"Does she think she has called him from the dead?" wondered Baby. Her thoughts danced in a mist; she would have liked to have caught one and clung to it, but they kept whirling beyond all control. She sat as if tied to her chair, staring stupidly at the two who held each other clasped so close—at the black head bent3 upon the golden head. Then she saw how the grip of Rosamond's hands relaxed; how the whole clinging figure fell inertly4, while he—man or ghost—seemed to let it slip from him as though in surprise.
He turned his head and looked at Aspasia. There was indeed, something unearthly about his countenance6; in the ashen7 pallor on cheek and chin, in contrast to the bronze of the rest of the face, which seemed still to hold the touch of that Indian sun under which he had died. His eyes burnt with fierce light in their dark hollows. Aspasia felt that she ought to shudder8 with terror, that the situation, at least, ought to be one of desperate interest, but she was only conscious of a numb9 curiosity. She sat and stared. Then her gaze wandered from the mysterious presence to the figure lying on the bed. She saw the sharp outline of Rosamond's chin upturned, and thought, without the least emotion, that perhaps her aunt was dead. The very gold of the hair seemed lifeless, turning to ash. That cry still ringing in her ears must have been a death-cry. It had been as the cry of a soul that is passing.
She watched the man lay his hand on the still forehead, saw him look sharply about him and inhale10 the air with deep breath.
Suddenly, in two great strides, he was across the room. There was a noise of tearing curtains and jingling11 glass; and Aspasia found herself inhaling12 icy breaths of air in gasps13. Heavily, with a sob14 of pain, she woke from her stupor15. She seemed to be drawing this delicious coldness into herself as if it were new life. The man passed before her once again. He was holding Jani's tripod high in his hands. A trail of aromatic16 vapour swept against her face; and, as she involuntarily breathed it, she had a nauseating17 sense of suffocation18, and the vanishing stupor returned upon her momentarily, like the shadow of some huge bird's wings. With an effort she turned her eyes, saw the man hoist19 the brazier in his hands and hurl20 it through the open window, saw the charcoal21 scattered22 apart like a shower of falling stars, heard a crash without. Then she knew it was no ghost.
The singular white and bronze face bent over her.
"You are better, Miss Cuningham?" said a voice. She knew that voice, too; she smiled lazily.
"Now I know you," she said. "You are Muhammed."
He smiled back at her, a fugitive23 smile, mixed sweetness and sadness.
"By-and-by you will know me better—by-and-by," he said. "Now try and wake up, if you can, and help me."
He had left her and was again at the bed. Aspasia did as she was bidden. She shook herself from her torpor24 and stood up, somewhat dizzy, somewhat sick, but yet herself.
The man, Muhammed or another, she did not allow herself to think out the matter further, was hanging over Rosamond's inanimate form. Now he laid down the hand he held and bent his dark head to her breast. Baby flung one look of horror at the rigid25 upturned chin.
"She's dead!" she screamed.
He raised himself abruptly26, his countenance grey even under the bronze.
"She is not dead," he answered her quickly, with a gesture that forbade her words, "but I have been too sudden with her, and Jani has been playing devil's tricks with her drugs. Is there any brandy——?" He wheeled round as he spoke27, for the door had opened and old Mary's figure appeared.
The Ancient House was now full of rumours28. Old Mary's blue eyes were fixed29 in a stare of uttermost ecstasy30. Her trembling hands were lifted as if in invocation; all at once she stretched them out, with an inarticulate cry of exaltation. Then her voice faltered31 into homely32 accents:
"My lamb!" she stammered33.
"Oh, Mary," said the man, and his tones rang with boyish note. "Mary dear, brandy! Mary, if you love me, quick."
He sat down on the side of the bed chafing34 Rosamond's fingers. Silently Aspasia held up a bottle of essence, taken from the dressing-table. He nodded, and she began to lave her aunt's temples, not daring to let her thoughts or eyes rest on the waxen face, on the ominous35 air of irrevocable repose36 about the long relaxed figure. She wished the silent lips did not wear that mysterious smile. Determinedly37 arresting her mind on those strong words: "She is not dead," she felt that so long as she could hold this confidence it would help to keep the dread38 angel at bay.
"I was too sudden with her," said the man again, "but when I heard her call me, I think I went mad—I had waited so long!"
Then it seemed to Aspasia that, from the first moment since he had spoken to her in the passage to-night, she had known him.
"You are Harry39 English," she said. And saying this, she began to cry. She looked down at the piteous fixed smile. He had waited so long! Was it not now too late?
"Oh," she said aloud, sobbing40, "is it now not too late?"
Then he flung himself on his knees beside the bed, and she drew back, for none should come between them. He gathered the inanimate form into his arms; his lips were close to the deaf ear, and he was speaking into it.
"Rosamond, my wife, Rosamond, I have come back to you—come back to me. Rosamond, beloved!"
The room was suddenly full of people.
Was it possible, Aspasia asked herself, that between that cry of Rosamond and this gathering42 of the inmates43 of the house so short a time had lapsed44. She felt as if she had lived a span of years.
"My goodness," cried Lady Aspasia. "Who was screaming? Any one hurt? I never heard such a scream in my life!"
Then speech and movement alike left the eager lady. Gazing at the bed, she stood open-mouthed with stupefaction—an odious45 inclination46 to laugh barely stifled47, for decency's sake, in her throat.
Sir Arthur also had halted on the threshold. His eyes were fixed, as if he could hardly credit their evidence, upon the figure of the man in the shooting-jacket who knelt at the side of the low bed, almost covering the unconscious body with his embrace. And, indeed, Sir Arthur's eyes at the moment were playing him false.
"Bethune!" ... he exclaimed. "Major Bethune!"
Not a thought, not a glance had he for the death-like stillness of his wife's face against the crisp black head—to him that head appeared sleek48, close-cropped, indefinitely brown. He cried out again loudly:
"You infernal scoundrel..." and caught the intruder roughly by the shoulder.
The kneeling man merely turned his head.
"What ... what ... the devil!——" The words died on Sir Arthur's lips. His eyes protruded49. "Who the devil are you, sir?"
"Who is it?" came Lady Aspasia's whisper, more penetrating50 than natural tones.
"Oh hush51, hush," said Baby, rebuking52 she knew not what spirit of sacrilegious curiosity. "Hush! It is Harry English, uncle!"
Slowly the man got up from his knees and looked round; then his eye came back to Sir Arthur.
"Harry English!" repeated Lady Aspasia's lips, voicelessly.
Her mind leaped; an irrepressible lightning satisfaction wrote itself on her harsh, handsome face; then her glance swept over the bed, and the corners of her mouth went down in a grimace53. There lay Death—Death already, or very near, or she had never seen it. A double release! This double release was unnecessary—nay, a complication. Fate played such tricks at times! But Sir Arthur had staggered and reeled, and Lady Aspasia, ever practical, had to postpone54 thought for action. She caught him firmly by the elbow:
"Hold up, Arty; be a man."
The Lieutenant-Governor's first impulse had naturally been to deny the monstrous55 thought, to wither56 Aspasia for her impious suggestion. Then a look at the black and white portrait over the dressing-table, fitfully but vividly57 illumined by the flames of the draught-blown candles—a look from that strong presentment to the pallid-faced, black-haired man by the bed, brought an overwhelming conviction. He faltered under it. For a while he could collect no words, no thought; but presently, as the tide of blood began slowly to recede58, eddying59, from his brain, broken phrases escaped him, almost in a whisper:
"Your—your conduct is infamous60, sir," he babbled61, "ungentlemanly—ungentlemanly in the extreme!" ...
Harry English, with one hand on Rosamond's quiet breast as if mutely claiming his own, spoke then, his eyes on the creature who had robbed him.
"Your place, sir, is no longer here," he said. His voice was very low, but it contained an authority which Sir Arthur instinctively62 felt with a fresh spasm63 of indignation and self-pity, trembling upon tears. "Your place is no longer here," repeated English. "Leave the room."
The Lieutenant-Governor fairly suffocated64:
"How long has she known it?" cried he, panting, as he pointed65 to the bed. "No wonder I thought her mad. You have killed her!" he exclaimed acridly66, upon another revulsion of thought.
"Had you not better have a doctor?" came Lady Aspasia's dispassionate accents. "If it's not too late," she added cynically67.
Baby called out as if she had been struck, and burst into fresh tears.
The inert5 figure on the bed was all the girl had of home, all she had of certain love. This marble woman, no longer kin41 to her, had lavished68 on her more than a mother's care; from those lips, now so silent, except in the last sad days of trouble, Aspasia had never heard an ungentle word.
"She must not die," sobbed69 she.
"She will not die," said Harry English.
He shifted his hand till it rested over Rosamond's heart. Then he looked down at the face, with its faint smile of secret joy, pitifully exposed to all these eyes; and his own countenance took an expression of tenderness so infinite that weeping Baby, catching70 sight of it, held her breath. He moved and stood with his back to the bed, to shelter in some measure the unconscious woman from the violation71 of curious looks.
"I must beg you all to go," he said.
Sir Arthur, who had been gradually growing, within and without, to the purple stage of fury, now exploded. Portrait or no portrait, the story was preposterous72. This fellow was an impostor!
"Turn me out! ... 'Tis you, sir, I'll turn out. I'll have you committed, sir, I'll——"
"Please," said a voice from the door, "if any one is ill, let it not be forgotten that I am a doctor. I offer my services," said Monsieur Chatelard.
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1
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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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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inertly
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| adv.不活泼地，无生气地 | |
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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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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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10
inhale
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| v.吸入(气体等)，吸(烟) | |
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jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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inhaling
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| v.吸入( inhale的现在分词 ) | |
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13
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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aromatic
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| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
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nauseating
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| adj.令人恶心的，使人厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的现在分词 ) | |
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18
suffocation
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| n.窒息 | |
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19
hoist
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| n.升高，起重机，推动；v.升起，升高，举起 | |
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20
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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22
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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23
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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24
torpor
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| n.迟钝；麻木；（动物的）冬眠 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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27
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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28
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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29
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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30
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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31
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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32
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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33
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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35
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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determinedly
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| adv.决意地；坚决地，坚定地 | |
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38
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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39
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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40
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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41
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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42
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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43
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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44
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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45
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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46
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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47
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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48
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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49
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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51
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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52
rebuking
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的现在分词 ) | |
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53
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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54
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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55
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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56
wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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57
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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58
recede
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| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
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eddying
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| 涡流，涡流的形成 | |
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60
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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61
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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62
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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63
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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64
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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65
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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66
acridly
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| adj.辛辣的；刺鼻的；（性格、态度、言词等）刻薄的；尖刻的 | |
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67
cynically
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| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
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68
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
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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70
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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71
violation
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| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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