"I beg your pardon, Mr. Thorold."
"Nothing," said the other hastily. "I fancied the name was familiar."
"Ah! You may have heard Marlow mention it."
"No. He never spoke4 of his past life."
"He had good reason to be reticent5, as you shall hear."
But here Sophy burst out: "Be good enough to continue your story without vilifying6 my father."
"Your father!" sneered7 the Captain.
"The story--the story!" cried Alan.
"I continue," said Lestrange, with a nod. "As I say, I was jealous of Beauchamp, for before our marriage he had been an admirer of my Zelia's. And, as a matter of fact, she was a singularly attractive woman. You might guess as much," added he blandly8, "seeing that her grace and beauty are reproduced in her daughter. But to continue: Zelia had many admirers, three of whom she distinguished9 above the others--myself, Herbert Beauchamp, and my cousin, Jean Lestrange. I was the lucky man who won her. Jean ceased to pay any attention to her after the marriage, but Beauchamp was persistent10. I remonstrated11 with him--we nearly had a duel12--but to no purpose; and I am sorry to say that Zelia encouraged him."
"Proceed with your story, and leave my mother alone," cried Sophy.
Alan started, for he remembered with a pang13 that Sophy had told him her mother's name was Zelia; but he kept silent, and a terrible dread14 came over him that this man would prove his statements after all.
Meanwhile the narrator went on pleasantly.
"Beauchamp," he said, fingering his mustache, "was a sugar-planter--at least, he was supposed to be one. He had a plantation15 some miles from the town of Falmouth, which is on the other side of Jamaica. It was there that Dr. Warrender practised. He was a bachelor in those days, and he was considered rather a wild fellow. Probably for that reason he was a bosom16 friend of Beauchamp's."
"Do you mean to infer that Beauchamp was wild?"
"Well, not exactly. I must be honest. He was adventuresome rather than wild. He was fond of yachting, and had a smart sailing boat in which he used to cruise amongst the islands. Warrender frequently went with him. Beauchamp was a very handsome man, and extremely popular with women. I know that to my cost," he added bitterly, "when he set his affections on Zelia. She was my wife--she was the mother of my child--yet she eloped with him."
"I--I--don't believe it," said Sophy in a suffocating17 voice.
"If it were not true, my child, you would not be sitting there under the false name of Sophia Marlow."
"One moment," put in Alan, clasping the girl's hand, "you have yet to prove that Miss Marlow is Marie Lestrange."
"If you would not interrupt so often, I could do so," said the man insolently18. "As I say, Zelia ran away with Beauchamp. He brought his yacht to Kingston when I was absent, and sailed off with her. She carried with her my child--my adorable Marie." Here Lestrange fixed19 an affectionate look on Sophy. "I returned to find my home dishonored," he went on, "my life wrecked20. Jean came to console me. He also had heard of Beauchamp's treachery, and that the boat had sailed for Falmouth. We followed----"
Here Lestrange broke down. Whether his emotion was genuine or not, Alan could not say. He looked at Sophy, and she at him. Having fought down his emotion, the Captain resumed his seat and his story:
"Jean and I arrived at Falmouth. There we heard that Zelia was very ill, and that Beauchamp had taken her to his plantation. Dr. Warrender, our informant said, was in attendance. The whole town knew that she was my wife, that she had dishonored me, and that I was on my may to settle accounts with the man who had wrecked my happiness. My cousin and I rode out to Beauchamp's plantation, for it was within a few miles of Falmouth, as I said. The night was dark and stormy--we arrived in pouring rain, and by the wailing21 of the negroes we knew that death was in the house. Yes"--he grew dramatic--"Zelia was dead; torture, remorse22, sorrow, had brought about her punishment!"
"You are very ready to condemn23 her," said Alan.
"She had dishonored me!" cried the man, waxing melodramatic. "It was well that she should die. I rushed away to her room, where she lay calm in death, and Jean remained to arrange matters with Beauchamp. I challenged him to a duel. Jean was my second. But Beauchamp refused to fight, and--he murdered Jean."
"Murdered your cousin?" queried24 Alan skeptically.
"Yes. I was praying beside my wife's bed. I heard cries for help, and when I came out I found Jean dead, stabbed to the heart by Beauchamp. The scoundrel had fled--he had taken my child with him."
"Why should he have encumbered25 himself with the child?"
"To wring26 my heart!" replied Lestrange savagely27. "He knew that I loved my little Marie. He carried her away. I would have followed, but all my troubles and the shock of Zelia's death brought on an attack of fever. I rose from my bed weeks later to hear that Beauchamp had vanished. On the night he committed the double crimes of murder and kidnapping he went on board his yacht at Falmouth, and was never heard of again. I searched for him everywhere, but without success."
"What about his estate?" asked Alan.
"There he has been cunning. It seemed that he had long since planned to elope with Zelia, and that some weeks before he had sold his land. He took the money with him, and the child. Had Zelia been alive she would have gone too. As months and years went by, I gave up hope, and I believed that the yacht had foundered28."
Suddenly Sophy got up, much agitated29.
"I can listen to this no longer," she said. "You are telling lies."
"Her mother's temper," muttered Lestrange. "Zelia's masterly way of crushing argument."
"Don't call her my mother!" cried Sophy. "I won't have it. I am not the child that was taken away by Beauchamp. I never knew any one of that name."
"Probably not," replied Lestrange smoothly30. "There were reasons for its being kept from you. But Mr. Thorold----"
"Mr. Thorold is waiting to hear the end of the story," said that gentleman coolly. "I have yet to hear who Beauchamp is and how you traced him."
"This is mere31 evasion32." The Captain was losing his temper somewhat. "You know who the man is as well as I do."
"I am waiting to hear how you connect the two."
"What two?" asked Miss Marlow.
But in her own heart she knew the answer. Yet, like a loyal soul, she kept true to the memory of the dead.
Lestrange took no notice of her.
"You are either very dull or very cunning," he said addressing Alan pointedly33. "The latter, I think. How did I find Beauchamp again? In a curious way. I saw an illustrated34 paper in Jamaica, which gave a portrait of the famous South African millionaire, Richard Marlow. The face had on its right cheek a jagged scar. Jean gave that scar to Beauchamp with his diamond ring. No doubt it was the drawing of blood which led to the murder."
"Then you assert that Marlow was none other than Herbert Beauchamp?"
"I do. Also that Sophia Marlow is my child whom he carried away. I have mourned her for twenty years. By the accident of the illustrated paper I have traced her. At Southampton I heard of Marlow's death, so I knew that he had escaped punishment on earth. But at least I have found my dear child Marie."
"I am not your child!" she cried. "I will never acknowledge you as my father."
"In that case"--Lestrange rose to his feet and looked very stern--"I must appeal to the law."
Alan laughed.
"The law can't help you," he said. "Sophy is over age and her own mistress. Even if you can prove your case, you cannot force her to go with you."
"Natural affection----"
"Don't talk to me about natural affection!" cried the girl. "I know nothing about you. Nothing in the world will make me go with you!"
"But if I tell my story to the world?" cried Lestrange, hinting a threat.
"Tell it, by all means," said Thorold, putting his arm round Sophy. "You can hurt only the memory of the dead. Even if Marlow, as you assert, killed your cousin, he is dead, and beyond your reach."
"Are you so sure he is dead?" sneered the man.
"Of course we are sure," cried Sophy indignantly. "Didn't I see him dead in his coffin35?"
"Well," said Lestrange, preparing to go, "it is most extraordinary to me that he should have died so suddenly and so conveniently. His body, too, has been stolen. That also is convenient."
"Do you mean that he is alive?"
"Yes. He feigned36 death to escape me."
"How could he have known that you were coming?"
"I don't know," was the answer, "but I shall find out. It shall be my business to search for the body of Richard Marlow."
"Do," said Thorold calmly. "And when you find it you will gain the reward of a thousand pounds."
"I shall gain more than that, Mr. Thorold. My daughter----"
"Never! Never! Leave this house, sir, and don't come near me again!"
The man moved towards the door. He had picked up the certificate and put it in his pocket.
"You turn your own father out into the street," he said. "Very good. I shall take my own means of punishing you for your want of filial respect. It is to the bad influence of Mr. Thorold that I owe this reception. Be assured, Mr. Thorold, that I shall not forget it. To revert37 to the tongue of my progenitors38, I shall say Au revoir but not 'Adieu.' We shall meet again."
And clapping on his hat with a jaunty39 air, Captain Lestrange walked out of the room.
When the door had closed after him, Sophy turned to Alan.
"Do you think this story is true?" she asked.
"I must admit that there appears to be some truth in it," was the reply. "The certificate is correct as to your age, your birthday, and your birthplace, and the name of your mother also is correct."
"Then, am I that man's daughter?"
"Not necessarily. He may have assumed the name. He may--oh, I don't know what to think! But even if he proves his case, you won't go with him?"
"Never! never! How can we find out the truth?"
"Joe might know. I wish he would come back. I wonder if, after all, your father can be alive--Marlow, I mean."
"How can that be? We both saw him dead. Dr. Warrender gave a certificate of the death. Why do you ask?"
"Well, it is strange. In his will a sum of two thousand a year is left to be paid to a man called Herbert Beauchamp, through the Occidental Bank."
"And he says that my father was Herbert Beauchamp."
"I know. Can your father have feigned death to avoid him?"
"Impossible. He did not know Captain Lestrange was coming."
"Well," said Alan slowly, "there was that West Indian letter which agitated him so much. It might have been a warning. However, it is no use theorizing. I'll go to the Occidental Bank, and find out Herbert Beauchamp."
"You won't find that he is my own father, Alan; I am sure of that. He may be a relative. No, no! He is not a murderer! He is dead--quite dead! I don't believe a word of the story."
Alan sighed.
"Time alone can prove its truth or falsehood, Sophy," he said.
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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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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reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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vilifying
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| v.中伤，诽谤( vilify的现在分词 ) | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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insolently
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| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
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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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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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foundered
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| v.创始人( founder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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evasion
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| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
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pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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revert
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| v.恢复，复归，回到 | |
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progenitors
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| n.祖先( progenitor的名词复数 )；先驱；前辈；原本 | |
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jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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