The thing came close to her on its noiseless feet. And she saw that the panther was Muhammed. This was no surprise; she had known it.
But, under his dishevelled locks, from out of the barbaric wings of his beard, the savage17 being's face was gazing upon her—as it gradually filtered to her panic-stricken mind—with no sort of savageness18; rather, indeed, a gentle, a pathetic anxiety.
"Miss Cuningham..." said the Pathan.
To her bewildered ears it was the voice of no Pathan that spoke19, but the high-bred accents of an English gentleman. The girl rubbed her eyes with her left hand. ("Wake up, Aspasia, wake up. You are still asleep, and in the middle of some ridiculous dream!")
"Miss Cuningham," pursued the dream-creature that was panther and Pathan, and yet looked and spoke like one of her own sober kin15; "are you going to her?"
"I was going," answered the girl, abandoning herself to her dream. Then she began suddenly to tremble, and with knees giving way beneath her, advanced uncertainly towards the door, all her energies bent20 on reaching safety within. But he, with an outflung gesture of prayer, cried to her, in that low English voice that was so amazing, yet which, in spite of its incongruity21, soothed22 her frantic23 fear.
"In pity, stop one second. Do you hear how she is crying within? Tell me, what is her trouble?" And, as Baby fell from amazement24 to amazement, as even in dreams one falls, and could find no thought, much less words for answer, he went on in his pleading undertone: "Is the old man not good to her? Oh, do not stop to wonder why I should ask you! Answer me, in the name of God, as one fellow-creature to another: Whom, or what, is she mourning for?"
Aspasia saw how, between the sweep of his moustache and the great fans of his beard, the man's lips quivered as he spoke: she felt his haggard eyes imploring25, compelling; and she made answer, as she was bidden, "as one fellow-creature to another," with a solemnity which she herself was scarce aware of:
"She is mourning for her dead husband."
When she had spoken, Baby had a vision so swift that she had hardly time to seize it, of Muhammed's eyes lightening upon her with an extraordinary illumination. The next instant he had dropped his lids. Then he turned and, running, left her; and she heard the crazy boards creak, the stairs groan under his flying unshod feet.
Utter chaos26 possessed27 her thoughts as she turned the handle of the locked door and gently knocked, calling upon Jani; the fantastic terrors of her inexplicable28 experience, and the sounds of Rosamond's moans and sobs29 within driving her to urgency. As still in a sort of nightmare she found herself repeating her own phrase to the Pathan, and an odd speech of her aunt's, as if in answer to it: "She is mourning for her dead husband.... He is not really dead, Baby...."
Here an idea so extraordinary, so utterly30 impossible, suddenly tapped at her brain that, added to all the rest, a new fear of her own self came upon her.
"I think I am going mad, too," said the poor child to herself. "Jani, Jani," she cried louder, "let me in!"
And Jani, hearing, did so—this time, it seemed, with alacrity31.
The candles on Lady Gerardine's dressing-table had been lit, and the portrait on the panel was in full illumination.
Rosamond was crouching32 in bed, her head on her knees, her hair in long strands33 about her. She did not move upon Aspasia's entrance; she did not seem to have heard it. Now and again a moan escaped her.
"Why did you not call me?" cried the girl, turning angrily upon Jani.
The ayah shook her head, her face was wrinkled into a thousand lines of dismay. She made a helpless gesture with both hands.
"Has she been like that all night?" asked Aspasia.
"All night," answered Jani, adding apologetically: "quieter now."
"Quiet!" echoed Baby.
Quiet! It was indeed this very quietude of suffering that terrified her. From such an extremity34 of pain she felt herself separated by all her own young vitality35 as from death itself. Here the science of her heart failed her. This inert36 woman, moaning like a suffering animal, seemed something horribly different from her beautiful aunt. Baby dared not touch her; she could not even find a word for her.
"Speak to her, you, Jani," she whispered.
Jani obediently approached the bed and, bending towards her mistress, poured forth37 a flood of Hindustani. Failing to make an impression, she seized the clasped hands in her claw-like grip and shook them.
Then Rosamond raised her head and turned a vacant look. Her face was drawn38 beyond recognition; Baby saw a slow tear gather and roll down into the open mouth. Anything more forlorn, more hopeless, the girl thought she had never beheld39. As the golden head drooped40 once more into its broken attitude, Baby, her own tears springing scalding to her eyes, turned determinedly41 to Jani:
"I will get old Mary," she cried; and, seizing her candle again, pattered from the room, all her previous terrors swallowed up in the single huge anxiety. Instinctively42 Aspasia felt that if Lady Gerardine's reason, nay43, her life itself, were to be saved, help must be forthcoming. And the only help she could think of was that of the mystic sorrow-experienced old servant of the family.
Old Mary, whose spirit seemed already a dweller44 of those regions where from the point of view of the eternal nothing finite can surprise, was soon ready at Aspasia's summons.
"Yes, Miss Cuningham, I'll come. Eh, the poor lady! Don't you fret45 yourself, miss, she's in God's hands."
The very sight of her, so promptly46 robed in her everyday black with the white cap tied under her chin, and the familiar little shawl over her shoulders, was enough to inspire confidence. Baby's tremors47 were calming down into hopefulness when they entered Lady Gerardine's room together.
"Eh, the poor lady," cried old Mary again, after one glance at the bed. Then she approached, and took her mistress' hands into hers: "My Lady," she said, "what ails48 you?"
If anything could have called Rosamond back from her deep slough49 of despond it was this appellation50 from lips that had hitherto so sweetly acknowledged her only as widow. The voice and words pierced to her brain. She reared her head quickly.
"Why do you call me that?"
"My Lady!"
The arrival of Sir Arthur Gerardine had made a distinct impression upon the housekeeper's half-dreaming mind. Lady Gerardine wrenched51 her hands from the withered52 clasp, and clapped them over her ears.
"My Lady! my Lady!" she cried wildly, "I am not Lady Gerardine, I never was Lady Gerardine; I am Mrs. English, Mrs. English. Don't you know it?—you of all women!"
"Ma'am!" ejaculated old Mary, while Aspasia nipped her arm, with warning fingers.
"Oh, Mary," wailed53 Rosamond, and broke into a storm of sobs, "do you think he will ever understand, do you think he will ever forgive me? Oh, Mary, you who have felt his presence here, ask him—ask him if he will forgive me!"
Now Mary hardly needed Aspasia's agitated54 whispers; she had understood. Her blue eyes became illumined.
"In God's heaven," she said solemnly, "where dwell the happy spirits who have entered into life, all is peace and understanding—there is no need to forgive. Eh, Ma'am," she went on, while Rosamond stifled55 her sobs to hang upon her words, "do you think these poor things of earth can hurt those that have gone before? In heaven there is no marriage or giving in marriage!"
A moment Rosamond stared with blazing eyes; then she struck at the woman with both hands.
"How dare you!" she cried hoarsely56. "How dare you! Out of my sight! I want none of your God who can make such cruel laws, none of your heaven that can hold such coldness. Oh, Harry58, Harry, Harry! Somewhere you are. Hear me—come to me. Come!"
Fiercely, as if madness were indeed upon her, she flung her glance from one to the other of the helpless watchers.
"I must see him! Send old Mary away, she is keeping him from me. Send her away. Harry, Harry, come to me. Tell me you forgive me... Jani, your people can raise the dead, they say. Call him back to me. By your gods or your devils call his spirit to me. Jani, will you let your child die and not help her?"
The fluent Hindustani of her childhood rushed back to her lips. Aspasia, after having huddled old Mary out of sight, stood, feeling again as if one hideous dream had been succeeded by another still more hideous; feeling, while the unknown cry rang out, and the dear voice grew hoarse57 and feeble, more abjectly59 useless herself than in her teeming60 energy she could ever have thought possible. All at once the ayah, who had listened at first bewildered, then with an air of darkling attention, suddenly interrupted the failing accents of her mistress by a few harsh words.
Rosamond fell back upon her pillows with a sigh of exhaustion61. The Hindoo turned, and went stealthily from the room, and Aspasia sank into a chair; her limbs would no longer support her.
Rosamond lay very still, almost like death, the girl thought, her eyelids62 only half closed over her dulled eyes. Never had minutes seemed so interminable; never silence so charged with boding63 sounds, as during this span of expectation. Never would Aspasia know whether it were hours or minutes that she sat, expecting she knew not what.
At length the shuffling64 tread of the ayah sounded without the door, and Jani entered. She had thrown a long white veil over her head, and between her hands she held the chafing-dish in which she was wont65 to cook her own food. The glimmer66 of the hot charcoal67 shone fitfully on her dark intent face. A thrill of superstitious68 terror ran through Aspasia.
"Jani," she cried, catching69 at the woman's veil, "what are you going to do?" She thought the black eyes were lit with an evil spark as they looked back at her:
"Do my Missie Sahib's will," whispered Jani.
Baby gave a shivering cry.
"Oh—but, Jani, no one can call back the dead!"
Jani was crouching before the hearth70. Without replying, she set her little tripod, and balanced the earthen pan on the top of it. In this lay divers71 herbs and other substances unknown to the watcher. A fine blue fume72, with an aromatic73 odour, began to rise in the room.
Suddenly Jani looked up from her manipulations and spoke again. It was a belated answer to the girl's expostulation.
"Who knows," said she, in her slow difficult English, "where the spirits dwell, or how close they live to us? I will pray my gods! And you, Missie Sahib, pray yours, pray hard that she may have her wish."
The aromatic steam rose and circled. Jani drew a bag from her bosom74 and began to shake its contents over the pan.
"See, missie, see," she went on, her eyes fixed75, "this is the good medicine. Behold76, Missie Sahib shall dream, and in her dream, she shall be happy." She folded her hands, rocked herself backwards77 and forwards, low croonings and mutterings escaping from her lips. Now, like her who soothes78 a babe to rest, now with a passionate79 hypnotic fervour as before one of her own world-old shrines80. Once she called sharply to Aspasia again:
"Pray, pray!"
Then Aspasia folded her hands, and obediently began to pray. Her first thought was to plead that she and her aunt be protected against what evil might be called into being by these unholy Eastern doings. She heard Rosamond turn in the bed, and saw dreamily, through the floating mists, that she was lying with her eyes fixed on the burning charcoal. Then the girl's thoughts began to wander. She would find herself earnestly petitioning for something, wanting something; and suddenly become aware that she knew not what it was. From where she sat the illumined portrait of Harry English looked down upon her: as once before in the dusk, it now, through the vapours, began to assume airs of life; seemed to smile, to frown. The lips quivered; then, she told herself, they spoke; the very words were ringing in her ears.
"In God's name, tell me, who is she mourning for?" It was no longer a picture, it was a living presence. Baby's eyelids drooped; her ideas grew less and less coherent. Finally it was the merest wisps of consciousness that floated through her brain. The old house seemed to hold its breath as in expectation. The stillness seemed to become palpable.
Presently, through her stupor81, she felt herself called by a moaning voice and made painful clutches towards consciousness. She knew that Rosamond wanted her and struggled bravely in spirit to break the bonds that held the body.
"Oh," pleaded the voice, "he is dead indeed, and it is I who have made him dead: Harry—Harry!"
* * * * *
All at once Aspasia found herself awake—a blast of cold air had rushed into the drowsy82 secret atmosphere. The door had been flung open and one had entered—a man who came with quick clean tread, whose face was pale, as if indeed risen from the dead, but whose eyes shone with a wonderful light of life.
The woman in the bed reared herself up with outflung arms, and, as he who entered went straight to her, she cast herself upon his breast with a great cry.
"Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry!"
Such a cry had the walls of the manor-house surely never held before. It might have been the voice of all the anguish83 and all the ecstasies84 it had known these centuries. It rang round the old walls; every echo took it up and answered it, as if they had been waiting for it.
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收听单词发音
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1
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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3
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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sentient
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| adj.有知觉的，知悉的；adv.有感觉能力地 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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laments
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| n.悲恸，哀歌，挽歌( lament的名词复数 )v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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7
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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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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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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14
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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15
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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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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savageness
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| 天然，野蛮 | |
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spoke
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| 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 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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incongruity
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| n.不协调，不一致 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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32
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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33
strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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39
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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40
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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41
determinedly
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| adv.决意地；坚决地，坚定地 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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43
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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44
dweller
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| n.居住者，住客 | |
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45
fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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46
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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47
tremors
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| 震颤( tremor的名词复数 )； 战栗； 震颤声； 大地的轻微震动 | |
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48
ails
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| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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49
slough
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| v.蜕皮，脱落，抛弃 | |
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50
appellation
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| n.名称，称呼 | |
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51
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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52
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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53
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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55
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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56
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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57
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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58
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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59
abjectly
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| 凄惨地； 绝望地； 糟透地； 悲惨地 | |
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60
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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61
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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62
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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63
boding
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| adj.凶兆的，先兆的n.凶兆，前兆，预感v.预示，预告，预言( bode的现在分词 )；等待，停留( bide的过去分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待 | |
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64
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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65
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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66
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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67
charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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68
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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69
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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70
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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71
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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72
fume
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| n.(usu pl.)(浓烈或难闻的)烟，气，汽 | |
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aromatic
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| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
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74
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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78
soothes
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| v.安慰( soothe的第三人称单数 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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80
shrines
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| 圣地，圣坛，神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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81
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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82
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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83
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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84
ecstasies
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| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
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