"Hullo, old man!" cried Janey, "when did you come in?"
He did not answer, but supplemented his scowl1 by a grin. It was characteristic of him to scowl and grin at the same time.
Len went up to his brother, and looked at him closely and rather sternly.
"What have you been up to?"
Still Nigel did not speak. Then suddenly he dropped his head, rolling it on his arms.
"Is he drunk?" whispered Janey.
"What d'you think?"
Len tried to pull up his brother's head, but Nigel growled3 and shook him off.
"Nigel!" cried Janey.
He made no answer.
She tried to slip her hand under his forehead, and lift it.
"Nigel, what have you been doing?"
He snarled4 something at her, and she remembered the other awful occasion when she had seen her brother drunk.
"Leave him alone, and he'll come to himself," said Len. "It's natural for him to get drunk—he's the sort."
[Pg 64]
"Oh, no, he isn't!—Nigel, come upstairs with me, and let me put something cool on your head."
"Damn you!" growled the boy, "leave me alone."
"Oh, Nigel, don't hate me—I'm not blaming you—I think I know why you got drunk, and I——"
Her sentence was never finished. With a yell of fury he sprang to his feet, knocking over his chair, and seized her in a grip of iron.
"Hold your tongue, you ——!"
"Oh!" cried Janet.
Leonard vaulted6 across the table, grasped his brother's collar, and struck him on the side of the head. Nigel loosed his grip of Janet, and turned to close with Len, who was, however, much the better man of the two. He forced Nigel down on the table, and proceeded to punish him with all his might.
"Apologise, you brute7 ... beg her pardon on your knees," he shouted.
Nigel did not speak—his lips were tight shut, a thin red streak8 in the whiteness of his face.
"Len ... stop!—you'll kill him!" cried Janet. She stood petrified9, trembling from head to foot. Never in her whole life had she witnessed such a scene in the Furlonger family. The boys were fighting. She had seen them spar before, but never anything like this. And Nigel's drunkenness ... and his words to her ... a sickly, stifling10 horror crept up her throat and nearly choked her.
"Len—stop!—he's had enough."
[Pg 65]
"Not till he apologises—apologise, you damn brute!"
Nigel's teeth were set. He struggled mechanically, Len had hold of his right wrist, and his left hand was bent11 under him. Suddenly, however, he managed to wrench12 them both free—the next minute he seized his brother's throat. For a moment or two they struggled desperately13, Leonard half strangled, and in the end Nigel rolled off the table to the floor, where both young men lay together.
Leonard was the first to rise.
"Good Lord, Janey," he said weakly.
"Nigel—he's dead."
"Not he!"
They both knelt down, and raised him a little. Blood began to run out of the corner of his mouth.
"You've killed him!" cried Janey.
"No—he's only bitten his tongue. Look"—lifting the corner of his brother's lip—"his teeth are locked like a vice14."
"Oh, all this has been too horrible!"
"Run and fetch some water—we'll bring him to in a minute."
She filled a jug15 at the tap, and together they bathed Nigel's forehead and neck. Len's rage had entirely16 cooled, and he handled his unconscious brother almost tenderly.
At last the boy opened his eyes. To the surprise of both Len and Janet his first glance was quite mild.
"Oh ..." he said weakly.
Then suddenly remembrance seemed to come.[Pg 66] He shook off his brother's hand, scowled17 at Janey, and struggled to his feet.
"I'm going to bed," he muttered, leaning unsteadily against the table.
"You mustn't stand," said Janet, trying to soothe18 him, "come and sit here for a minute, and then Len shall help you up to bed."
"I don't want Len, damn him!"
He staggered towards the door.
"Len—go after him."
"Not if I know it."
"He'll never get upstairs without you."
"He's much better alone."
They heard Nigel slipping and stumbling on the stairs. Once he fell with a crash, but at last he reached the top. Luckily his door was open, and he lurched in. The next minute they heard a thud and a creak as he flung himself on the bed.
He woke at dawn from what seemed an eternity19 of sleep—not one of those swift, deep sleeps which we are unconscious of till we find their healing touch on our lids at waking, but a series of sleeps, heavy, yet tossed, continually broken by grey glimmers20 of consciousness, by sudden heats and pains, quick stabs of memory, blind spaces of forgetfulness—that feverish21, aching forgetfulness, which is memory in its acutest form.
He sat up in bed, his temples throbbing22, his face flushed and damp. He pushed his hair back from his forehead, and stared out at the morning with eyes that burned. He fully23 remembered all that had happened, without such reminders24 as his[Pg 67] headache, his sickness, and the rumpled25 clothes in which he had slept all night. His brain throbbed26 to the point of torture. Sharp cuts of pain tore through it, hideous27 revisualisations seemed to scorch28 whole surfaces of it with sudden flames. Facts hammered at it with monotonous30 mercilessness.
He fell back on the pillow, and for some minutes lay quite still, staring out at the woods. There they lay in their straight brown line, those woods. He could almost hear the rock of the wind in them, creeping to him over the stillness of the fields. They seemed to whisper peace—peace to his throbbing pulses and burning skin and aching body and breaking heart. All his universe was shattered, except those quiet external things—the woods and fields round his home. They stood unchanged through all his turmoils31, they responded only to their own remote influences—the warming and cooling of winds, the waxing and waning33 of the sun's heat, the frostiness of vapours. He might rage, despair, scream, and curse in them without changing the colour of one leaf.
He longed stupidly for tears, but those easy tears of his humiliation34 would not come. He felt that if he thought of Len and Janey he might cry. But he would not think of them, though in his heart was an infinite tenderness. Len and Janey were like the woods, they did not change—then suddenly he realised that nothing had changed, it was only he. He had changed, and could not fit in with his old environment. Curse it! Damn it! Where could he find peace?
[Pg 68]
Perhaps he had formally renounced35 peace on that day he plunged36 his hands into the pitchy mess of money-making. He had known peace before then—soft dreams that flew to him from the lattices of dawn. He remembered days when he had lain in the corner of some field, among the rustling37 hay-grass, his soul lost in the eternities of peace within it. But now—he had renounced peace. He had turned from pure things to defiled—and he had sharpened his brain, whetted38 it on artificialities. For the man with brains there is seldom peace, but an eternal questing. The man without brains suffers only the problem of "what?" It is the man with brains who has to face the seven-times hotter problem of "why?"
Why was a man, alone of all creatures, allowed to be at war with his environment—a prey39 to changes that were independent of, and unable to reproduce themselves in, the world around him? Why was a man the meeting-place of god and brute, the battle-ground of the two with their unending wars?—and so made that if one should triumph and drive out the other, the vanquished40, whether god or brute, took away part of his manhood with him, and peace was won only at the price of incompleteness?... Why was consummation only a prelude41 to destruction?—the lustreless42 horns of the daylight moon seemed to be telling him that it waxed full only to wane43. Why was a man given desires that were gratified only at their own expense? Why did his young blood call—call into the fire and dark—with only the fire and dark to answer it?
[Pg 69]
It was in this turmoil32 of "whys" that Nigel's longing44 for the woods became desperate. He raised himself on his elbow, and stared out at them—Swites Wood, Summer Wood, and the woods of Ashplats and Hackenden. He found himself dreaming of their narrow, soaking paths, of their brown undergrowth, and carpet of dead leaves—he seemed to see the long rows of ash, with here and there a yellow leaf fluttering on a bough45. He would go to the woods, he would find rest in their silent thickness.
He sprang out of bed and across the room, with what seemed one movement of his big, graceful46 body. He lifted his water-jug from the floor, and drank deeply—then he washed himself and put on fresh clothes. He felt clean and cool, and the mere29 physical sensation gave him new strength and dignity. He went quietly downstairs. Len was up and in the yard, Janet was in the kitchen—but neither saw him as he stole out of the house and up the lane.
He left it soon after passing Wilderwick, and plunged into a field. The grass was covered with frost-crystals, beginning to melt in the lemon glare of the sun. It was a strange, yellow dawn, dream-like, pathetic—a little wind fluttered with it from the east, and smote47 the hedges into ghostly rustlings. Nigel crept through the pasture as if he feared to wake some one asleep, and entered the first of his woods.
The rim48 was touched with flame—one or two fiery49 maples50 blazed out of the hedge against a background of yellow. Creeping through those[Pg 70] golds and scarlets52 into the sober browns was symbolic53. He went a few steps, then flung himself down upon the leaves. On the top they were dry, underneath54 he felt and smelt55 their gracious dampness.
The fires in his heart seemed to die. He felt bruises56 where Len had struck him, but they galled57 him no longer; the half-forgotten peace and liberty of other days was beginning to drift like a shower into his breast. Why could he not live always in the woods, instead of among people whom he hurt and who hurt him, though he loved them and they loved him? There was no love in the woods—love had passed out of them in September, leaving them very quiet, very peaceful, in a great brown hush58 of sleep. Love was what hurt in life—love and brains; take away these and you take away suffering. Oh, if love and thought could go together out of his life as they had gone out of the woods—and leave him in a great brown hush of sleep.
For nearly an hour he lay in the brake, hidden by golden tangles59 of bracken and stiff clumps60 of tansy. He had begun to drowse, and capture rags of happiness in dreams, when suddenly he heard a rustling in the bushes. Hang it all! He could not have peace, even in the woods. The rustling came nearer, and he heard the panting of a dog—with a mumbled61 oath he sat up in the fern.
"Oh!..."
Nigel's head and shoulders were not a reassuring62 sight to confront one suddenly on a lonely[Pg 71] woodland walk, and though Tony did not scream her voice was full of alarm. At first Nigel did not recognise her, she stirred up in him merely impersonal63 feelings of annoyance64, but the next moment he seemed to see her face in a glow of lamplight on East Grinstead platform. This was the lone5 girl-kid he had befriended—and thought no more of since then.
"I beg your pardon," he said hastily, scrambling65 to his feet, "I'm afraid I startled you."
"Oh, no"—she looked awkward and embarrassed. "You're Mr. Smith, aren't you?"
Nigel stared at her in some bewilderment, then suddenly remembered another of the half-forgotten incidents of that night.
"Yes—I'm Smith," he said slowly. "I—I hope you got home all right in the taxi."
"Quite all right, thank you—and mother said I ought to be very grateful to you for taking such care of me."
There was something about this school-girl, who evidently took him for a man of her own class and position, which filled him with an infinite pain—a pain that was half a wistful pleasure. She stood before him in the path, a slim, unripe66 promise of womanhood, her long hair plaited simply on her back, her face glowing with health, her eyes bright and shy. He felt unfit, uncouth—and yet she did not seem to see anything strange in his appearance, sudden as it had been. He realised that now at last he was face to face with a human being between whom and him the barrier of his disgrace did not stand. This child did not exalt[Pg 72] him for his evil story, neither did she despise him—his crime simply did not exist. Its hideousness67 was not tricked out with tinsel and scarlet51, as by the cads in the bar—it was just invisible, put away. Strange words thrilled faintly into his mind—"the remission of sins."
"I'm glad you came to me at East Grinstead," said Tony, a little embarrassed by the long pause. "You see, mother never got my postcard, so no wonder there wasn't any one to meet me."
"I'm glad I was any use." He spoke68 stiffly, in a mortal fear lest, for some reason unspecified, her attitude of fragrant69 ignorance should collapse70.
"Do you live near here?" she asked na?vely.
He hesitated. "Not very."
"I do—quite near. I think I must be going home now."
She held out her hand to say good-bye, when suddenly a shrill71 wailing72 scream rose from the field outside the wood.
"Oh!" cried Tony.
They both turned and listened, their hands still clasped. The next minute it came again—shrill, frantic73.
"What is it?" asked the girl, shuddering74, "it sounds just like a baby."
"I think it's a rabbit—perhaps it's caught in a trap."
He left hold of her hand and looked over the hedge. The next minute he sprang into it, forcing his way through, while she stared after him with troubled eyes.
[Pg 73]
"Yes, it's a rabbit," he cried thickly, "caught in one of those spring traps, poor little devil!"
She scrambled75 after him into the field.
"Oh, let it out!—poor little thing!—oh, save it!"
But he was already struggling with the trap, and she saw blood on his hands where the teeth had caught them.
"I'll do it, never fear," he muttered, grinding his teeth. "Can you hold the poor little chap?—He'll hurt himself worse than ever if he struggles so."
She grasped the soft mass of fur, damp and draggled with its agony, while Nigel tried to prise open the steel jaws76.
"There!"
The rabbit bounded out of the trap, but the next minute fell down struggling.
"It's leg's broken," cried Nigel. "Poor little beast!—what a damned infernal shame!"
He picked it up tenderly.
"Hadn't you better destroy it?" asked Tony, gulping77 her tears.
"I think perhaps I had—look the other way."
She moved off a few steps, and heard nothing till Nigel said, "Poor little beggar!"
He came up to her, holding the dead rabbit by its ears.
"That's all you're good for when you've been in a trap—to die. Being in a trap breaks parts of you that can never be mended. It's always kind to kill broken things."
He stood hesitating a moment, then suddenly[Pg 74] he flushed awkwardly, pulled off his cap and turned away.
Tony stared after him. She saw him go with bowed head across the field. Half way he dropped the rabbit, but he did not stop. He walked straight to the fence, and climbed over it into the lane.
An impulse seized her—she could not account for it, but she suddenly turned to follow him. She wanted to thank him again, perhaps—to ask him something, she scarcely knew what. But he was gone. There was only the dead rabbit, lying still warm in the grass.
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收听单词发音
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1
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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4
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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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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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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glimmers
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| n.微光，闪光( glimmer的名词复数 )v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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reminders
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| n.令人回忆起…的东西( reminder的名词复数 )；提醒…的东西；（告知该做某事的）通知单；提示信 | |
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rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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scorch
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| v.烧焦，烤焦；高速疾驶；n.烧焦处，焦痕 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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turmoils
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| n.混乱( turmoil的名词复数 )；焦虑 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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38
whetted
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| v.（在石头上）磨（刀、斧等）( whet的过去式和过去分词 )；引起，刺激（食欲、欲望、兴趣等） | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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42
lustreless
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| adj.无光泽的，无光彩的，平淡乏味的 | |
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wane
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| n.衰微，亏缺，变弱；v.变小，亏缺，呈下弦 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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48
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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49
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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50
maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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51
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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scarlets
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| 鲜红色，猩红色( scarlet的名词复数 ) | |
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53
symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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56
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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galled
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| v.使…擦痛( gall的过去式和过去分词 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
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58
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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tangles
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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61
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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63
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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64
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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65
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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66
unripe
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| adj.未成熟的；n.未成熟 | |
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67
hideousness
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68
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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69
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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70
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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71
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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72
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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73
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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74
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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75
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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76
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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77
gulping
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的现在分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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